Breaking the ice at a funeral

I wish I knew how much I had blushed after providing unexpected comic relief at the recent funeral for my dear friend's father-in-law. What a great endorsement for my web site … "Monica knows how to break the ice at a funeral …"

I volunteered to create a DVD with photos so that family and friends would be reminded more of Bill's life than his death in this time. Genny had given me photos of her dad-in-law to incorporate in the DVD, and it was so beautiful up on this big screen in the room where the service was held. Everybody was raving about how wonderful it was, and how appropriate the music was that I had selected with care, none of that mundane mourning music.

Genny's brother came up and gave me a hug and thanked me for making the DVD and how it had only two small errors. I immediately panicked. He started laughing when he told me that the very first photo of Bill as a boy WASN'T Bill as a boy. It was his brother. A couple of people around us jumped into the laughter and I couldn't resist joining in. Then the second one, the really BIG one was that Bill's boys were quite sure that it wasn't their mother smooching their dad in a 1940s photo. Even mom who was right there wasn't sure either.

The old, quiet, easily embarrassed me would have run away and never been seen again, but Genny's husband and his brother were also chuckling and thanked me for the comic relief when they hugged me. So, the minister from the hospice gave his remarks at the service while the DVD was still running — without the music — and every time these two images came up on the screen as the DVD looped, anyone who knew the truth had to fight to keep from bursting out laughing as word was spreading of the oops. Nobody was looking at the minister. They were all looking at the screen. During a prayer later, I kept my focus on the photos, which chased away most of the tears. And Genny had a great laugh, too.

And I knew Bill was laughing, because that's the kind of man he was. I had rarely seen him without his oxygen in the decade or so that I had known him, but the clear tubing never hid his smile. He made the BEST apple pies ever, and they always filled the dessert table during the holiday dinners my husband, son and I enjoyed with the family because they always made room for us.

Engaging Bill in conversation was a challenge for me in the beginning. He had a soft, low voice, especially with the oxygen, and you had to get near to make sure you could hear. And I loved to hear his stories, though I had not heard as many as the rest of the family. One day, he shared with me a short, though painful and priceless, glimpse of his memories of World War II and the horrors that he had witnessed.

As I scanned in Bill's US Army photos for the memorial DVD, all I could see was the face of a boy … a young, far too young, man forced to travel half-a-world away to save all the world. I could only imagine his fear and shock when he saw how cruel mankind could be.

This past week, I wondered if that influenced his decision to be an avid gardener in his free time, to find beauty beyond the dirt, to appreciate the bounty of food and radiating color the earth provides. How amazing it is that nature remembers the seasons well and gives us reasons to celebrate the annual planting and harvesting that nourishes our bodies and minds. I was always amazed at those huge hands of his. That must have been just another of Bill's gifts.

Yes, as he tends the heavenly rainbow of colorful flowers in God's garden, Bill has to be smiling. Just tell us this: Who's that you're smooching in the photo?

That's Breaking the Ice at a Funeral 101.