Reflections on a Funeral

I got a little vacation today. My husband's aunt passed away and we drove two hours to her funeral. We took McKay who was completely engrossed in books, writing, and the alphabet song all the way over and all the way back.

When we arrived at the church, there weren't very many cars in the parking lot and the funeral was supposed to start in 40 minutes. The church was pretty quiet, even though there was a viewing going on.

When they had the family prayer before the funeral began, the room was absolutely packed (and furnace-like). Then we had the processional into the chapel (which was a blessed 15 degrees cooler), and I counted exactly six people there who were not family.

I pondered this throughout the funeral. I remember singing at a funeral a year or so ago and there were exactly 35 people in attendance. I remember telling one of my friends that I hoped my life would reflect more than 35 people when I died. I thought of that today as I listened to a life sketch of a woman I hardly knew. The chapel was full, and all but six people were there because they had an obligation by relationship.

Aunt Winona was 89 years old. She and Uncle Glenn had been married 71 years. At the end of 89 years, she had a large posterity. And that's who came to her funeral. Does the number or type of people at your funeral make a statement about your life?

At first, I told Randy that I didn't want to die when I was 89; I didn't want to die when I was so old that all my friends and acquaintances were also dead. Then I wondered if that was the mark of a life well-lived.

Perhaps the mark of a life well-lived is that your posterity fills the church. Perhaps the mark of a life well-lived is that your posterity celebrates your life. Perhaps the mark of a life well-lived is that the family dinner following the funeral service is marked by laughter and renewed friendships. It is unfortunate that someone must die for family to see each other. Randy saw cousins today that he hasn't seen for 23 years. He was able to talk with aunts and uncles that he hasn't seen for several years.

I'm not sure I came to a conclusion about funerals. Would my Nevada friends who I have loved and miss so dearly come to my funeral? Maybe. Would my childhood friends, who I continue to keep in touch with, come to my funeral? I don't know. Will there be more than 35 people there? As long as my siblings, their spouses and children, and Randy's brothers' families come, then yes.

I think what matters most is that the life being celebrated is a life well-lived. Each person must decide for himself or herself what that means.

I just hope it means more than 35 people show up.