Putting the “Fun” in “Funeral”

I think, no matter what, there are always things to laugh at. Take the whisper of an elderly lady, commenting, “See that lady over there—the rather large one? She’ll be doing the singing.” Keep in mind that an elderly woman’s whisper isn’t necessarily a whisper at all, and the “rather large one” is rather nearby. Now, that’s funny. Or take the heavyset woman who sits on the pew next to you. You hear her labored breathing and frown about her health until you recognize that she sounds like a Shih Tzu…and that’s funny.

But better—and “delightful” more than “fun”—was leaving the funeral with both my 93-year-old friend and the six-day-old daughter of friends. I watched as her dad strapped Miss Mag in—a seatbelt, a base, a carseat, and a carseat strap. That was it. “Shouldn’t she have a helmet?” went through a layer of my brain cells.

I’m still amazed at the paradox—leaving an event that processed death, with a fresh example of life in my arms. Recognizing that the cycle continued—Mrs. J. in the front seat and Miss Mag in the back. Almost a century between them, and I was in their midst. It was a “raining in the sunshine” sort of moment—why am I witnessing this? And then it hits that I am a part of “this”—this “life” thing. Ever have those good “alive” moments—where you’re awake and aware and powerful and eager and open and able to conquer? This was one of them, and I am blessed.