I went to a funeral today, and it was amazing.

A coworker of mine had his mother pass away last week, and today was the funeral.

I cannot even tell you if the church was Baptist or any other denomination. It was just a church from the outside, but it did have a long name, like Holy Cross Church of Salvation or something like that.

There were no candles, no ornate decorations. There was just an open casket and a few flower arrangements.

The building had a few pews, and probably held about 150 people on its hardwood floors.

Well for this funeral, it held about 160.

I can assume there was heat in the winter, and the air conditioning was supplied by three overmatched window units that could be purchased at Wal Mart.

Hand fans were set in front of everyone, just in case.

I sat with four coworkers, also known as the only other white guys in the room. I was probably the only Yankee.

I came in expecting to hear crying and wailing. I had no reason to expect what I was about to hear and see.

Respects were paid, and this kept the mood somber at first.

The Preacher said some nice words, then he called for the choir to come up. Mind you, this women's grandchildren made up half of the choir.

Two high school aged boys were on the piano and the drums and a middle aged man was on the base guitar.

Immediately, this stopped being a sad occasion.

In this church, outside of a one-stoplight town in the middle of nowhere Virginia, was probably one of the most amazing displays of just plain celebration I have ever seen.

Amazing Grace, and this version would have won American Idol, started easily enough, but then it grew faster and faster. Then people started dancing and shaking and calling out, and the band, with two high schoolers in it mind you, smoothly turned it into a 15-minute version.

I think I caught the kid on the piano glancing at his fingers once or twice. Let's just say he was good.

The preacher referred to this part of the session as the service getting "hot."

Then he started preaching. I guess it was because he had a packed house, and about 10 percent of the words I could not understand, but he was getting his point across loud and clear.

One of the messages I took from this service was that this woman was in a better place. She spent her entire life being faithful to God, and now she is rewarded in Heaven. People were sad to see her go, but once that casket was closed, it was a celebration of her achievement.

Then some more fantastic singing and music.

I'll never forget it.

It was one of those glorious times where complete brilliance came totally unexpected, and this is the best kind.

 

Sounds like how I want my funeral to be, way down the road of course. I'm glad it was such an uplifting experience for you.

 

My father always said, you can't spell funeral without fun. Better to smile about the good than cry about the sad.

 

I've always thought the same way. I want people to be sad that I'm gone, but I want them to be happy they knew me. I want my friends to crack the same jokes about me that they do now. I want people to tell stories and laugh as hard as they can. I know that's hard to do, but I don't live my life in a serious manner all the time. I live my life by the philosophy that you're only young once, but you can be immature forever. I live my life doing what I can to make people smile. I want people to smile when they think about me, even when I'm gone.

 

Glad to hear that the funeral was so uplifting, Devil.

Hopefully (many years down the line), at my funeral, I hope there's a certain amount of ceremony, along with a bunch of laughs. I've envisioned it like a sporting event, where they play the U.S. and Canadian anthems to start the funeral, have some sad moments, have a few chants of my name, and have a seventh-inning stretch where everyone stands and sings 'Take me out to the Ballgame."

 

My dad went to a funeral like that once. Said the only thing missing was the keg and chips. Said if it hadn't been a funeral for the father of a guy who worked for my dad, he would have good time.

 

I went to a funeral
and Lord it made me happy
seeing all those people
that I ain't seen
since the last time somebody died.


-- Lyle Lovett, "Since the Last Time"

 

My grandfather's funeral didn't have a "seventh-inning stretch," but we did indeed close with his favorite song: "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."

I want that song at mine.

Incidentally, it was the only part of his ceremony that I didn't completely lose it. He used to sing that song to me when I was little ... as my lullaby.

 

My mon's side of the family -- the Irish half of me -- has great funerals. We get a family room at the funeral home and set up a full bar -- liquor and mixers, beer, wine ... you name it.

When my grandpa died 12 years ago, at the end we all pulled a bottle of his favorite whiskey out and poured shots and stood around his casket and toasted him. My aunt's funeral had a champagne fountain.

Grandma died eight years ago and that was another great funeral. Same funeral home, same set-up. She was 92 when she died and she still had two older sisters.

 

After my mother died our house was the site of the best two days of parties imaginable, as all her brothers and sisters from Newfoundland came down and held a gigantic kitchen party.

She'd have loved it. That's the way to go.

 

Well, you know what they say: What's the difference between a Newfie wedding and a Newfie funeral? One less drunk. (Same can apply to Irish, Scottish etc.) Newfies hold the best kitchen parties (take it from a guy who lives next door to one). This will not be disputed. Would love to get to the Rock one day.

 

I'd join you, but that kissing-the-fish thing for Newfie newbies might be a bit much.