It’s a Funeral Not a Wedding

Some may read this and think — enough already. Three months out — time to move on. Do you really want to relive that tender time all over again?

Yes, as a matter of fact I do. To have done it any sooner, well, I just couldn’t. Feelings were too raw; I didn’t want to revisit that trying time. But now, looking back, I think it deserves some attention because, while it was a sorrowful time, I believe it was done in such a way that I think Mike would have liked. I want to remember it in detail and fondly.

In those overwhelming days after his death there were so many details to attend to, and I remember daughter Mollie saying, “This is like planning a wedding but you have just three days to do it.” I actually do wonder how we did it. Mike and I hadn’t done much preplanning. Thankfully, some of his comments in that green notebook gave a little guidance. And we had written down his preferences for pallbearers. I also remember telling him that I was certain our daughters would take charge and plan a beautiful service. They came through with flying colors.

Mollie seized the task of writing the obituary which I will forever hold close. We had made the advance decision that we both wanted to be cremated. So no need for a casket, right? Wrong. Upon further discussion, the girls and I decided it was fitting to have the body available for viewing but in a way that we thought Mike would have preferred. The casket would be open at the back of the church during the visitation and briefly before the funeral Mass. I’m glad we decided to do that. Certainly, Mike never wanted to be the center of attention, but I believe seeing him one last time brought closure for the many who attended the services. And yes, it was important for me, too. As wretched as I felt, I, too, needed to see him one last time.

At the visitation the night before the funeral, we each decided to make some remarks. Thinking back, I’m not sure why I felt it was important, but I did and even though it was difficult (I didn’t break down and cry) it felt good remembering some moments we had shared together and how he had been such a supporter in my life.

Like the countless hours he spent putting up yard signs (then taking them down) during my run for the Legislature. He was, as I told those gathered, quite simply, “The Wind Beneath My Wings.

Jill proffered her sincere thank you to those gathered. “It warms my heart to know how many of your lives he has touched and how many memories there are of him that you all have and hold dear.”

Ever upbeat Mollie recalled a REALLY good dad who tolerated his daughters’ antics — to a point. “Like taking off the handles of our doors when Jill and I would slam them one too many times.”

Son-in-law John, now with his own two daughters, said Mike taught him how to be a “girl dad,” with his own version of thoughtfulness and discipline, and how he “took him under his wing” to integrate him into the family business and the community.

Each of us, in our own way, said what Mike meant to us and our family. Jill and Mollie had written down their comments; John and I talked off the cuff. But all were recorded for posterity in the video Levander Funeral Home did for us.

In his green notebook, Mike seemed adamant about the Warren Zevon song “Keep Me in Your Heart for Awhile” being sung at his funeral. All eyes were on our grandson, a high school senior who had developed a love for playing the guitar. But singing? I hadn’t heard him sing. With the guidance and love of his mother, our daughter Jill, River came through, playing and singing the song at the visitation. I was spellbound and was absolutely certain Mike was smiling.

But selecting songs for the funeral Mass the following day was a different story. For the last 40 years I have played for and organized music for countless funerals. This one was too close to home. I was at a loss. The choir stepped in with all the necessary hymns and sang beautifully. It was Jill, however, who made the best decision for the closing hymn. As I left the church, supported on both sides by my daughters, we heard Michael, Row The Boat Ashore. I cried mightily, but with a big smile on my face.

Another feature we requested was a military funeral. Mike’s service in the Navy was important to him, but we weren’t sure what a military funeral entailed. Even though Cedar Rapids is a small town, we have a very dedicated American Legion Post. They would be part of the funeral procession before and after the service. When we emerged from the church after the service, what I saw took my breath away.

The local Legion Post stood at attention and were surrounded by a group called The Freedom Riders, veterans who travel on their motorcycles to funerals of fellow veterans. Also present, standing before the casket were two members of the Navy Honor Guard who carefully folded the flag and presented it to me. All of this followed by the gun salute and playing of taps.

A few days later, with immediate family still here, we had a private ceremony for the inurnment. Some of the ashes have been saved for a later time, and the headstone will come later. But our granddaughters made sure there was an appropriate marker in the interim.

As I think back to those trying days before, during and after the funeral, there are so many people who stepped up to help in unimaginable but important ways. The funeral director who is a high school classmate and dear friend of our daughter lovingly helped us through arrangements. Our Catholic priest, Father Mark, gave such comforting words during the funeral Mass. That’s another reason I needed to relive the occasion, because at the time his words were a blur. Now rehearing, I receive a great deal of peace, believing in the message of eternal life.

So many friends, so many members of the community and beyond showed up to say they cared. It reminded me just how important sharing ones grief is; it marks an ending but it also begins the healing process. I honestly don’t know how one does it alone.

Maybe it’s a result of COVID, but it appears some families are foregoing a formal funeral celebration for the passing of a loved one. Certainly circumstances vary, and I even thought at one time that I wouldn’t want a funeral for myself. But Mike’s funeral was a necessary process for me. Like the warm blanket he gave me, I savored comments people made about their memories of Mike. I read and reread notes and cards sent. I took photos of beautiful floral arrangements. They filled my heart and gave me peace.

Mike lived his final days with style and grace, and we did the same as we said goodbye to him as in Jill’s closing remarks at the visitation:

May the road rise to meet you,

May the wind be at your back,

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

The rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Rest easy, our quiet man, rest easy. I love you.