We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
We got together - friends, cousins, relatives, etc from all over the country for my father-in-law's funeral down in New Jersey for a few days. Montclair is pleasant.
Roman Catholic funeral Mass in their family church (had not been there since marrying), then trooped through charming Paterson to the cemetery to bury the ashes, then a fine buffet lunch with an open bar of course - and my daughters made a slide show. Spend a few days mostly with all of my wife's mostly Irish relations. A jolly crew. They all loved the old shanachie, who would have been 97 this week.
It was a family and friends reunion. Had some of my sibs and my grandkids there too, which makes things perfect.
For the Mass, you must do approved readings and sing approved songs. My son did the eulogy and my daughters did the readings. At the lunch, people stood up and told stories. So good and right. Celebratory of a well-lived life.
Many readers know this tear-jerker which is mostly scriptural lines:
Good to hear the old fellow got a fine, traditional send-off. But make sure that the family gets together for more than just funerals, eh?
#1
Mike Anderson
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2024-04-14 10:29
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Several months ago I attended the funeral of a Sephardic Jew, born in Morocco. She lived to 88 with an active life, until she fell and fractured her wrist four months before she died. The rabbi made a double-good contribution to the funeral, with his singing- excellent voice- and his talk on the deceased, which could not have been improved on. “Oh yes, that’s just how she was.” To listen to songs/chants that are thousands of years old places one in history.
After the funeral, we went to her home for a Moroccan buffet, with rum and coke on the side, for those who wished to imbibe. I had helped chop vegetables the day before. At the dinner I played an Edith Piaf song on my boombox, which to me characterized her and was of her generation. She had grown up in Morocco speaking Arabic and French. Edith Piaf - Non, je ne regrette rien. Coincidentally, the previous year I had found in the remainder bin at Half Price Books a CD of Raquel Bitton singing Edith Piaf songs. Bitton was my friend’s maiden name.