I’ve been ruminating since Sunday over whether I should say anything here about the memorial service I did for my friend’s stepmother. As soon as I left the Bear Creek Lodge where it was held, I began mulling over how I should word this post to seem, well, modest. But I’m not modest, my friends. I’m the biggest egomaniac I know. I had been hoping to hide that fact. But now I’ve come to terms with my overweening pride and have decided to just tell you about it.
It was, in a word, wonderful. Yes, it was a memorial for a deceased person, but the whole spirit was so warm and friendly and celebratory that it felt almost like a wedding celebration. Okay, maybe not a wedding, but a very nice birthday party.
First of all, it wasn’t in a church or a funeral home. It was at a well appointed ski lodge, in one of their ballrooms. It didn’t look like a ballroom though, it looked more like, well, a big room in a nice ski lodge. It was set up as if for a wedding reception with seating for about 200 people. I think 150+ actually showed up. When I first entered the room I was dumbfounded by the size… I hadn’t expected that kind of crowd. This woman was much loved.
The hosts (the deceased’s husband and his two sons) planned the afternoon perfectly. Guests arrived leisurely over the course of an hour. Then there was the memorial service, which lasted about 45 minutes. After that, lunch was served.
The service began with some words of introduction and an opening prayer, all of which I typed out. No extemporaneous prayers on this occasion. Then came Ave Maria, sung a cappella by a female vocalist who did an excellent job. It was not an operatic performance by any stretch, but it was quite lovely. I actually preferred it to most performances I’ve heard in the past.
Then came my reflection. I spent a lot of time mulling over the memories shared with me by family members, especially her husband, and even more time getting every phrase to fit the personality of the deceased. I was moderately pleased with it when I finished writing, and contrary to most of the stuff I write, grew more pleased with each successive reading. So it should come as now suprise that…
About three sentences in, my microphone bricked. I turned up my own volume and proceeded sans amplification as if nothing happened, though inside I was screaming, “Would somebody please fix this flippin’ thing? NOW!?” Eventually the banquet manager arrived with a new mic, and just in time as the key refrain “Greater love has no one than this,” which was repeated three times during the reflection, was fast approaching.
When I finished, there was not a dry eye in the place, including mine.
Other friends and family shared after that, beginning with Doug, who on his way to the mic stood directly in front of me and said, “Thanks for embarrassing me,” which is what he says at work every time I get back from the street before he does. Though Doug has insisted that his words were heartfelt but not very eloquent, I thought they were at least equal to what I had shared. If he were to read this post he would think I was lying, but I’m not. I felt as if I knew his stepmom a bit better after he spoke. And him as well.
A few people shared, following which the same singer offered an a cappella performance of Amazing Grace, which was even better than her Ave Maria. She sang with a slight blues edge, which I thought was a perfect choice for the occasion. I wanted to applaud after she finished, and I think some others did too.
During the luncheon (in the same room) that followed, lots of people came over to thank me for capturing the spirit and personality of the deceased so well. The comments of one man in particular let me know that my mission for the day was accomplished. After thanking me and talking about his own flirtations with becoming a minister of some sort, he asked, “So you must have known Dusty pretty well. I’m surprised we’ve never met before.”
I felt my face get hot. I had been outed. I stammered, “Well, um, actually, I never met her.”
“But… How… How did you know all those things? You NEVER met her? How could you have… I don’t…”
“Well, I met with her husband and stepsons and we spent a lot of time talking about the essence of her personality and some of the defining moments of her life. Doug and I traded a few emails and had a few in-person conversations about her. The gave me a tour of their house and even took me out to dinner at their favorite restaurant. And, you know, I’m a writer. But most importantly, I prayed really hard.”
Since then I’ve lost count of the number of times that Doug has told me how awesome the service was. And it was. I’m grateful to God for the opportunity to help bring some people, most importantly Dusty’s husband and sons, a few steps further along in their journey through grief. I felt on Sunday like I was doing exactly what I was made to do.
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:) 
