Celebrating with Funerals

There was a funeral in the ward today – a man I didn’t actually know.  But Roland was presiding and asked me to be there.  The funeral did not start until 12:00 and yet I had been asked to be there at 11:00.  I still don’t know why.

So while I was there I started reminiscing over some other funerals I have attended during my lifetime. I have attended well over 40 funerals (perhaps more than 50) during my lifetime.  I don’t say that to boast – it’s just always been part of my existence.  As a result, I have always been surprised by the ignorance of others who find themselves in a situation of having to make funeral arrangements and not having a clue as how to go about it.

Death takes place all the time.  It happens all around us – I suppose for some more than others.  And each culture/religion views death differently and there are just as many funeral ceremonies as there are ways of dying.

For some cultures it is considered disrespectful for those attending to wear anything but white.  For others, black is the acceptable mournful color.  For the LDS member/funeral, the tradition is to dress in the same attire worn to Church on Sunday.

When Roland’s uncle (who’s not LDS) passed away, I had packed a black dress – though not a solid black dress.  It was gingham with large faded flowers – something I have worn to Church.  I don’t think his family was happy with what I had chosen to wear as his mother led me into her room and held out a couple of dark skirts and told me I could wear one of hers. 

Never mind that Roland’s mother is quite a bit shorter than I and any skirt that she had may have barely covered my bottom. It was 30 degrees warmer in Arizona than in Utah.  I was already hot in my “casual” summer dress.  I distinctly remember that one of the skirts was made out of wool – I’m allergic to wool.  As hot as I already was, I might as well just wear a trench coat and be just as uncomfortable.  And why would anybody own wool clothing while living in Arizona anyway?  I was the only adult wearing a dress.

For me, going to a funeral means you’re supporting your living friends whose loved one have passed on.  I normally don’t go to funerals if the only one that I know is the one in the casket.
 

I was once asked to drive my grandmother to a funeral that took place in another county.  I didn’t even know the deceased or any of his family – just my grandmother.  She didn’t really know the deceased all that well but had wanted to support the mother of the one who had passed. But at the funeral, I learned a bit about the deceased.  And after the funeral, I knew the deceased just as well as grandma did.

I have been to a handful of non-LDS funerals, but for the most part, the funerals that I have attended have been LDS conducted – usually in the chapel where we hold meetings on Sunday.  And I like LDS funerals.  For the most part, I think they pay excellent tribute to the one who is deceased.

The funerals I enjoy the most celebrate life.  The speakers consist of friends and/or family (family members are best!) who relate stories about the deceased.

I had the opportunity to speak at my great grandmother’s funeral, my grandmothers, and my dad’s.  I really enjoyed my dads.

The program addressed "farewell services" rather than "funeral services" I talked about dad’s early life up until he married.  Patrick took over celebrating my dad’s life as a father and patriarch.  We played Corey’s voice reciting his poem (found here)  which he later set to music.  And Kayla sang Amy Grant/Gary Chapman’s “Father’s Eyes”. 

I remember attending another funeral for a former neighbor (only about four years older than I) and his four children spoke at his and put their dad on a pedestal and really honored his accomplishments.  It was great!

Besides the funeral itself, there is the Relief Society who will bring casserole dishes, baked potatoes, side dishes, rolls and desserts (so the family and friends of the deceased can eat after returning from the burial) I remember lots of sign up sheets being passed around in my last ward.  Seems there were always three funerals in less than three months.  It became overwhelming at times (I’m sure for the RS presidency especially) I remember doing baked potatoes and salads and one dessert.  Today I took Calico Beans. 

Ode to David Smith

We all know a

David Smith such a

common name 

In my case you were

the boy next door

middle child

your mom and

my mom showed

pregnant bellies

three times the

same time – well maybe

just two and a half.

Tow headed blonds

we both were

neighborhood games

and school

Your family had

the only trampoline

there for a while

chain linked fence

separated our back yards

we grew

neither of us married

until our late thirtys

you had two daughters

I have one.  Wish we could

have gotten them together

before you passed on

a year ago last month

Your final act of

service happened when

you were only 49.  You

were in the basement of

your parents up 
on the ladder I believe 
and you lost your balance 
or your footing

and you fell and left this

earth life. 

Your family will keep your

memory alive and I

hope that your girls may

visit often and learn more about

who you were and

who you are now.

