He sat in the middle of the cemetery, the mist slowly engulfing him, limiting his sight and feeding his growing anxiety.  Why in the world had he agreed to be here?  Thinking back on the person who called, he decided it would be a suitable practical joke to have him sitting in the dark at midnight in the middle of a cemetery while everyone else was peacefully sleeping in their beds.  Yet, here he was, surrounded by the mist and the bodies of those who had gone on before him.  It was the perfect scene from a horror film; the innocent victim sits among the graves . . . waiting . . . the only incongruency being that the monuments should have been upright, old, and leaning from the ravages of time, not flush to the ground and relatively well maintained.  The clock slowly inched upward, approaching the appointed hour when, to his relief, a hearse began making its way around the drive, the headlights reflecting on the fog as it drew closer.  He made certain his camera was ready and got out of his car.

The day before the family had gathered to finalize the arrangements.  Years before, their father had come with several most unusual requests.  There would be no funeral service, no announcement of his death . . . and the burial was to take place at midnight.  Only three people were on the guest list—two funeral directors and the editor of the local paper.  Evidently, although there was to be no publicity before, there most certainly was to be afterwards.

They sat around the table, reviewing his selections and requests . . . and then they got to that “burial at midnight” part.  The discussion had been years in the making.   Whenever he would call or come in, the question would always follow, “Are we really gonna do that?”  And that morning, when it became apparent that the question was finally going to demand an answer, the funeral director who was scheduled to meet with the family was repeatedly asking.  The final response he received came from management and was by no means definitive.  “We have always said if it isn’t illegal, immoral, unethical, or impossible, then we will try.”  Yes or no would have been much simpler, but neither answer came.  So when the family, all of whom were aware of his wishes, asked, “Can you really do that?” the response, very loosely paraphrased, was as follows:  “When we took the call we remembered the request.  And this morning, knowing I would be meeting with you I asked several people, ‘Are we going to do this?’ and no one ever said no . . . so I guess we’re having a burial at midnight.”

Unfortunately, the guest list had to be revised.  One of the funeral directors was deceased and, even though he was buried in the same cemetery, would be of little use in the proceedings.  The other was retired and had no altruistic motivation to be in attendance.  The same could be said for the specifically named editor of the local paper.  So it was determined that acceptable substitutes would be secured, and the grave crew and vault company representative would be included—that is, if the vault company would even accommodate a burial at midnight.  Surprisingly, they agreed without hesitation.  When questioned as to why they did not question, we learned our status as customers would guarantee acquiescence to almost any request, no matter how unusual.  So we started making a list . . .

The headlights of the hearse and the equipment truck illuminated the grave as the casket was lowered into the earth.  Occasionally, the flash of the camera would attempt to aid in the recording of the event for the ensuing newspaper article, but the end result was mostly darkness with a faint, unearthly glow.  Conditions could not have been more perfect for the stereotypical horror movie burial.  Even the fog cooperated by shrouding the cemetery and shielding the night’s activities from the world . . . except for the lone vehicle that, for whatever reason, chose to circle the cemetery at that particular time.  It made a rather hasty exit when it became apparent they were not alone.

We firmly believe the funeral should be a reflection of the person whose departure we are mourning and whose life we are celebrating—and in this instance that is probably exactly what was done.   It spoke of his life, it was a final testament as to the person he had been.  If only every funeral could so aptly encapsulate the life being remembered . . . so long as it doesn’t have to encapsulate it at midnight.

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