Funeral Visitations

My folks went to a lot of funerals and visitations for funerals when I was growing up. Many times I was privileged to participate in these functions. The first time I remember being at a funeral home was when my maternal grandfather Morgan Williams died. My dad picked me up in his arms and took me to the casket. As we stood there he gently explained to me that though it looked like he was sleeping that he had died. He told me that we would not get to see him any more after that day. But that my grandfather had gone to heaven and he was ok. I was five years old at the time and I guess that is about as much information a five year old boy can process. I remember many times when I was growing up that my dad would be called upon to serve as a pallbearer at a funeral for some family member or a neighbor or someone at church or even for someone that he barely knew. When this happened my dad would rearrange his work day and take care of this task. Without knowing it I think my dad was teaching me the lesson that when death occurs you have to deal with the inconvenience and stop long enough to respect the dead and express love to the families of the dead. When my dad died I rode to the cemetery in the hearse with the funeral director and he recounted to me the many times my dad had helped with a funeral by being a pallbearer. And that was just one funeral home! As my parents aged their funeral going activity increased. I would call them and ask them what they had been doing and they would tell me what town they had gone to for a funeral and whose funeral it was. I told them I thought they had found a new social outlet! My dad said "well son, that's what you do when you get older and your friends begin to die".

I have been to a lot of funerals and funeral visitations myself. I have delivered the eulogy at more than 300 funerals. I have stood in long lines and waited my turn to shake hands with or put my arm around a loved one and express my appreciation for the deceased and offer my condolences. I hoped that my brief moment by their side was helpful. But often I have wondered if it made a difference or not. When my dad and mother died I stood at sentry by their caskets and greeted each person who came through. I don't think I missed a one. And I discovered that each person who took the time and made the effort to come to the funeral home brought joy and comfort to my soul. Their presence and their words were a precious gift that I treasured.

I think I am coming to the point in life when like my dad and mother I may be going to more funerals. Not because I have a professional responsibility but because I have friends who are dying and loved ones of friends who are dying. Does it make any difference to touch base with friends and family at times like this? Maybe I am old fashion but I think it does. Visiting the grieving and helping people bury their dead may or may not be a spiritual activity. But it is one of the most human and neighborly things we can do.

Hey Cous, You and I's Kin

Carl Wells grew up and lived in the vicinity of East Bernstadt and Hazel Green in Laurel County, KY. I doubt if he ever traveled very far from that vicinity in his life. Carl was what most people in the area would call “simple”. Or they might say he was “a little off” or that he was “not right”. By those expressions they were not being unkind. Rather they were trying to describe his mental and social capabilities in a polite way. I am sure there were many who expressed their thoughts about him with less kind words.

I guess Carl lived with family members and I think he did a few odd jobs for people in order to get a little money to sustain him. When I was growing up I would see Carl on the streets of East Bernstadt but mostly I would see him at visitation services at the funeral home. If Carl knew the deceased or was the least bit related to you he would be at the funeral home to pay his respects. When Carl saw me he would greet me with “Hey Cous – you and I’s kin”. He would get this goofy grin on his face that revealed his pride that he had done his research and knew our family connection and was able to educate me about it. Carl was right. We were related. His mother and my great-grandmother were sisters. I think that made us third cousins. My great-grandmother’s name was Sally and his mother’s name was Laura. There maiden name was Dees. If you lived in Laurel County, KY and had Dees in your family lineage that meant you had a lot of kinfolks. Carl knew the family tree and all the branches. He was proud of his knowledge and he was proud of his kin. Problem was most of his kin were not nearly as proud to claim him as he was to claim them. We were a little embarrassed by Carl’s eccentric behavior. When he reminded us of our shared bloodlines we would acknowledge his greeting with a nod and a grunt and move on hoping that he would not spread the news of our kinship very far. We should have been ashamed ourselves. I honestly hope that Carl did not recognize and internalize our indifference. But he was pretty intuitive and I suspect he did.

I have not seen Carl Wells in nearly forty years. I guess he has long since passed. But I have thought about him a lot over the past decades. In reflecting upon him, Carl Wells has taught me a valuable lesson. He taught me to be proud of my kin. I mean, think about it. Here was a man who had observed and asked questions and kept a record in his head of who he was kin to. When he saw you he wanted to acknowledge it to you and advertise it to others. I think if someone is that proud of me then I should be proud of them! So I have decided to be proud of my kin, the good ones and the bad ones.

I hope I meet up with Carl one day on the streets of glory. If I can get to him before he gets to me I am going to say “Hey Cous- you and I’s kin”.