An Act of Service for both parents and children

         Children call her the animal balloon lady as she has brought her pump and balloons to various activities providing the children with a sweet gift to take home (provided it doesn’t pop first)

Noel announced a service that she would be providing for parents to drop off their children for four hours and she would provide snacks for them and a play a holiday movie and provide other activities.  Sounded like a great bargain to me.

          I signed up for Jenna’s sake more than my own.  I figured she’d enjoy the activities and association with whatever fellow classmates might have showed up.

          Noel offered two shifts: 8-12 and 1-5.  I chose the earlier of the two – figuring there would be less children and it wouldn’t be so overwhelming for Noel to have a huge amount of children in her apartment. 

          As it turned out, it was Jenna by herself – which actually worked out to her own benefit as she really does enjoy the one on one.  And when Noel was preoccupied with putting cookies in the oven or cleaning or what have you, Jenna would play with the dogs.  She loves that.  Our own high-maintenance dog doesn’t interact the way some neighboring dogs do.

           How awesome it is to have people like Noel who are willing to provide a service for both the children and the parents who are involved.  Thank you, Noel.  And thank you also to your roommates who allow the children to come into their home also.

The Faith of a Child

          It was 5:30 when we received a frantic knock on the door.  Jenna dismissed herself thinking it was the next door neighbor who had already dismissed himself three times when he did not get his way.  I had thought the same thing – but at the same time it was a more aggressive knock – one of panic not childish play.

          Jorge’s mother had a worried look in her eyes, “Is Jorge here?” she asked hopefully.

          “No, I’m sorry.  I haven’t seen him.  Did he come home from school?”

          “No.”

          Jorge and Jenna don’t even go to the same school.  I had no clue how to help her.  Her cell phone drowned out my question, “How can I help?”

          I worried along with Jorge’s mom.  And Jenna worried with me. 

          “What can we do?” she asked.

          “We can pray.”

          I said the prayer and pondered what to do – I didn’t even know their last name.  Before involving anyone else, I thought it would be better if I had more information to share.

I do know where they live.  So Jenna and I walked over to their house.  Jorge’s mother opened the door – Relieved and Happy.  She’d found Jorge!  I don’t know where he’d been.  The cell phone went off again and she jabbered into it in her native tongue.  Jenna and I excused ourselves. 

          As Jorge’s mother closed the door, Jenna said, “Well, I guess our prayer worked.”

Staying on the Same Page

          Communication is SO important – whether it is the working place, or homes, our churches, our communities . . . and it’s important that we all stay on the same page.  We need consistency. 

          I recall one work place that made egg salad sandwiches.  Some of the workers would put pickles into the mixture, while others refused because they thought it was gross.  I don’t care if the egg salad has pickles or not.  When I am in a working environment I would expect to make the egg salad according to what the customer orders from the menu and expects – not to my own personal preference.  I think when a customer expects a certain product, he or she should receive the same product or courtesy or satisfaction that kept him or her coming back to begin with.

          I know different cooks have their own personalities and styles.  I am a wimp when it comes to anything remotely spicy – and so I have learned (well – back when I was single and had money) to ask which chef is in the kitchen before I place my order for there was one who would use every spice in the kitchen I believe and lots of it, while the other probably was not a favorite among those who really do enjoy authentic Mexican food.  It needs to be consistent.  The recipe must be followed exactly the same in my opinion.

          Food is just a very small issue of what needs to be communicated.  I hate being told one thing by one employee or parent or teacher or representative or what have you and being told something completely different by somebody else.  Opinions are often brought in by individuals who pass on their opinions that others accept as gospel truth – even when it’s not.

          I recall failing a class that I had tried to transfer into.  I was livid when I received a failing grade.  Why couldn’t have anybody said anything to me before hand?  I was on the roles already.  On the school record – but they failed to give it to me on the schedule that was handed out.  You think the teacher would have recognized the name from her rolls when I tried to transfer in.  It did not fly well.  I don’t recall there being any problems in my scheduling after that incident.

          I do have a have a similar situation story to share – only it didn’t happen to me personally.  Just someone I knew. It took place in the MTC (missionary training center) nearly 30 years ago (though I’m sure the same still occurs even now – perhaps not weekly, but maybe once in a while) I’m not including his first name in the story, but the last name is real.

