For those who have been following this series, the funeral went well. I was a good crucifer and didn’t trip on the alb I was given to wear. The service was very nice — the readings were comforting and the music was nice. One of the things I love about this parish is that the prelude music for funerals is piano hymns — not some dreary organ piece. I didn’t cry though it was hard when we were singing the last hymn (“How Great Thou Art”) because the family was crying and I am the world’s biggest sap. (Note to self: don’t people-watch during funerals when you know the family.) I made it out of the church without beaning anyone with the cross or tripping over the hem of my alb.

After changing out of my alb, I tossed my clerical shirt back on and we headed out to the car. (My non-skanky summer funeral clothes for today were a grey shirt, black knee-length skirt, and one of Jon’s unbuttoned clerical shirts in black.) I was the second car in the procession and we drove to the cemetery which is a small one in Granville. It was a really pretty one in the woods and one where I’d probably go walking in happier circumstances. I made it through the burial without crying until they started taking apart the flower arrangements to give the roses to the family to toss on the casket before it was lowered. At that point, I was standing with Jon and got teary-eyed. They offered the family the shell casings from the 21-gun salute (D was an Air Force vet) and they presented the flag that had been draped on his casket to F with a rose and shell casing tucked in.

After the burial, we followed G and the family up to G’s house in the hills. The layout and neighborhood reminded me of Las Cumbreas in the Santa Cruz mountains where some family friends of ours used to live. The house is beautiful — lots of windows to give some natural light into the house as well as a huge kitchen — it was seriously how I’d like my dream house to be. They had ham for lunch — but with sandwich fixings, salads, fresh veggies, fresh fruit, and tons of desserts. I had some chips, a ham sandwich (ham and bread), some raw carrots, lots of watermelon, and one small piece of brownie. (I really am not a chocolate dessert person if there’s fresh fruit around.) I also had the chance to talk with Bill and with some other people and it was actually an enjoyable meal. Jon and I bid everyone adieu around 1:30 and were hugged within an inch of our lives by F who promised to be at church at some point this weekend, even if it’s just the 4:00 service on Saturday.

Now that everything is over and I’ve been home for the last 8 hours, I feel kind of deflated because it’s all over. D is in the ground, the family is off grieving elsewhere, and Jon is at a congregational council meeting (read: 3 hours of debating over issues at the church). Given the adrenaline rush of the last few weeks, it is strange to have nothing to think about or do. I’m not really sad per se because I’ve gotten my grief out (for the most part) and the funeral gave me some closure. I’m also not going to be dealing with sobbing family members in the next few days, so I don’t have that to think about. Is this what I should be feeling after all is said and done?

I also almost started crying when the family was hugging me and thanking me. Granted, I am a sap but I also still can’t believe that I was all that helpful. I’m not clergy and most of what I did was hover in the background and occasionally hold hands at times when there was a need, such as last Tuesday when we received the news that D was not gonna make it. Yes, I was there two weeks ago when D was coming out of surgery — I’d driven Jon and Bill to Cols and didn’t really know where else to be. I was going to excuse myself to go to a waiting room but F came out and hugged me. That Friday, I made small talk with G because I needed something to do. On Tuesday, I walked into ICU late and found out that there was a storm brewing and figured that I probably should stick around. In other words, I really wasn’t supposed to be there; but I was. Yes, I did go make phone calls for F to get her calmed down and I did speak on her behalf when people asked what the situation with D was, but I felt like I was in the way most of the time. I did spend hours praying in the ICU and waiting room; but that’s my job as a Christian.

Granted, I haven’t had much experience with family members dying in hospitals and all but I really didn’t realize that my ministry was just *BEING* there. G is an engineer and a brilliant person — little Jen who is the Hermione of her seminary class felt really stupid talking to him that Friday; but apparently, it helped. There was nothing I could say to comfort F but apparently the fact that I was there holding her hand helped. Between the two of them, I have been hugged more times in the last two weeks than in the last 6 months by anyone non-family.

I’m just praying for NO MORE DEATHS AND NO MORE FUNERALS for awhile…

My sermonette for blogs4God is here. It reflects my thoughts as of 3:30 am when I decided to put my insomnia to use and write something. I suggest reading it because I refer to it later in the entry. 🙂

The Recounting of my Day
Church was OK today. Bill preached one of his better sermons and I was sitting with some of my choir peeps. I really focused on worshipping today and mixed some Episcopalian liturgical movements in with the Lutheran stuff accidentally. (Then again, Jon’s parish is a Lutheran church that worships like a Catholic one.) After church, we went home and had lunch and I changed into my visting hour clothes.

