Funerals
One of my uncles passed away the other day. While some would that that he lived a long and healthy life, I just say that he was older than most dirt. He was in his 90s and lived a long, relatively happy life. He had broken his hip, and there was an infection. He didn’t want amputation, and from what I understand, the infection spread to his spinal column, and that’s what took him. Now he’s with his wife, who passed away some years ago. Today was his funeral.
He was one of the cool uncles: short, bald, outspoken, and I’m sure when he was a kid he was quite the hell raiser. He liked a good joke, a good argument about sports and politics, and was the kind of guy to say, “C’mere kid. Pull my finger.” It was alway fun when we visited them and they visited us.
I went to the funeral mass for him at St. Al’s. It’s funny, the last time I was in a church was when my father passed away. The mass never changes, and if I wanted to I could repeat a typical mass word for word from going to church every week when I was young. The priest did a good impression of my uncle, talking about the Bills, Sabres, and betting on games. “You got something to say about it? Come on, put your money up. Let’s go!” Everyone laughed. My cousin who took him into her home to care for him rather than place him in a home cried a little after she stopped laughing.
I found my thoughts wandering during the mass, thinking about what the different parts were supposed to be; rather than just the priest saying things and people repeating the same words over and over again, it’s meant to be a celebration. It seems more robotic. A bunch of robots. That’s one of the reasons I turned away from organized religion: mass was and is just rote repetition.
The strangest funeral I was ever at was when my ex’s grandmother died. She was a Hindu. We went to one place, and all the men were chanting a mantra over and over again. We just sat there, not understanding a word of it and sitting quietly and respectfully. Suddenly, without a warning, they stopped, and there was a rush up to the casket and it was carried out to the hearse. We all went to our cars and sped off to the crematory. There, the mantra started again, and there was a small ceremony. Everyone lined up to parade by the casket to drop rose petals and incense into the casket with her. We all sat down, and after some more chanting, the sons were whisked away downstairs. After a few moments, the casket was lowered into the floor, and disappeared. Several minutes of silence later, the brothers appeared and the ceremony was over. Like I said, it was different. It happened about five years ago, so I might have some of the details mixed up. Nevertheless, it was the strangest funeral I ever attended.
Most of the people there I only see at weddings and funerals nowadays. Everyone looked older, grayer, balder, fatter. Canes are becoming more prominent. Instead of people talking about their jobs and kids, they were talking about retirement, grandchildren, and other mundane things that the newly-retired baby boomers talk about. Uncle was one of the last of his generation, and I caught myself thinking about the generational change. My cousins are now grandparents, on their way, or have kids in school. A new generation is getting married and having children. The human race continues.
I found myself contemplating my mortality. How many years do I have left? What will I accomplish before I go? Will my kids, when I have them, be successful? Will I have the same sort of fond remembrances when I am lying in a casket, and my children, nephews and nieces sitting somewhere with their kids, talking about me and my life? What will be my legacy?