          Elder Lovett had arrived on September 6 because that’s what it said on his papers – only those receiving the missionaries that day were actually not expecting Elder Lovett until the following week.  Fortunately he had his letter and showed them that it was indeed the date he’d been assigned to report.  But because there was an error in communication on whatever part, Elder Lovett hadn’t been assigned a companion (partner) or room or books or what have you.

          Six elders had been assigned to our district.  Four had been assigned to one room designed for four people.  The other two elders were also in a room designed for four – but one side remained empty.  So Elder Lovett was assigned to partner up with the latter two.  Six Elders would be serving in Fresno, California.  Elder Lovett was assigned to West Virginia.

          He shared these events with us during our third class (I think) when once more the instructor would say: “Turn to page H5” (for example) and all of us would turn to the assigned page – including Elder Lovett – but he would never be able to follow along.  I think it must have been during that third class the instructor suggested a page that just didn’t exist among the pages that Elder Lovett’s had in his possession.

          “It’s just my book.  They must have gone to the warehouse and retrieved this off some old dusty shelf.  This is out of date.”  I know for a fact that we have been asked to discard old material as it is updated.  Apparently the books that Elder Lovett had been given weren’t as discarded as they should have been.

          Perhaps his situation prepared him to be a stronger leader.  He definitely understood the importance of communication.  Elder Lovett had his first opportunity as district leader serving with us in the MTC.  He was great – throughout his entire mission I would imagine.  I actually never saw him or heard from him again after leaving the MTC. 

          There is the miscommunication between family members.  Just before Tony got married, I had called Roland’s family to inform them about when the event was scheduled to take place and what might be involved for those waiting outside the temple. 

          I was experiencing problems with my cell phone and had made some remark about my frustration.  Unbeknownst to me, the family had me on speaker phone – and whatever snide remark I made (in regards to my cell phone) somehow was interpreted to mean that I did not want them (mom in particular) to come . . . and whatever it was that I said got blown out of proportion as family members related the events to other family members until I realized that Roland’s brother was slamming him on facebook; his brother was not even a part of the initial family I was calling. 

I noticed one of Roland’s sisters had also been misinformed about the events that would take place when their oldest sister died.  Why not just listen and repeat before we jump the gun on something that was just not communicated correctly?

         

I am grateful to those who do take the time to at least try.  However their attempts to assist are not always profitable when the communication among the employees to employees are even worse than employee to customer. (as I have mentioned in this earlier post) 

Roland is great at having people and communication skills – problem is not all of those he attempts to communicate with possess the same talent.  And that is sad. It’s sad that so many have become and accept ignorance.  Ignorance is NOT professional.

And machines that talk to you instead of a human being?  Oh, don’t even get me started.  Talk about impersonal – and yet it seems that so many business have picked up on it and wreak havoc on the consumer’s life even more. 

Bless the company that gives you a live human being to begin with. Especially when that human is able to communiacate!

The Most Awesome Principal Ever

When I was a youth, the only children that knew the principal were the ones who misbehaved during class.  And the only parents who knew the principal were the parents of the children who acted up.  I never knew my principal.  I knew his name.  I knew what he looked like.  But because the only children, who actually knew him personally, were the “bad” children, I had taught myself to be afraid of my principal. 

Growing up, the principals were always male.  A female principal was unheard of.  As I have checked out schools in ours and surrounding  districts,  I am finding that it is rare to have a male principal – at least over the elementary schools.

Two of the female principals I’ve encountered seem to have sticks up their butts, artificial smiles, and dagger themed tones to their voices.  Not pleasant.  But the principal at Jenna’s present school is so so different from any principal I have ever encountered in my life.

Actually the principal of my elementary school may have been a loving man and didn’t fit the horrifying profile at all – but my thoughts were so much different from being a child than it is today.  It’s too bad that I never understood him or saw him as a person and could only see the terminator that the “bad” children saw.

One thing that I really do like at Jenna’s school is the atmosphere.  I don’t notice tension among the teachers or constant ruthlessness among the children or fear.  I’m not saying it doesn’t exist.  As with other schools, Vantana has had its share of bullying and discipline.  But it’s not just the “bad” children who get to know the principal. 

Mrs. Randolf makes it a point to get to know each and every student in her school.  But not just the students, but every parent as well.  What a challenge!  And yet she really does seem to be able to place over thousands of names to the faces.  And she is such a pleasant woman!

