The Future of Funerals? Some Serious Thoughts

A couple weeks ago, Mr. Cassidy died. It wasn't reported on the news and nobody Twittered about it but Mr. Cassidy was important, a member of the Greatest Generation who had helped liberate the concentration camps during WW II . Then he had returned home, fathered a bumper crop of beautiful children, worked hard to support them and enriched life for everyone who knew him. Now he was dead from a lingering illness and we went to his funeral to pay our respects because that's what friends are for.

The Wave of the Future

I attended with Mary, who has children not much younger than I (and I am 68). Mary looks younger than she is and is mentally alert but her stamina has seen better days and this was true of most of Mr. Cassidy's contemporaries. I noticed guests who seemed fragile and some were even attached to portable oxygen units. People are living longer and this may be the wave of the future for funerals. It wasn't easy for some of Mr. Cassidy's friends to attend and the funeral itself created hardships for some. I have focused on three major problems which I feel could have been avoided or ameliorated at no disrespect to the memory of the man we came to honor.

The Reception Line

Americans don't seem to understand the concept of the reception line. I'm willing to bet that when guests at Buckingham Palace events are greeted by the Queen in the reception line, there isn't any long-winded shilly-shallying about. The reception line is a chance for host and guests to briefly connect, exchange a few warm sincere words and keep moving. This is NOT like waiting to check in for a flight but we stood for more than a half an hour in a barely-moving line which was not really that long, just to pay our regards and say "Hi" to Mrs. Cassidy, because of a few loquacious people who chattered away, heedless of others behind them and monopolizing the attention of the widow. It may have been better if there had been no reception line because some people behind us wasted time waiting and never got to talk to her at all before the priests had to finally disband the line to start the Mass.

The Funeral Mass

I had assumed that this Mass would adhere to Catholic SOP which means that worshipers take turns sitting, kneeling and standing. Instead, we had to virtually stand through the entire service. We may have knelt or sat briefly (for the sermon) but we ended up standing so much that I began to wonder if there might not be something wrong with the kneelers. Mary (and others) had to sit through most of it anyway and I nearly passed out because I had skipped breakfast before I left home. The expression "Sit down before you fall down" loomed large and I actually almost fainted because of all the standing.

And Now, a FEW Words ...

Fortunately, they let us sit down for the eulogy delivered by one of Mr. Cassidy's sons. Most eulogies are limited if for no other reason by the emotional condition of the speaker. Alas, Mr. Cassidy's son was a gifted public speaker who was in his element. The most important things about his father ... that he was an infinitely kind person, considerate of the feelings of others no matter how sick he might have been ... were conveyed in the first ten minutes but this guy was just gaining momentum at that point. He spoke on for nearly a half an hour, delivering a speech in outline form, listing his Dad's virtues and backing them up with personal anecdotes which might have been better shared with other family members later on. All of this culminated with him lifting his hands and eyes to Heaven and hollering "We love you, Dad, wherever you are!" a final eruption which had a rousing effect on those of us who had begun to stealthily slip to one side with eyelids at half mast.

A Peek Into My Crystal Ball

Someday, some poor schmuck will have to deliver a eulogy on my behalf. While I appreciate this gesture, I must add that I would hope that the speaker doesn't push for more than ten minutes of well-intended but possibly tedious reminiscing about my virtues. Those people who (hopefully) will attend my funeral will already know the good things about me which (hopefully) my life itself will have borne testimony to. The best and the worst ... that's what our real friends know about us.