A Good Time Was Had By All

I realized after the last entry that I wasn't done with funerals. 

I was reading my email yesterday and a friend sent me a very funny list entitled "A Black Funeral."  Not your typical topic for humor, but it made me laugh out loud.  I don't think that my people have any particular ownership of, shall we say, extravagant behavior at funerals, but the first rule of writing is write what you know.

In addition to visiting funeral homes, my grandmother also attended quite a few funerals.  This was different from her visits to funeral homes as she only attended the funerals of people that she actually knew.  On occasion, I accompanied her to a funeral.

Invariably, it would be in the summer; you could see the heat rising from the asphalt as we rode along the highway.  In the age of the megachurch, it's hard to conceptualize that there was a time when churches did not have a/c, not even in the south. 

In an attempt to make the heat bearable, all of the church windows would be open; however, none of the windows had screens.  Flies, bees, and the occasional wasp would freely engage the congregation in a frenzy of hand waving and flailing about that culminated in a loud swat every now and then.

The deceased, displayed in an open casket at the front of the church, was not spared assault by the kamikaze insects.  Sometimes one of the church ladies would take it upon herself to fan the corpse if it was under vigorous attack.

I was absolutely fascinated with the church ladies. There would be several women at the funeral dressed like nurses. This was in the days when nurses wore only white and a Florence Nightingale starched hat on their heads. 

They would station themselves at the front of the church, near the family, looking very competent and professional as they stood on alert.  Sometimes their duties began with the procession of the family of the deceased into the church. Generally, the family members line up outside and enter the church two by two after the other guests have been seated.  This allows the guests to get a good view of all family members which comes in handy when you are discussing the funeral after everything is done.

"Did you see that skirt?  If it had been any shorter, you could have seen her draws!"

"I can't believe that she had the nerve to line up with the family.  Just because he was her baby's daddy did not mean she should have shoved her way in front of his wife!"

"Somebody must have lied to her and told her that hat looked good!"

In the course of this solemn procession into the church, some family member (always female) would become emotionally distressed, manifested by shouting the name (or nickname) of the deceased very loudly and calling on the name of the Lord.

"Big Boy...Big Boy...Lord oh Lord...Big Boy...Lord!"

The ladies in white would move in to action, catching her before she hit the floor, grabbing an elbow on each side and escorting her to a seat of prominence on the first pew of the section reserved for the family.  One would continue to pat her shaking shoulders while another provided her with a cool breeze courtesy of a fan on a wooden stick with Jesus on one side and the funeral home logo on the other.

After the pastor delivered a stirring eulogy, others would be invited to provide testimonials as to the good character of the deceased, a sort of church house open mike.  At one funeral that my mother attended, the long time companion of the dead woman had a few drinks before the 11:00 am funeral.  Holding on to the podium he proclaimed that the deceased was a real bitch most of the time but,"She was my bitch and I loved her!"

The ringing testimonials would often elicit loud wailing followed by a fainting spell. The church nurses, ever vigilant, would swoop down and provide comfort and fanning to the distraught. 

But the real mettle of the church nurses was tested at the grave side service.  In the hushed silence of the cemetery, the pastor would begin to offer a few final words before the unfortunate soul was finally laid to rest.  As he continued to speak, the sounds of audible crying would crescendo and then wane repetitively.  Then someone would continue to get louder, never waning, evolving into a wail.

"Grab her, somebody grab her!"

Whipping into action, the ladies in white would surround the target, who by this point was shouting and struggling to reach the open grave.

"I want to go with him! Lord, Big Boy, I can't live without you.  Let me go with him! Lord Jesus!"

The church ladies would hold on tightly, wrestling the wailing woman to the ground if necessary.

As a child, I innocently believed that they were real nurses.  It was only when I got older that I discovered that none of them had ever been near a nursing school.  Still, they were very good at their jobs. I've always wondered what would have happened if they would have simply turned her loose.