Every Monday at lunch hour “good” and honored students are given the privilege to have lunch with her in the library.  They call this event “bug lunch” though I don’t know why.  How great it is for students to look forward for getting to eat lunch with the principal!  They see her as a human being – someone they can joke with, but can also turn to for serious matters.  I admire that!

So thank you, Mrs. Randolf.  Thank you for all that you do for our children and for the teachers and for the PTO.

Hitler helped me (and Jenna)

I had given her the nickname Hitler because of the way she was barking – trying to keep children in line.  Okay.  I understand a little bit – from personal experience I do know that not ALL children listen.  And sometimes it is necessary to bark to be heard.  But when she barked at me, I was offended.

          I was wearing the visitor name tag – only she hadn’t seen it as it was beneath my coat.  Perhaps she was just having an off day – or maybe I was.  But she didn’t make a good first impression (and maybe neither did I)  Still it was wretched of me to use a same wicked nickname on her that I do for Roland’s ex.  NO ONE deserves that!

          I have repented of my ways.  I no longer refer to her as Hitler.  I think her name is Sarah – or perhaps Sarah is the tot she pushes in the stroller.  Though the Tot was not with her that particular day.  Too cold.

          Now that she has seen me on a weekly basis, she no longer barks.  She is friendly and says “hello” and I say “Hi” back to her.  Sometimes she is so cheerful with her greeting it almost seems as though we’re best friends.  She doesn’t come to the PTO meetings and I’m pretty certain that we do not live in the same city – I’ll have to generate a thoughtful conversation next time I am making copies when school has already started

On Dec 5, I wrote the following:

          “This morning I put my dog in the car – along with Jenna and another classmate I pick up.  Just before Jenna made her tearful exit she asked where her backpack was.  I had had my hands full with my own belongings as we left the house – not to mention the dog and his blanket.  I hadn’t even noticed Jenna’s backpack still on the floor next to the Christmas tree.

          “So I dropped the two kids off, turned around to come home, ran inside to claim Jenna’s backpack and returned to the school parking behind the field (as I knew the front would be crazy) but still had the dog in the car and needed to let him out.

          “Now normally I don’t walk onto school grounds with an animal – but I had to walk to the front in order to get Jenna’s backpack into the school.  So we walked to the front and there was Sarah (without the stroller) greeting me with a smile and asking why the dog didn’t have a coat on. 

          “I held up Jenna’s backpack and said she had forgotten it.  Sarah offered to take it to her and asked for the name of the teacher.  I am very appreciative and hopefully have been humbled a bit realizing that calling her Hitler (though only in my mind) had been so inappropriate.”

Thank you Sarah.  If you happen to be reading this and have figured out our identities – I’m sorry about the nickname.  I have taken it back.

Mr. Ruthless

          Everyday school crossing guards put their lives on the line – whether intentional or not. With the guard at Jenna’s school it is intentional.  Oh, sure,  there is more than one crossing guard, but Mr. Ruthless is stationed at the main street populated with cars and drivers with led feet.

          Drivers might not respect Mr. Ruthless, but I think as I parent I would feel honored to have him as Jenna’s crossing guard (if we were near enough to go on foot) but because my usual route is to drop her off behind the school,  my encounters with Mr. Ruthless have been brief.

          Mr. Ruthless is one who will intentionally put his life on the line.  I am floored whenever I see it happen.  And yet I can’t help feeling a sense of pride that he is seriously willing to lay down his life for our children.  He will walk out into the street and stop as he faces the oncoming traffic with a challenge to either slow down or be sent to prison for plowing him down. He also keeps a pad of paper handy to write down the license plates of anyone going over 20 mph.

          I don’t know if he lost somebody personally due to speed.  My guess is he has.  Or else he is a retired police officer who has just seen too much pain cause by drivers who may never slow down.  He is a good man to have on your team – so long as you are working with him.  But cross him and he becomes your deadly opponent – not in a physical way – but with a vengeance that almost makes you wish that you were.

          At the end of each year, the teachers are honored.  The PTA (or PTO) creates an environment to show respect and appreciation.  I don’t think they have a crossing guard day.  And not everybody has a need for the crossing guard.  But how extremely blessed we are to have crossing guards who will keep our children safe – especially the ones like Mr. Ruthless – who even though can swear provocatively as the speeding drivers and raise his fists and occasionally hit the moving cars with his fists or whatever.  It’s obvious that he knows his priorities and is watching out for our children’s welfare. 

Thank you Mr. Ruthless.  And thank you to all who keep our children safe.