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Finding the ‘Fun’ in Funeral
Hello, Ricochet! It’s been a while, but I have a good excuse. A year ago this month, my oldest brother, Dave, took his life after decades struggling with alcohol abuse. We always knew this was a possibility, but we never really believed it would happen.
Dave kept his thoughts of suicide well hidden. He never showed the classic signs of someone who was going to kill himself. I still hurt to this day over his death. It’s a wound that will heal, but will always leave a scar. That’s not where the story ends , however, because in the midst of all the pain, and there was a lot, something hilarious happened: the Patterson family got to plan a funeral.
Indulge me a moment while I provide some background. Humor is the form grief takes in my family. We do cry, but we laugh, too. This family trait was a blessing because laughter got us through some amazing disasters. I’ll share one of my favorites with you.
Music is an incredibly important part of any funeral service. My mother and father knew the hymns they wanted sung, so it was really just a matter of getting the instrumental tracks on CD and deciding who would lead the singing. My father was very keen on people not being confused about what to do, so it was decided I should lead the congregation during the hymns. I don’t remember volunteering for the job of choir director so all I can figure is I must have been in the bathroom while my one, remaining brother was offering me for the job.
“Fine,” I thought, “How hard can it be to get people to sing two hymns correctly?” It’s very hard, as it turns out. I’ll get to why after I give you a word of caution about selecting hymn tracks: listen to the entire track before you buy it. Sometimes the people who compose this music like to do interesting little unexpected things with a chorus or a bridge, and if you’re not aware of these flourishes ahead of time, you’re in for a surprise.
It was discovered an hour before the funeral service that one of our hymns had a surprise. There was a very unfortunate bridge between the first and second stanza; that sounded exactly like the introduction for the verses we were meant to sing, only it did some fancy resolution and cut stopped after the first verse. It was very confusing.
Not to worry, however, we all decided that I should somehow indicate to the congregation not to begin singing after the first stanza, to wait, and then begin singing after the bridge. This idea seemed good at the time.
To explain why it wasn’t, I need to go back to my point about how it’s not easy to get a group of people to sing a hymn correctly. When it was time to have the congregation stand and sing, I got up and went to the head of the chapel and stood; ready to lead the group. Well, I’m 5’ 2” and no one past the first row could see me. That’s okay, though, because four seconds before I went up to lead the group I dragged my brother with me. He was taller and he could somehow gesture or something to let people know to wait.
The CD started, the music began, the congregation started singing, so far so good. The first stanza stops, my brother does nothing, and people begin to sing the next set of verses at the start of the bridge. I’m now thinking, “How bad is this going to be? Maybe the singing will drown out the music and no one will know they are completely out of sync with the track.” That happy thought didn’t last long. As soon as the congregation paused at the end of singing the second stanza, it was painfully obvious we were all off.
At this point my mother is now glaring at me and mouthing something that I could only guess was tell the funeral director to stop the music. Since my brother was closest to the outside aisle I turned and told him to go tell the direct to stop the music. We had four more stanzas to sing and my mother’s expression was growing increasingly more hostile with each one.
So my brother crab walks over to the side trying not to be noticed and runs back to where the funeral director was supposed to be. We continue singing out of sync. He comes back and look at him like, “why is the music still playing!?” He leans over and whispers loudly, “The funeral director isn’t there!” Of course he’s not there.
At this point I’m trying to avoid eye contact with my mother who is standing three feet in front of me, and my brother can’t find where are in the music so he’s singing the wrong words. This is where it gets really bad. I am barely hanging on, trying not to laugh. I’m doing every conceivable thing I can think of not to start. I failed. I break down and start laughing.
So here I am between my very unhappy mother and my brother’s coffin, laughing. At least I had the good sense to know this looks really bad. I try and cover for my laughing by making it look like I’m coughing. This doesn’t work, by the way. I had to get out of there. So I quickly waddle — did I mention I’m six months pregnant? — over to my seat at the end of the pew, leaving my brother, still singing the wrong words, to lead the group.
The hymn did eventually end, four minutes after the congregation stopped singing. Fortunately people tend to be very forgiving of mistakes during a funeral so I don’t think anyone really noticed, or if they did they didn’t say anything. But, for me, it was a much-needed moment of levity from the heavy darkness I felt. It is also one of our favorite memories to look back and laugh about.
I know I’m not the only one who’s benefited from laughter in the midst of pain, so please share some of your moments laughing through the pain. I’d love to hear them!
Published in General
Chuckles the Clown?
Next funeral, call me. I’ll play the organ for you. Then the organist follows the director and the congregation if necessary!
