This August seems to be funeral season for many members of my community. We’ve all been through a long moratorium on in- person funerals, and in-person weddings too for that matter. Respecting the danger of Covid we’d not wanted to wipe out entire families or neighborhoods by creating a covid super spreader when someone died. Though I would never have predicted it, having to attend memorials and funerals online has given us many gifts – with the main one being that such a thing is even possible. I find myself enjoying collaborating with colleagues this week on creating an online memorial event to honor and remember loved ones gone from our sight since last year’s International InterPlay Leaders’ Gathering. I know from having done this in past years that we’ll be learning more about one another as we share the stories of those who’ve enriched our lives and our organization’s life over the years.
You can’t beat the convenience. No travel costs of time and money. The computer is a handy tool to put together photos and music for the ceremony. Break out rooms have caused us to change their name to “connection rooms” for small group gatherings. The gallery view enables a visceral connection with the larger community for people gathered on the screen so that we experience being in attendance together. Those years of desperate times have resulted in creative measures which are providing benefits to us now. Even as we open back up to in- person events, hybrid versions of ceremonies as have been happening with church services, promise to become the best way to make events accessible to all.
Despite such conveniences, I am grateful for the reinstatement of in person funerals. All funerals are reminders of our own inevitable demise. “Don’t ask for whom the bell toils, it tolls
for thee.” Such awareness correlates to increased appreciations and gratitude for whatever time we, the living, have left. We don’t get to know how a life turns out until it ends, so details brought to life at an elder’s memorial can provide inspiration and encouragement. Next week is the funeral of a neighbor that I didn’t get to know as well as I would have liked. Attending her memorial will give me a fuller view of all that she was, not just the small sliver of her that I am familiar with. As I’m already learning of the many people whose lives she impacted, I’m confident her life will inspire me further to keep on my own path towards a life well-lived.
I look forward to attending the in-person funeral of a member of my Pittsburgh InterPlay community next week. Gloria, whose life ended a couple of weeks ago at 98 years young, had
been dismissed from hospice at least once that I was aware of. During the pandemic when she was sequestered in her home with her daughter, the two of them danced on screen in online offerings our troupe created on the theme of the Art of Grieving. Thanks to the gift of technology, I have a recording of their duet and plan to share it with her daughter. Her beauty and grace live on in the memories of all of us who danced and created art with her.
Like most people, I have been at the funeral of someone whose life ended before they had the opportunity to live it fully. When the stories are too big for individual bodies to hold, there is no substitute for people showing up in person, no better comfort than the presence of real people, taking time out of their busy schedules to create a communal container to hold the pain and tragedy experienced by those left behind. As we sit in silence together, or meditate, or pray, or sing, or stand in line to offer condolences, or cry, or dabble at our tears or those of another, or shake hands or hug the mourners, or recount our recollections of the deceased–we become one as witnesses, companions, and part of an energy field not commonly found at many other gatherings. I would say its name is LOVE.
