An American Goodbye
My mother died a year ago. Fortunately, my recently discovered cousin April Hearn, to whom we'd quickly become well attached, and her daughter Eileen Swain, were able to join us in Kansas City for the funeral. After April returned home, she wrote the following piece for the parish magazine of her church in Hastings, St. John The Evangelist. I've enjoyed reading her observations, and I wanted to make a copy of the piece someplace before I lose the paper copy I have. I put it here as a memorial.
[April writes:] I recently attended the funeral of a much-loved aunt in Kansas City, USA. My daughter and I flew across the Atlantic thinking a funeral is a funeral wherever you go. How wrong can you be!
On arrival, we were told that the visitation would be on Sunday afternoon, and the funeral on Monday morning. Visitation? We looked at each other blankly. On enquiring about the visitation we were told that the custom over there is to go to the funeral home before the funeral to pay your respects to the deceased, and offer condolences to the family.
With some trepidation we made ourselves ready on the Sunday and set off for the funeral home. What a surprising and not-too-unpleasant experience that was. We were ushered into a huge room, with armchairs and side tables, just like a very large lounge really. At one end of this room was an open coffin wihth my aunt, looking serene and quite beautiful, laid to rest. Around the room, photographs of Aunt Cleta, taken at various times during her life, were on display.
Through the afternoon friends and family called in, paid ther respects, nattered to the family, and stayed as long as they wanted, or needed to. On Monday we drove, in our own cars, to the church for the funeral. Again, the coffin was open, and this time it was in the entrance hall, so that friends and family and church family were able to say their goodbyes. We all met in the coffee lounge before processing into church behind the coffin.
The service was not at all formal, as ours is. The Minister spoke lovingly of my aunt, outlined her life, read a piece that my uncle had composed and played a piece of personal music. There were two lovely solos, including the Lord's Prayer, sung. No hymns were sung, no sermon given, there was a time of reflection and people were invited to tell of their own reminiscences of my aunt. We left the church to travel to the cemetery in convoy.
Another surprise. The hearse, the limousine for immediate family and all the other cars in the cortege are escorted by an official funeral escort car, with flashing lights, which stops all other traffic at road junctions and ensures that no one gets left behind at traffic lights. After the short graveside service, we were all given one of the flowers from the main spray and we then headed back to the church for a wonderful meal, prepared by church family members, as a celebration of my Aunt Cleta's life.
My daughter, a vicar's wife, and I were absolutely amazed at the love, the respect and the dignity shown to my uncle, the family and the whole occasion. It was a sad, but also a very lovely experience, and I'm so glad I was able to share in it.