By Linda Goodman
©Linda Goodman August 8, 2017
Today I attended a funeral
for the sister of one of my fellow church members. As part of the service, the minister asked for
those who knew the deceased to share a memory about her. Some lovely, heartfelt
moments came from those memories. They warmed my heart.
When I was 13, my baby sister
Evelyn’s best friend, Ann, lost her father to a heart attack. I escorted
Evelyn, who was 11 years old at the time, to the funeral at the Methodist
church that was just across the street from our house apartment building.
Besides Ann and the woman she
lived with, Evelyn and I were the only ones there. Ann had been taken from her
mother after her mother had gone on a drunk and had set her own bed on fire. Rather
than take Ann in, her father paid a women to take care of her. Ann lived in the
woman’s home. Her father picked her up every Saturday morning and brought her
back to the woman’s house just after dark. Often he invited Evelyn and me to spend
the day with them. He told my father that he had no idea what to do with a
child, and that having Evelyn and me along for the day took a lot of pressure
off of him.
Ann’s Father would always buy
us lunch. Afterwards we might go to a movie or a ballgame, but usually we just
spent the day in the bowling alley, where beer was served freely. Before he
took us home, he bought us chocolate milkshakes and treated himself to one more
beer.
I cried when no one came to
his funeral, but I was crying for Ann; not him. He was Ann’s only family, and Ann
loved him more than anything else in the world. I knew she was scared. I was
scared for her! Did her daddy have a fund set up to take care of her? If he did
not, how would the woman who cared for Ann get paid? Would she still take care
of Ann if she did not get paid?
I also knew that Ann was
devastated that no one, other than Evelyn and me, had come to his funeral. She
thought that her daddy had lots of friends at his work. She was so distraught
that I could not help but feel her pain. I made a vow right then and there that
I would do everything in my power to go to the funerals of the people that I
knew. I would go for their families, assuring them that their loved ones were
special people who would be remembered with honor, respect and love.
When my own father died, my
biggest fear was that no one would come to his funeral. On the evening of
August 10, 1987, the hospital had called me at my parents’ apartment to let me
know that my father, who had suffered from multiple myeloma for 11 months, had
passed away. I called my brothers and my
sister. We all gathered together with my
mother, trying to imagine our family without its anchor. Tears flowed freely at first. All we could see was darkness.
I need not have worried about
people coming to the funeral. The chapel in the funeral home was full. This
surprised all of us, as my father was not one to socialize. I did not think he
had a lot of friends. Then something amazing happened: the minister extended an
invitation for those in attendance to
share stories about my father. I heard stories about my father that were
completely new to me. Neighbors told about good deeds that he had done on their
behalf, never mentioning his good works to others. Co-workers told stories of
his integrity and kindness.
Then the family chimed in. My
brother Lee told the story about how my father had once gotten his foot stuck
in my mother’s favorite coffee pot. Then
I told the story of the time that Daddy thought the preacher was the Fuller
Brush man. My brother-in-law Donald told
about how he and Daddy had saved a neighbor woman from an ax murderer. My sister
Evelyn told about the day Daddy had just walked right on into the wrong house
to wait for my brother Lee to come home. My brother Allen told about the time
Daddy had made delicious biscuits, but had not checked the measuring cup
first. Our biscuits were filled with
screws, nuts, and bolts. Suddenly the tears were replaced by laughter, and the
image of our father suffering in that hospital bed was vanquished. The stories enabled us to celebrate the
strong and vital man that he had been, the man whom we were blessed to call
father.
I will continue to keep my
vow and give comfort and support whenever someone I know loses a loved one. I
pray that you will do the same. No one should have to be alone when a loved one
is taken away. A kind word is always appreciated. Heartfelt memories are
golden.
