Always the Bearer, Never the Body

I've been to a lot of funerals. I would guess somewhere higher than fifty but lower than a hundred. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, husbands, wives, cousins, friends, friends relatives, even girlfriend at the time's relatives. I've seen them all go to ground. And I've been a pallbearer for a lot of them. Bunches. Even some that I'd never even met. Yep. I was once at a funeral where the only person I knew was the girl I was dating and they asked me to be a pallbearer! Awkward! They did give me a nice pen with the funeral home's name and number on it though. I figured at that point I'd gone pro.

Oh, I should mention that I'm not some sort of serial funeral crasher. It's just a combination of having a large extended family combined with an extremely social mother, and her obligating conscience as a southerner. When people died, we went. Even now as an adult, I've driven 600 miles round-trip in a day for a funeral of someone I hadn't seen in decades because "It would just be so nice if you were there". I'm sure it would be, but I can't miss two day's work for it. So, I'd get up, drive to Carolina and attend the funeral and luncheon. Then I would drive back home.

When younger, I often teased my mother about what I called her "Death Calendar". She has always used people's passing as her memory line. "Let's see, that was right after Aunt Ruby's death so it would've been summer 06." There's even a portion of the family I call the Marrieds and Burieds as I only see them on those occasions. I see them fairly often.

One nice thing is the food after southern funerals almost always makes it worth the trip. The best fried chicken, black eyed peas, barbeque, corn, greens, pies, you name it. Everything is always homemade, fresh and plentiful. One time, the women found I had a cooler in my car and it was packed before you could wink an eye. I had started bringing one so I could pick up ten or fifteen pounds of barbeque on my way home. Sorry DC, I've lived here my whole life, you don't know pig.

Anyway, back to topic.

After all of the attended funerals as a child, and then a teen, I finally reached adulthood. And what happened? I somehow became the go-to Pallbearer Guy! It seemed that if there was a funeral, and I was there, you were going to most likely see me hauling the large mahogany and brass sarcophagus. And let me tell you something about coffins.

Those damn things are heavy! I'll have to be honest. I have a very large Aunt that I'm not looking forward to. Just sayin'.

You might not know this, but Bearers are often chosen not by their relation to the deceased, but for their size. At 6'3" and 185 lbs I'm usually targeted within minutes of entrance. Now that I think about it, as I'm getting older, I should probably consider warming up before heading in. You just never know when the Funeral Director is going to quietly sidle up and call you into action. If you're me, you come to expect it.

If called upon, your job as one of The Dreaded Six is to be smooth and to show no outward signs of the physical effort being exerted. Solemn and teary eyed people watching intently as you silently hope that your grip holds and you're not the one responsible for Uncle Ernie's embarrassing reintroduction to the proceedings, or worse, the accidental crushing of one of your fellow Bearers. When you've reached Pro Pallbearer status as I have, you become accustomed to the small nods from the FD and your new compadres after the casket is safely set in place. A shared bond of quiet struggle successfully completed.

You learn things not to do when attending a funeral, such as never wearing brand new shoes, and if you do, make damn sure you scuff the bottoms up well in the parking lot. When new, dress shoes have the traction of a deer on ice, so if you don't want to find yourself flailing around like a drunken girl in a wet parking garage wearing new Jimmy Choo's, pay attention to this. The time to realize that you have no traction is not while carrying five hundred pounds of dead weight! (Sorry, had to) One morning, we actually had to carry a coffin about 150 yards on dew dampened grass, up and down two moderate hills. You should've heard us talking later at the post-funeral luncheon.

"Oh my God! I was scared to death! I thought I was gonna slip and we were all going down!"

"I almost fell as I was going up the hill!"

"I felt you slip and was just hoped you'd recover fast."

"Man that was hairy!"

Knucks all around. Scary s***. You can only laugh.

Another situation can arise due to the fact that a vast majority of the population is right handed; meaning half of the team is usually going to be working with their weaker arm. As a Pro, I've learned to quietly ask my fellow Bearers if they have a side preference. There's nothing worse than finding out later that you had a lefty on the left side of the coffin. Fortunately, I'm strong enough to work weak side, but there are some who struggle making it harder for everyone else. Better to check.

Also, crucial to a successful Bearing is to pay attention to the terrain as you get closer to the little tent with the chairs and fake grass. Amateurs here often only see the drop zone and fail to notice the contour of the ground beneath the Brady Bunch's backyard scraps. Pro's like myself recognize that beneath that lumpy carpet the ground can be slippery and unstable, just waiting to trip up the first person that loses focus. Concentrate here. You don't want to go down now, so close to completing the mission.

Once the casket is in place, you'll get a quick nod and maybe a handshake from the FD for a job well done. He knows how heavy those things are and is appreciative if everything goes well. Your job here is done. A quiet exhale as you melt back into the crowd, wait for the ceremony to finish, and head for the after-party. It's one of the few occasions where the daytime consumption of alcohol isn't frowned upon. Plus, since you've already got your work-out in for the day, it's time to eat.

Note: Please understand that I write this tongue in cheek and that I am not trying to make fun of the deceased. Funerals are sad occasions and I do feel for anyone that has ever lost a close friend or relative. That said. If you ever see a tall guy in a suit scuffing his shoes and doing jumping jacks outside a Funeral Home, you'll know that it's just me, or maybe now, someone that has read this article and has been called upon.