This week

I went to a funeral earlier this week. The wife of a friend/co-worker was killed in a car accident. She was only 39 with 2 teen-age children and 1 grandchild. The tragedy of the situation of someone dying so young was tremendous. My friend truly married his best friend and he is beyond distraught. Just seeing the physical toll on him was heartbreaking, the emotional scars not-withstanding.

They live in a small town; a close-knit community. There were many family members at the funeral, along with a good number of friends and acquaintances. I believe my friend will ultimately be ok because his family and friends have truly rallied around him. They will give him the support he needs. They will encourage him. They will also kick him in the rear when he needs it.

They played a number of country songs, including “This One’s For the Girls” and “I Hope You Dance.” One of her sisters came up and read the obituary straight out of the newspaper. Then, the minister stepped to the podium. He explained that he was from a Baptist church in the small town where she grew up. He mentioned that he hadn’t seen her in nearly 20 years, but he remembered her as a “vibrant child and teen, very full of life.” He then went on to talk about the person she’d become (from her sisters’ descriptions); how she tried to encourage people to take advantage of the moment, and how she wanted people to get the most out of life. He didn’t say much about her beyond that, but he didn’t really know her. I mean, at her own funeral, the person who said the most, didn’t even know her. He couldn’t reflect on personal memories to even give people a good word-picture of whom she really was. I’d never met my friend’s wife, and even at her funeral, I could not learn anything substantial about her. That made me sad. I know, of course, some things I’d picked up from my friend, but even those things weren’t really of any substance. After nearly 40 years of life, nobody stood to say anything on her behalf. The preacher did his best to encourage the family to band together and take care of each other. He read from the “standard” funeral Biblical passages (John 14:1-3 & Ecclesiastes 3:1-8). He talked briefly about God’s love, His comfort, and how He will never leave or forsake us. It was an impossible position for him: to eulogize someone with whom he had no relationship. I felt bad for the preacher…but that’s not the point, and I digress, as I am prone to do.

In reality, I wasn’t there for her. I was there to support my friend. I was there out of respect for his pain and heartache. I wasn’t there because she meant anything to me personally. Again, I’d never met her.

In my 35 years, I’ve been to a lot of funerals. Most were somber affairs, while others included wailing and screaming. A couple of them were truly “going home” celebrations where God’s presence was tangible; where hearts and lives were changed.

The funeral of my friend’s wife was one of the saddest I’ve attended. It begged the question in me: “What are people going to say at your funeral?” That led to another question: “What do you want people to remember about your funeral?”

The 2nd question is a little more difficult. It comes from the fact that years from now, I doubt I’ll remember much about my friend’s wife’s funeral other than the music, the fact that nobody from her family stood up and said anything about her, and the overwhelming sense of hopelessness in that small funeral home chapel. When the last song played for your memory is “Free Bird”, what does that really say?

This is not a cultural issue. It is not an issue of education or ignorance. I think it is totally about a spiritual vacuum. I am not trying to judge a dead woman’s life…because I never met her. I have nothing but a funeral to use for a basis for judgment, and that is not fair. It’s not a spiritual indictment of her, my friend, or their family and friends.

Ultimately, it made me more sad and amplified the tragedy of the entire situation.