Monday, September 13, 2004
funeral for a friend's mom
As I have previously reported, last week a friend's mother past away following a lengthy battle against cancer and occassionally her family as she successfully struggled to maintain her beauty, grace and dignity until the very end.
Although I had met her briefly on one or two occassions, I can not honestly say that I knew her. However, if there is truth in the old saying that people can be judged by the company they keep, then she was truly a remarkable lady.
Her memorial service was last night. It set a new standard for memorial services. It was a gathering of 200 plus people, representing a true cross section of our community: young and old, rich and poor, black and white, gay and straight, suburban conservatives and urban liberals, of all faiths, Christian, Jewish, Muslim.
We assembled on a hilltop facing westward, overlooking a lake as the evening sun began its descent into the neon colors of twilight. There were tears, all felt the loss, but mostly there were smiles and laughter.
As the preacher said the last "amen", a lonely trumpet began to sound a mournful dirge. Notes cracked from the clearly visible emotion on the face of the trumpeteer as the mournful song slowly was slowly transformed. Within a moment the trumpeteer was leading the congregation in a version of "When the Saints Come Marching In" that may not have exactly made a New Orleans Jazz Funeral Band envious, but they certainly would have appreciated the effort.
Then, Rod Stewart on the PA. "If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy. . . "
And then, it was off to the bar. Yes, that's right the bar. If funerals and memorial services are truly designed to celebrate the life of the dearly departed, then let's get this party started right.
Open bar, live jazz/swing band, a huge buffet. . . oh, you should have seen the desert table. . .
The guest of honor marked the end of her life the way she had lived it, as an immaculate hostess and a grand entertainer who took great joy in bringing people together to celebrate good food, good drink, and the good company of friends.
So, my dear readers, please join me now. . .
Raise your glass and lift your spirits. . .
. . . to Jan!
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Although I had met her briefly on one or two occassions, I can not honestly say that I knew her. However, if there is truth in the old saying that people can be judged by the company they keep, then she was truly a remarkable lady.
Her memorial service was last night. It set a new standard for memorial services. It was a gathering of 200 plus people, representing a true cross section of our community: young and old, rich and poor, black and white, gay and straight, suburban conservatives and urban liberals, of all faiths, Christian, Jewish, Muslim.
We assembled on a hilltop facing westward, overlooking a lake as the evening sun began its descent into the neon colors of twilight. There were tears, all felt the loss, but mostly there were smiles and laughter.
As the preacher said the last "amen", a lonely trumpet began to sound a mournful dirge. Notes cracked from the clearly visible emotion on the face of the trumpeteer as the mournful song slowly was slowly transformed. Within a moment the trumpeteer was leading the congregation in a version of "When the Saints Come Marching In" that may not have exactly made a New Orleans Jazz Funeral Band envious, but they certainly would have appreciated the effort.
Then, Rod Stewart on the PA. "If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy. . . "
And then, it was off to the bar. Yes, that's right the bar. If funerals and memorial services are truly designed to celebrate the life of the dearly departed, then let's get this party started right.
Open bar, live jazz/swing band, a huge buffet. . . oh, you should have seen the desert table. . .
The guest of honor marked the end of her life the way she had lived it, as an immaculate hostess and a grand entertainer who took great joy in bringing people together to celebrate good food, good drink, and the good company of friends.
So, my dear readers, please join me now. . .
Raise your glass and lift your spirits. . .
. . . to Jan!
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