Learning from Funerals

There are a lot of benefits to growing up in a family with few young children and a lot of much older relatives. I learned about making butter from the milk from the cow in the backyard of one aunt and uncle's house. Unlike Mama's electric one at home, I had sewn simple things on my aunt's treadle sewing machine. I did better with the treadle; I could go slower and keep my line of stitches straighter. I would run around under the pecan tree as Daddy and my brother threw a baseball through the branches to knock down the nuts. It was my job to pick them up. Most of the relatives had huge yards with plenty of room to run around, and one uncle had a nice rocking chair next to the oil stove where he would rock a little girl to sleep with a story.

Some might not call it a benefit, but another thing I learned was about death and funerals. Having a lot of much older relatives meant that at least once or twice a year, we would have a death in the family somewhere and a funeral to attend. It was the closest thing to a family reunion that our family ever had. I was usually the youngest person there, although older cousins came with their families. I didn't think much about death; it was more a party with many people I often saw and some very rarely in one place.

I knew what death was; I was taught that when someone died, they went to Heaven, where we would see them one day when our own turn to die came. Those big shiny boxes at the funeral had the body of someone I knew, liked, or loved. Sometimes that box would be open, revealing someone that looked vaguely familiar but not like the person I knew. I wanted them to look more natural, less like wax figures with makeup, Sunday dresses, or suits I'd never seen them wear.

I sometimes wonder why parents don't take their children to funerals. I know the prevailing thing is that "Oh, they're too young to be exposed to something like that," but are we really protecting them from something unpleasant or from a reality that they need to know about first-hand, not just from what they see on television, movies, comic books, or video games. Granted, death can be traumatic, and children do witness traumatic deaths up close and personally. It can scar a child for life and is far different than seeing an elderly relative laid out neatly.

 

Children are exposed to death and violence every day indirectly. Every time a favorite cartoon character is squashed, shot, falls over a cliff, or has a car accident, it seems like death. Still, the character usually pops up a few seconds later. What appeared to be dead really wasn't. Children and teens playing video games can "kill" other characters or be killed themselves. Yet both can usually be revived by restarting the episode or using a particular spell. On television programs, they see characters killed in any number of ways. Then, one day, the actor will show up again as someone else somewhere else, thus making the point that death on one show does not mean the person they see being shot or some other lethal action is really dead. It's so common that most kids don't see it as real. They can stage the same imaginary scenario with a real gun, shoot someone, the someone will get up, and both will laugh hysterically. But what happens when the gunshot is fatal? 

 

Watching the Queen's funeral this week, I saw Prince George and Princess Charlotte. I remember being their age when I went to the many funerals that come from having elder relatives. Many said that the young royals were too young to be at such an event, but I have to disagree. They had as much right to say goodbye to their beloved grannie as any adult in attendance. They heard the words of the scriptures offering hope and comfort, some of the hymns they undoubtedly heard in church on Sundays, and the presence of nurturing and loving family members around them. They heard people talking about their grannie using words they knew and had witnessed during her time with them. They also gained memories of her and what made her so very special. They will take those things with them as they grow and have their own families. They also learned that death was not forever. Undoubtedly, there will be reunion in Heaven. 

 

That is my belief and my hope. It's what I learned from attending lots of funerals when I was much younger. Without that belief and hope, fostered by loving and supportive people surrounding me in confusing times, I might not have acquired that perspective. Still, it's what comforts me with every passing. The thoughts of seeing my loved ones again keep me going. Thanks to those who taught me that death is nothing to be feared; it's part of my faith. I believe God is loving and protective and that Jesus's words about many mansions are to be believed.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Saturday, Sept. 24, 2022.