This is sort of the inverse of that classic Hugh Grant comedy, Four Weddings and a Funeral. If you haven’t seen that movie, I’d highly recommend it. It was made at a time when movies still tried to tell stories in addition to making you laugh.
If you haven’t seen it, I won’t spoil it for you by saying that the funeral in that film punctuated the whole story. It served as a reminder of just how important those four new beginnings really were and that they shouldn’t be taken for granted.
My wife and I are not at the age where funerals are a regular occurrence. The first one that we went to recently was for the 90-something mother of a good friend of ours. Connie was her name, and she lived a very good, long, and happy life. She was close to family physically and socially right up until the end. That was important.
I got to know Connie myself because she was our next-door neighbor for a time. As a guy, I don’t have a full appreciation for these things, but she always seemed to impress my wife and the women in her life by insisting on wearing heels into her 90s.
The second funeral was one month ago for a high school classmate of mine, who died from a combination of things, but pneumonia dealt the decisive blow. His name was Cecil, and he was our school’s star basketball player back in the day. I was never particularly close to him, though we did hang out together a good bit during the school day in between classes during breaks.
I’d see him periodically at mini reunions put together by one of our best friends who has a sports bar. Thinking about Cecil after he died, seeing his family, and reading his obituary, I realized how much of his story I’d never known, but what I did know – that he was a genuinely good guy – was spot-on. He lived a good life, differently than Connie, but there were no small number of people shedding tears during his memorial service.
The third funeral was several months ago, and it was as sad and tragic as it gets. You’re not supposed to outlive your kids, but another high school friend of mine just did. His son, who was in his 20s, died suddenly and unexpectedly. As I learned, it took him a bit, but he had gotten his life on track and was doing really well. He was the single father of a toddler boy.
His whole family was proud of what he was doing with his life, and particularly how involved he was with his son. For the time he had on this earth, if he wasn’t working, he spent every possible minute with his little boy.
The fourth funeral is this coming week. A very good friend of ours named Tammy died, and as I write this, the family is making arrangements. This was not sudden or unexpected. She waged a five-year battle against cancer. I could always tell when my wife was on the phone with Tammy because of how much she laughed.
We got to know her and her husband when our kids were in kindergarten and T-ball together, and have been friends ever since — fundraisers, campfires in the yard, Christmas parties, Cub Scout overnights, birthday parties, and more.
The part of Pennsylvania where we raised our kids is predominantly blue. Tammy and Jim weren’t just friends for us, but an ideological refuge. Tammy was America First to the core, a true patriot, a perfect friend. She left a lasting impact on us all.
The wedding is one we’re planning for one of our kids. Our son is getting married next year, and we’re now getting re-acquainted with the way weddings are done these days. The last one we had in our family happened during the COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns. We had the wedding outdoors and improvised so that we could have as large a wedding as possible to defy Pennsylvania’s Gov. Tom Wolf back then. He only allowed gatherings of 25 people or fewer indoors. So even our rehearsal dinner was limited to up to 25 people in the same room, which included event staff.
Our solution was to have what amounted to an outdoor block party at a private venue that wasn't made for weddings. With a lot of elbow grease and some creativity, we pulled off a wedding with an excess of 125 people, and not one of them wore a mask or caught the virus that week. To be sure, it was unconventional.
This time around we expect to follow the more traditional steps of wedding planning. Still, we’re the groom’s family, so as my sister once told me, “All you have to do is get your tux and show up on time.”
It’s a little more involved than that this time, but I realize how different it is if you’re the bride’s family. To be honest, I’m already looking past the wedding. That’s just one day, but what I’m really looking forward to is that new beginning. Sometimes all it takes is just one wedding, the birth of one grandchild, or a new start that helps you move forward in spite of some losses.
We never forget the people we lose. Sometimes we couldn't forget if we tried. But you learn to fill the void they left in their wake with something as basic as “appreciation.” Take nothing for granted. Enjoy everything, including at times the struggle.
Be grateful for having known those you've lost, and be grateful for all of the new possibilities a single wedding can bring.
