You might be wondering how someone gets into the funeral speaking circuit. Or you might be wondering why someone who isn't a minister or priest would volunteer for such a role. I was thinking about both of those questions on Tuesday morning when I put the final touches on the words I was going to share in a few hours. I was beginning to wish I hadn't accepted the role. It would be easier to just sit in the congregation with everyone else. This one was going to be hard.
I'm one of the few people, it seems, who doesn't have the # 1 fear of most adults, the fear of public speaking. Whether extemporaneously or in a prepared speech, speaking in front of groups has always been easy for me. It's how I've made my living much of the time. That being said, there is nothing easy about speaking at the funeral of a loved one. Walking through your own grief while attempting to eulogize a brother or parent can be a little dicey.
Here's a sampling of the funerals I've spoken at:
- At my brother-in-law's service in 1993, where I spoke without preparation along with several others.
- When my wife's mother died two weeks after we were married in 1997, and she asked me to represent her family and give the eulogy.
- In 2002, I delivered the eulogy at my dad's services, ironically at the same mortuary where my brother's visitation was held this week. That was a tough one to deliver.
- When our daughter-in-law passed away from lupus in 2010, my step-son Mike asked me to facilitate her services which were held outdoors in El Cajon, CA. It was the least I could do.
- Same thing at my sister Katie's services which were held at a mortuary in Queens, NY in 2011. I facilitated the service and delivered the eulogy.
And I probably would have done more of the same when our mother passed in 2012, except she didn't have any services. That's another story for another day.
In all those situations, there were points in the deliver where I was almost overcome by emotion, choking back tears and yet, pressing ahead. I was always able to hold it together enough to deliver the message intended to honor the lost loved one and comfort those who were sitting in front of me. And when family and friends tell you afterwards that your words touched them and helped them through their grief, I've experienced a feeling of gratitude and usefulness that is deeply meaningful.
When we arrived in San Diego last weekend, I was expecting to sit this one out. Tony was having a Catholic mass at his home parish and everything was planned. But when Tony's wife mentioned that there was an opportunity for someone to speak for about 5 minutes just before the closing of the Mass, and would I be interested, I'd said yes. Again. It was least I could do for her. And for my brother.
As soon as I said "yes", my mind immediately began to sketch out the message, even before I sat down to write it out. And for the next day a half, I was writing his eulogy in my mind, in between visiting with family, dining out and going for a run in the beautiful San Diego weather. Finally, I got my Ipad out and began to write out the 5 minute message I was going to deliver.
At Tony's visitation on Monday afternoon, I met the woman who was coordinating the services. She reminded me that 5 minutes was enough time and offered a piece of advice. "No fishing stories." Apparently some eulogizers have told fishing stories. I politely thanked her and said I would keep my words in the right context.
Tony's funeral was held in a modern Catholic church where the altar is open and slightly elevated. His parish priest who led the Mass had a warm and comforting manner. Just after communion, he introduced me as the family member who was going to share some words about Tony.
With Ipad in hand, I stood up from my pew and immediately could feel the emotion welling up inside me. Oh boy, breathe deep. Breathe. I noticed that each of the lay people who had delivered readings, paused momentarily at the edge of the altar and bowed their head before stepping up to the lectern. I did the same and took another deep breath. Then I calmly (on the outside) stepped up to the lectern, opened my Ipad where my words were written, and delivered the eulogy.
I think I spoke for about 5 minutes, maybe a little more. The hardest part was the last 4 sentences.
"So rest in peace, little brother. You lived a blessed life. You made us all better people. And your faith will live on inside all of us."
I lost count of the people who told me afterwards how much my words meant to them. Several asked me what I did for a living. Most meaningful were those who said I captured the essence of who Tony was. And the words of gratitude from Tony's wife, Patti, and daughter Laura, will stay with me forever.
The women who told me "no fishing stories" caught me outside the church and said it was the best eulogy she'd ever heard delivered in that church. Good thing Tony didn't love fishing, I thought.
It was never my intention to be a funeral speaker. It is not my intention to find another funeral to speak at. But you never know when an opportunity to be of service will present itself. And if that opportunity presents itself, I'll take a deep breath and step up to the podium. It's the least I can do for those I love and who love me back. And it's the least I can do as an expression of gratitude for the gifts I've been given
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