At my Dad’s funeral, we had worked up a nice arrangement of Brightly Beams Our Father’s Mercy for my sons and brothers to sing. They’re all good musicians, but they hadn’t practiced the minor verse as much as they should have and two of them got off, so that it became a part minor and part major bunch of scariness. We have a musical family and had several numbers, the rest of which were all very good, but the number they tanked on was the only one Dad had requested…. Such is life.
You gotta have some Irish in you.
I am siting at the salon with color on my head laughing out loud. So I look manic, but on the up side, I may ahve recruited a new member.
At my sister”a funeral two years ago I offered a eulogy and then after the pastor spoke I literally yelled from the front row “can we sing happy birthday?” In my defense it actually was her birthday. So I went up to the podium to get the crowd to sing. The crowd did fine (one verse, major key) but my mother was furious because “now I have ruined the song for her”.
I would think that having the funeral service for you daughter on her birthday might be the thing that ruined the song. …but no, it was me straying from the program and so to g that did it.
I still toast my sister and sing it to her and have a good laugh far more often than just her birthday
And I am so sorry for your loss and thanks for sharing with all of us
My grandpa got into a wreck on the way to his own funeral. He had a reputation in life for being a bad driver (multiple wrecks).
One of my grandmas was a drill seargent in regard to manners. A hat worn indoors would be taken away. Elbows off the table; ask to be excused from dinner; that sort of thing. Only at her funeral did my siblings and I learn that she wasn’t half so strict with our cousins… much to my mom’s amusement.
Whoah, your family is more forgiving about these things than mine is, then!
For them, part of the grieving process is critiquing the wisdom and competence of the one making arrangements. And they do not give a pass on music that doesn’t go as expected.
Well, everyone grieves in their own way….
It was just awful when my younger sister died one morning from a pulmonary embolism. She was only in her early 50’s and I miss her just as badly, nine years later. Her sense of humor was legendary. She had been a school bus driver for decades, and often regaled us with amazing tales of horrible driving.
So, when someone blew past a stop sign, and broadsided the hearse as it was driving her coffin to the church that morning, it was simply hilarious! She was not personally inconvenienced; the hearse driver was not hurt. They had to get another vehicle to finish the trip, delaying her arrival at the funeral. When we all heard why we were waiting, it really lightened the atmosphere. It didn’t help us feel any better that she was gone, but it made us all realize that she was probably up there in heaven laughing it up at that good joke.
I’ve conducted a number of funerals and memorial services and humor is always an important factor for me (than again, I’ve never had to do a memorial for a young child.)
One of the great pieces on NPR (yes, they’ve done some great things) is this “This I Believe” called Always Go to the Funeral.
Now I M home from the salon and reading this post as it should be read, with a glass of good wine. So, now for my dad”s funeral story
He was buried in western North Carolina, in the mountains, his hometown. My dad was notorious for his ability to get lost. So when one of my cousins was sitting on his front porch the da of the funeral and saw a hearse go by the exact opposite direction from the funeral home. They said: I reckon that”s Jim Tom and he still can”t find his way “round.
They rounded up the hearse and my dad was only 20 minutes late for his own funeral.
Andy now I will stop monopolizing th conversation.
The minister at my dad’s funeral was a golfing buddy of my dads. So he had an opportunity to tell several good stories during the service – my favorite was about the time my dad 13-putted a hole.
For the following it helps to know that this is in the Milwaukee area, and the minister was a graduate of Ohio State.
At the end of the service, he started talking about meeting with my parents to plan the service, and how my dad was adamant that he wanted two songs played at the end – “Off we go into the wild blue yonder” and “On Wisconsin”.
“I can understand ‘off we go into the wild blue yonder’. For those of you who are not members, This congregation and I have had an ongoing <pregnant pause> discussion about the relative merits of Wisconsin football and Ohio State football. And Herb had a way of wanting to get the last word. The whole last word. <pause> What I am about to do, I can’t think of anyone else I would do this for.”
At that point he reached under the lectern, pulled out a hat with the Wisconsin Badgers logo on it, and put it on, saying “Herb, this one’s for you” as the organist started playing.
I cannot *believe* that I was the first one to “like” Comment # 1. It was an absolutely glorious moment of television.
I heard a form of this from a few people after our 17-year old son died. At the time I told this to our 15-year old daughter and she snapped, “No it’s like your arm was cut off! It will heal but you’ll always be missing an arm.” And I have to admit, she was right.
I’m not a big fan of humor at funerals, especially if it seems to be injected in to “lighten” things up. However, the whole set of circumstances surrounding death and funeral planning does have its amusing moments. As I stated above, our 17-year old son died. He was attending an out-of-state college. We had 5 other kids at home, ranging in age from 5 to 15, who not only had just lost a brother but who were watching their parents go through a whole set of emotions that really rocked their little world.
