Funeral for a Friend

           When it comes to funerals, there are not too many I really want to attend.  It’s not that the solemn ceremony depresses or saddens me; I like to believe wherever the deceased has departed is a better place.  It’s just that funerals are too anti-climatic.

Roy, though, was a friend whose funeral I felt compelled to attend, in part to comfort his wife, Wanda. But I also felt a connection with him; he was comfortable to be around.  No matter how I was feeling before having a conversation with him, after our conversation I always felt good about things.

                He was an unassuming man, yet Roy offered so much and touched so many that no one other than those who knew him would understand. His greatest capacity, perhaps his gift, was to listen, and have patience for those, like myself sometimes, who were too busy talking rather than listening.

                To hear Roy discuss politics, religion or social issues was to realize, even marvel, that this simple man – he was a barber by trade – had a scholarly depth; a self-made man. He was a studious observer of the human condition; he could see life’s hypocrisies and ironies and laugh.

                He also could see the good and bad in people, accept all their human failings and talents, yet not judge them. He was a warm man who seemed to always have a smile for people.

                Roy’s compassion knew no bounds. He was not discouraged by the state of society or the world at large. He was a devout Christian, never wavered in his optimism. Church was critical in his life. That is where I met him.

                When the doctors told him he had terminal cancer, only mere months before he would die, Roy remained joyful and hopeful. He was leaving this world, but had faith that he was going to a better one.

He was selfless, a pillar of strength for Wanda, who herself had battled cancer. He wanted to make sure she was happy when he was gone, suggesting to her one day a few weeks before his death that she begin now to find a companion.

                She protested, of course, it wasn’t even in her thought process. He was her love. She would be with him forever, though she knew what he was offering and loved him all the more for it.

                As he was dying, becoming weaker by the day, he helped his wife, who struggled often alone to care for him, with his funeral arrangements – a brief entombment service at the cemetery immediately following his death and the next day a service to celebrate his life at their church.

He wanted nothing elaborate or long, but enough for remembrance and to offer comfort to his wife and family and friends. He ensured there was money for a luncheon after his service, including ice cream for dessert. Roy loved ice cream.

                 The entombment service for Roy, in a small chapel in the cemetery, was brief. His pastor spoke a few words, sublime yet appropriate. As I sat and listened, I knew I was going to miss Roy. Attending his funeral was perhaps about keeping that connection to him.

                We meet so few remarkable people in our lives (or maybe we don’t spend enough time seeing how remarkable the people we do know are), but those we know, we want to stay connected to, even after they’ve gone.