21 March 2006

Are memorial services really worth it?

Found myself in Connecticut last weekend for a memorial service. Not one I especially wanted to attend. A ten-hour round-trip drive is not high on my list of recreational pursuits. Though we held a funeral for my mother-in-law the week before Christmas, the folks attending the service were my brother-in-law’s family’s friends and acquaintances, not my father-in-law’s. Dad needed to process with his friends in the Connecticut church he and Mom attended for years.

Three pastors participated in the service. Friends from three churches attended. Sounds like a lot, but there were about 100 people who came to support Dad and the family. One of my nieces needs to talk to someone: she’s still stuck on the day of her grandmother’s death.

Grief takes time to work through, and we exhibit it in different ways. Most people think of the deceased in the post positive terms possible. I found myself wondering (at times) who the speakers were talking about! They all assumed the best of Mom. And I don’t want to take away from their memories. But the person I grew to know exhibited two personas: one in public and one in private.

Mom is now completely healed of her physical ailments as well as the emotional wounds she never addressed. The result is her children and grandchildren must now face the legacy of those scars.

1 comment:

Chris said...

Sorry I missed the service. I thought it was on Sunday. My prayers have been with all of you. I only knew the public persona. She was kind to me when I was growing up so was he.

I understand what you are saying. Last year I attended a service for a HS friends mom. I sat there listening to people talking about her in glowing terms. Wonderful mother did for anyone Pure kind heart. I watched my friend during this service and as she dabbed her eyes from time to time I wondered if there was so healing that happened over the last year of the mothers life.

She told me later she was crying because she wished the women they all talked about was the women who had raised her. She wished the picture perfect family that was described was hers. This description of the picture perfect family came during a service that had the father in the front pew alone. My friend was several rows behind him and her brother was several rows behind me. No one seemed to notice that the picture perfect family didn't even sit together. Each is now left to deal with the scars being a member of that family has left on them.