Visiting hours were actually somewhat enjoyable. There were lots of people there, which meant that the room was unbearably hot. Jon decided to “work the room” so I ended up in the receiving line by myself. G greeted me with a big hug and was pretty OK with everything. His wife J let me hug her too. F was calm, though I think the reason was that there were people around. After talking to the family, I talked to some other people from church and also to one of the couples I met at the hospital. I then went back to the church and did some paperwork before going back over at 4:30 to grab Jon. While I was over there, Bill pulled me over and asked if I would be the crucifer tomorrow. (For you non-liturgical types, the “crucifer” is the person who carries the pole with the cross on it in the procession into the church.)

We returned home and I changed clothes to go out shoe shopping before the Lions service. (D was a member of the local Lions club.) We ended up not getting anything but earplugs for the burial tomorrow. (Jon isn’t fond of 21 gun salutes.) Jon attended the Lions service and I printed resumés and cover letters. We went to get the car washed because I’m driving in the procession tomorrow and came home.

The Reflective Part of This
The b4G thing I wrote this morning was really an exercise in getting my feelings out without sugarcoating them. I was weepy as I was writing it; but writing it helped me to get a lot of the pain out. I also didn’t expect it to be posted so fast — I thought I’d edit it first; but editing it would have sugarcoated things. Basically, I wanted to say that my call is to love God’s people even when it hurts and it was hurting emotionally to know that some of my people were in pain.

Something that has been good about this whole experience is that I’ve learned how I grieve and what I need to have in place to cope with my grief. I know that attending the funeral will bring some closure; but I didn’t know how much the calling hours mattered. Many of G’s co-workers were at the early ones (I didn’t attend the later ones) and I think that it made a huge difference. Talking things out with my small group leader’s son T was also immensely helpful because he also sensed that D’s death wasn’t like the others. T has played in the Easter brass quartet with G for years, so it hit him (T) hard for that reason — it hurts that someone else is hurting.

My mother-in-law reminded me last night that C.S. Lewis commented on how similar grief is to fear in A Grief Observed, which I had to read in stages because I would start crying after about 20 pages. For those who want to know what utter grief is like, read the book — it’s his reflections after the death of his wife Joy and believe me, he does not sugarcoat things.

For those of you who are worried, I am doing OK — I’m crying when needed and I know to bring tissue to the funeral tomorrow. I’m not weeping too much (maybe 5 times this week) and I’m starting to eat again. I’m blogging every thought on these subjects because it helps to clear my mind.

Now to go attempt to put together a non-skanky funeral outfit… (Most of my black clothes are winter ones and the summer ones are a bit risqué — shirts that expose my navel and all.)

D went home to his Father around 6:30 this evening. I found this out when I walked into Jon’s office and he was notifying the proper people. Bill was with the family and that’s pretty much all I know (and probably all I’m supposed to know though I’ll probably find out more from Jon later).

Let us pray:

Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant, D. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of your saints in light. Amen

Lord Jesus Christ, through water and the Spirit D has been brought into your family; receive him and present him to God Most High. Amen.

O Lord, support us all the day long of this troubled life, until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes and the busy world is hushed, the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then, Lord, in your mercy, grant us a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace at the last; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

I’m strangely relieved, mostly because I knew that it was only a matter of time and I knew that when D passed, he would be with his Father. My stomach has unclenched and I have a sense of peace. I still feel pain, but not for D — instead, for his family members who are left here because I know their decision was painful. As I said in (II), I’ve sat with them, hugged them, prayed with them, talked with them… I’m still praying for F and G individually and shall do so until after the funeral.

And yes, I’m looking forward to the funeral and I know it sounds strange. Funerals and burials are closure points for me and I know from experience that I need that closure to move on in a healthy way emotionally. It provides a chance to say good-bye and Christian funerals also feature the texts that explain the hope that we have in Jesus Christ, especially John 14:1-4 and John 11:25-27. The hymns are usually the ones about faith and hope and the service itself is supposed to be a reminder of where our faith should lie with regard to our life.