Category Archives: Remembering

The Funeral Guest Book

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No one really likes to attend wakes and funerals. It’s difficult to know what to say to the family, and its awkward walking up to a casket to look at a once living, vibrant person whose soul is now long gone. Often guests will say, “Oh, she looks wonderful,” or “He looks just like he’s sleeping.” Attempting to negate the presence of death is futile, but we all hate it enough to try.

As I’ve approached a funeral parlor in the past, I’ve dreaded stepping into the room where the dead body is present. I feel better once I see the lighted podium with a guest book and pen on it. Somehow signing the book is a moment of normalcy in an otherwise tense event, and I’ve taken my time there.

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At Nate’s funeral two weeks ago today, I watched as people approached the guest book with its pretty pen and white floral arrangement nearby. I knew how everyone felt as they entered and gratefully bent over the book before moving further into the room, and I looked forward to reading each signature.

This week I finally got my chance. Every night as I crawled into bed, I sat with the book on my lap reading a few pages before turning out the light. What pleasure it brought to see the names of people who came to pay their respects to Nate. He would have been astounded at the crowd, filling the largest room the funeral home had to offer, both on the wake day and again during the funeral the day after that. As I studied page after page, I couldn’t get over it. My heart was bursting with thankfulness for so many people willing to put forth so much effort on our behalf.

Because those two days were a whirlwind of activity with many consecutive hours of conversational overload, I knew I wouldn’t remember everyone who attended. The guest book was a valuable tool that reminded me. Looking at someone’s signature revived the memory of chatting with that person at the funeral home. His or her words of love came back to me, as well as sweet memories of smiles and hugs.

Although I had several teary moments during those two days spent greeting people and hearing stories about Nate, both days evolved from early morning sadness into joy and blessing. Beforehand, I would never have imagined describing my own husband’s wake, funeral and burial in such positive terms, but the support and uplift of each guest was what made them so.

During the three days between Nate’s death and the wake/funeral, I spent quite a bit of time praying for those who would attend, asking God to open each of their hearts to receive whatever message he had for them. I prayed the same for my family and myself.

As I read through the list of names and addresses in the guest book, it dawned on me that some people had come from distant suburbs to be at the Chicago funeral home. Others had driven much farther to come from out of state. Quite a few had bought plane tickets and rented hotel rooms to be on hand to honor Nate. I was stunned. And I was very grateful I had the guest book, with  addresses as well as names, to remind me of the sacrifices people had made.

I’m ashamed to say that in my past I’ve often come up with reasons why I couldn’t attend funerals. The time commitment, the distance and the uncomfortable situation kept me away. But on the days of Nate’s wake and funeral, God answered the prayer I’d prayed asking him to open my heart to whatever message he had for me. His message, delivered through the guest book, was “I want you to show up at funerals.” And so from now on, I will.

“The day you die is better than the day you are born. Better to spend your time at funerals than at parties. After all, everyone dies—so the living should take this to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a refining influence on us. A wise person thinks a lot about death, while a fool thinks only about having a good time.” (Ecclesiastes 7:1b-4)

Two Weeks Ago

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Today marks two weeks without Nate. He is all I think about, and I still let my mind meditate in detail on the moments of his last days. This seems odd, seeing as 14 days have passed, but trauma makes its mark, and I can’t think apart from it.

“Should I stop blogging about your father?” I asked several of our grown kids. “Will people get tired of hearing about his fight with cancer and his death?”

They all responded that losing my husband two weeks ago doesn’t constitute a reason to move on. I was thankful for their answer. It’s therapeutic for me to talk, write and think about Nate.

Today I was thinking back two Tuesdays ago to a few minutes after Nate died. All of us were at a loss as to what to do next. Life had increased in intensity from the day of his cancer diagnosis until his death, which was somewhat like the conclusion of a fast-paced drama. How do you follow that? And how do you avoid falling off an emotional cliff when it’s all over?

We had decided that night we’d do what Nate would want us to do and eat the Chinese carry-out food we’d just put on our plates the moment before he chose to move into eternity. Just before we began eating, each of us feeling subdued and strange, we needed a quick boost.

Earlier in the afternoon while Nate slept, I’d opened the day’s mail. In it was a letter to Nate written by a four-decades-long friend of ours, Lynn. As we sat with our dinner plates on our laps in the living room as we’d done when Nate was in his lazy-boy there, I decided to read from the letter:

“Nate, you are a fine example of running the good race, keeping a steady pace even when the ‘walls’ of life hit you hard. In keeping with this theme, we got an idea for the Chicago Marathon this month (Oct.). Tim, our son-in-law, a hematologist, ran for a leukemia/lymphoma research organization. He also ran for YOU as a symbolic gesture of support for the good race you have run, Nate. We sponsored Tim by donating cash we collected from creative ways to save. We hope you will accept this gift with all our love behind it. There were thousands who read the little banner on his back and prayed for you that day. And we are still cheering you on!”

Lynn enclosed a photo of her son-in-law’s running shirt with Nate’s name on it, and we passed it around the room. Also enclosed was a check for $328, an incredibly important gift because of what it represented. Just at the time when the head of our family passed away, another family was saying how important his life had been to them. The letter was also sprinkled with happy memories of Nate, along with a description of their high regard for him.

