The Stranger at Your Funeral

 

The Stranger at Your Funeral

2015

When I read the obituaries in the New York Times, I often feel a pang of envy. Not that I want to be dead, nor do I want the recognition these famous people have earned. I am awed by the many accomplishments listed in their life stories. Each (inventor, philanthropist, teacher, survivor, author, scientist, or artist) has left behind a lasting legacy. I stop and think, how will I be remembered? What have I accomplished? 

As an ordinary person, I don’t think I will ever be honored with an obituary in a large city newspaper. But, having attended many funerals, I am hoping that, when my time comes, at least one stranger will show up at my funeral. 

Some years ago, my sweet Uncle Val passed away unexpectedly. Val had served in the military and worked as an engineer. He loved his wife and three children and cooking. Still in shock at his funeral, we stood in line to comfort his family. My husband and I noticed a group of older folks, some with white canes and many with walkers, waiting in line behind us. We didn’t recognize them as family members, so we asked them how they knew my uncle. “Oh,” they said, “he was our driver.” 

When Uncle Val retired, he wanted to do something to keep busy. He took a part-time job driving the senior transport bus in his town. He took his job seriously and took good care of his riders, walking those frail to and from their doors, passing the time of day, learning names, and asking about ailments. He became their friend. He was a quiet man, so he never mentioned these things to his family, but the riders remembered. They came to honor this man who had loved them well. 

Every one of us has an opportunity to help someone, to be kind, to make a difference. Val might have just opened and closed the bus door. Taking time to speak to people, to listen to their needs, to lend a helping hand might slow you down, but the time is never wasted. Someone’s spirits will be lifted. Someone will feel valued. Someone will remember. 

When my father died, I stood in the family line welcoming friends and family to his funeral service. I was touched by so many who came to honor him. My brothers gave wonderful tributes about the kind of father he was. His friends spoke of his compassion and gentleness. His grandchildren honored his memory by singing his favorite Broadway show tunes. All these things warmed my heart. 

About a month after my father left us, after we had all gone home and back to our daily activities, a man showed up at the door of my parents’ home. He was the cab driver who had taken my father to his regularly scheduled doctors’ appointments. When he heard the sad news, the cabbie burst into tears. He hugged my mother and they wept together. 

This is the stranger at your funeral. The person who has been touched by your life in some way you may never imagine. While we are still here, let us gather these strangers. We won’t be there to meet them, they may never even know of our passing, but if we can enrich one life, we will never be forgotten. 

How Musicals Shaped My Life

 

How Musicals Shaped My Life

2015

I grew up in a Broadway musical. No, my parents were not actors or professional singers. Life was a musical for them. From my earliest days music filled the house. My father built his own stereo system and kept an extensive collection of albums — all Broadway musicals. He played them, we sang them, and sometimes, we lived them.

Most days were happy. Raindrops were on roses and whiskers were on kittens and life was good.  Sometimes dark shadows hovered over us and we would “Whistle a happy tune and every single time, the happiness in that tune” convinced us that we should not be afraid.

Our family kept expanding swelling our chorus to ten. When finances were tight, we sang “If I Were a Rich Man,” thankful that, although our family resembled his in size, we were much better off than Tevye of The Fiddler on the Roof. We knew that, “Wonder of Wonders, miracle of miracles,” we had a faith that would uphold and sustain us. 

My sister Maria was named after the song in West Side Story. Whenever the phone rang when she was a teenager, we sang out Mariiiia! Of course we also serenaded her with “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?” from The Sound of Music. We threatened to have it played at her wedding. (We did not.)

We knew we could “Dream the Impossible Dream,” like Don Quixote and “Climb Every Mountain” to overcome any obstacle. Nothing would “Rain on Our Parade.” If ever there was “Trouble in River City:” we knew that, “The sun will come out tomorrow.” We believed in a magical place called “Camelot.” 

As we stepped out into the world and found romance, we dreamed big. “Tonight, tonight, I’ll see my love tonight, and for us stars will stop where they are.” We knew that, “Some Enchanted Evening” we would meet that “Wonderful Guy.” The first words my future husband said to me were “Shall We Dance?”

We continued to sing when we started our own families. “The Soliloquy” from Carousel came in very handy with “my little girl, pink and white as peaches and cream is she.  My little girl is half again as bright as girls were meant to be.” Maria sang ” Food Glorious Food” when she placed a tasty meal in front of her brood. My brother Joseph amused his boys with “Happy, Happy, Happy, Happy Talk” from South Pacific. Carla, who as a teen played Jesus Christ Superstar continuously on our eight-track player, asked her kids “What’s the buzz, tell me what’s a-happening?” Paul taught his children that “You’ve Gotta Have Heart” when striving for a goal. Michael reminded his kids that you never know when the “Wells Fargo Wagon” will bring “Something Wonderful” your way.  

They say that music hath charms to soothe the savage breast. Music gives joy, uplifts, perhaps even guides and protects you when you keep it in your heart  and remember to keep the people you share it with in your heart too. With music, and your family, in your heart you will “Never Walk Alone.”