No one who hasn’t gone through a death and funeral planning can have any idea of all the details involved. One of our major concerns was getting his body back for burial. There was a weekend between his death and the funeral and we didn’t know if the body would be back before the weekend or after, etc. It’s hard to explain, but it was a very big deal getting him “home.” Well, we finally got the call that the body was going to arrive at LAX the next day and a family friend who worked for the funeral home was going down to get him. We were just so relieved and when I got off the phone I turned to one of the kids, our 7-year old, and said, “J’s body is coming back tomorrow.” She just looked at me and said, “what about his head?”
I got a call from the hospital that my 80-year-old mother had been admitted with a life-threatening ailment. Her esophagus had closed up, or something, and she literally would never be able to eat solid food again. This was a woman whose only joy in life was eating. But, the doctor told us (my two brothers, me, and our wives) that even a tiny piece of solid food could cause her serious problems. They suggested that for the moment we should get her some ice cream.
Now, my brothers and I have always joked a lot, and our wives understand that, except for my youngest brother’s wife. She doesn’t have a sense of humor that I can perceive.
So, as we are all standing around the hospital waiting room, my older brother asks me what flavor of ice cream to get for Mom. I suggested Rocky Road. Well, both brothers and two out of three wives started to laugh. The non-laugher looks daggers at me, and actually says, “How can you joke at a time like this?” I apologized, and said, “Okay not Rocky Road. What about Death by Chocolate?”
Epilogue: The doctor was wrong. Mom recovered after about a week in the hospital, and lived for another five years, eating to her heart’s content. My sister-in-law has never liked me, and my brother divorced her a few years ago. She will not be missed.
A.D.P.
We lost our middle son about eight years ago to alcoholism and substance abuse. He went off of a bridge and his body was not found for six weeks. Fortunately we did not have to identify his body. It would have been horrible to have that last view of our son on my mind for the rest of my life. May your brother and my son rest in peace.
Ned
P.S. My Dad, my Grandfather and my Great Grandfather were funeral directors so I know about a lot of fun in funerals. Almost went in the business myself. And may you have a healthy and happy baby!
On my king bed with a 3 and 5 year old the night before an anxiety filled custody hearing vs a highly unfit mom. The kids and I frolicked and laughed. I did my best to hide my nerves.
Yup. I’m sorry, Kim.
It is my job to spend time with people in the immediate aftermath of a sudden and unexpected death. When grief-stricken people say something funny (and they nearly always do, and surprisingly swiftly) it is often a way, and maybe the way, that something truly unspeakable can be spoken.
Waiting for a seventeen year old’s body to arrive, worrying that it won’t happen in time for the funeral—this is unfathomable. I remember listening to my adult son on the telephone with a funeral parlor, arranging for the cremation of his baby, and thinking: We aren’t really doing this are we? This can’t be happening.
Humor lets us speak.
My sympathy and my admiration to all of you—when love meets loss, it’s laugh or cry, and sometimes both, and either requires (and is) courage.
My sympathies to all here. The loss of those we care about is never easy, but some losses seem to punch farther below the belt.
~~~
I come from a large, extended, Italian family. I could probably write a book about the things they’ve done, but no one would believe most of it, and the statute of limitations may not have run out on the rest of it.
My mother, sister, and brother were involved in a three-car accident during a funeral procession. They hit each other. Obviously, mockery and hilarity ensued. To this day (nearly 20 years later), they are still required to separate their vehicles during funeral processions.
My prayers are with you on your loss, and God bless your family that you were able to find a moment or two of levity in the midst of what had to be unbearable grief.
The amount of humor will differ with the family and the circumstance. The grief is different with the unexpected death of a child as opposed to a 95 year old Grandpa who died in his sleep after celebrating a family member’s birthday. One thing I will say is a good funeral director would NEVER leave music (especially CD’s) unattended. As my screen name gives away I was a funeral director up until I retired in 2011. The last thing you want as an FD is surprises. If you are not a detail person don’t be a funeral director. If you’re a procrastinator don’t be a funeral director. I have a million stories about humorous instances happening at funerals that would literally fill a book. I loved that job. If you want to laugh your head off sit around a table with a few funeral directors, buy a few drinks and let the stories flow. I have yet to meet a Funeral director who was not a natural born raconteur.
Thank you all for sharing your stories, and sympathies. What a great community we have that we can laugh and grieve with one another. I am truly grateful for you all.
You are right to point that out. I hate when a great reference goes unnoticed.
You absolutely MUST write a book. PLEEEEEEASE.
“A little song. A little dance. A little seltzer down your pants.”