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On first glance, it seems like the letter had arrived too late. After all, it was addressed to Nate, and he died an hour after it arrived into our home. He was unable to open it or read it.

In hindsight, however, I believe the letter had a much loftier purpose by surfacing when it did. Exactly at the time Nate finished running his earthly race, we read from a letter describing that very image in reference to him. It was as if God put an exclamation point behind Nate’s life. After all, the race verses were his favorite in all of the Bible.

In addition to that, Lynn’s letter gave us the boost we needed at the lowest moment our family has ever experienced. I don’t doubt that God carefully orchestrated the whole thing. Just after Nate “disappeared” and we were struggling to focus on the truth of the unseen rather than the gaunt, cancer-ravaged reality we were looking at, Lynn’s letter provided visible evidence of a race well run. Her words highlighted Nate’s specific race and made us grateful he had crossed God’s finish line.

“We look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:18)

“Let us run with patience the race that is set before us.” (Hebrews 12:1b)

Back to the Cemetery

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I’ve helped plan three funerals… so far… and at each one I’ve been surprised at how fast that day unfolds. Once the service begins, there is no time to talk to friends or even family. As the service ends, guests file past the casket, are ushered outdoors and are gone. Family members gather briefly for a last look, the casket is closed, and everyone fans out to the cars.

Once at the cemetery, protocol separates family members from others. At Nate’s graveside, we were able to focus briefly on the pastor’s words, but then the casket was quickly lowered from view and the event was over. There wasn’t time to think, much less process what had just occurred. On that day, November 7th, as I sat in the center chair facing Nate’s casket, I knew I’d want to return to the cemetery soon, to collect my thoughts.

Today was the day.

After driving Hans, Katy and baby Nicholas from Michigan to O’Hare Airport in Chicago to begin their journey back to England, I drove across the city to Rose Hill Cemetery. Despite the curvy lanes between grave yard sections, finding Nate’s burial site was easy. Our family has come to this spot every Memorial Day for decades, sharing memories about the six people already buried in the family plot: my mom and dad, my grandfather and grandmother, my great uncle, and dad’s baby brother. After the cemetery visit, we always share a picnic and a baseball game.

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Although most people shy away from trips to the cemetery, our family counts them among our most important traditions. Since toddlerhood, our kids have been taught that death is part of life and is not to be feared. I have a picture of Dad standing with his hand on the grave marker as he told us, “My father told me, as we buried my mother, that one day we would also bury him there. And we did. I can say the same about me. One day you’ll bury me here, too.” A few years later, we did.

Mom used to say, as she helped our pre-schoolers plant flowers around the big headstone, “Every day, we’re all one step closer to the grave, and I can’t wait, because that’ll mean I’ll be with Jesus.”

The day we buried Mom, her 15 grandkids cried hard, but they’d been prepped for that moment by Grandma herself. They were told ahead of time about her departure and all knew she had happily taken up residence in heaven. They’d heard it from her own mouth.

But what about Nate? Today, as I stood at the foot of his grave in a chilly wind, I couldn’t help having another moment of this-can’t-possibly-be-real. At my feet was a section of fresh sod four feet wide and nine feet long. Three urns of funeral flowers were lying on their sides next to the sod. Was it possible my husband was buried beneath my feet, lying there in his new grey suit? Hadn’t I just told him how good he looked in it, the first time he wore it to work? Hadn’t he been to court wearing it the day we learned of his cancer? How could he now be dead and buried in it?

I thought back to Memorial Day of this year when our family gathered again at that exact spot, 24 of us. In one of the pictures taken that day, Nate is sharing a memory while standing exactly over the spot where his body would soon be buried. Although none of us were thinking about the possibility of a 2009 death for him or anybody else as we stood at the cemetery that day, God had specific funeral plans for my husband, five months later. We can’t explain the Lord’s timing, and Nate’s burial was an agonizing family milestone, but to a certain extent, we’d been prepared. As we drove in behind the hearse that carried his casket, it was not creepy or scary. All of us were arriving at a familiar place of warm family memories. Besides, we knew the whole truth.

Cemeteries are all about death, and death is appalling. But one of the reasons we got through Nate’s burial fairly well was because of the years of stories about our relatives whose bodies are beneath the cemetery grass on which we’ve stood each Memorial Day. As we’ve remembered them each year, we’ve been sure their souls were not dead but were experiencing “joy unspeakable” (1 Peter 1:8) in heaven. Our rich Christian heritage has covered the horror of death with the scriptural promise of eternal life.

Today, as I shivered from the cold and the emotion of the moment, I got back into the car and started the engine to get some heat. A CD came to life playing my favorite hymn, “To God Be the Glory”:

“Great things He has taught us. Great things He has done,

And great our rejoicing through Jesus the Son,

But purer and higher and greater will be

Our wonder, our transport, when Jesus we see.”

The whole truth of Nate’s presence in the cemetery is that he isn’t really under that sod. His body-shell is there, inside his grey suit. But the real him has taken up residence elsewhere. The ugly reality of death has been gobbled up by victory through Jesus and his all-inclusive death on the cross.

“Just as there are natural bodies, there are also spiritual bodies. cemetery sod smallWhen our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled: ‘Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’ But thank God! He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.” (1 Corinthians 15:44, 54-55, 57)