Years and years and years ago, my father served on the board of what was then National Selected Morticians and which became, much to his dismay, Selected Independent Funeral Homes.  He simply preferred the initials NSM to SIFH.  We won’t be discussing why, but he tried with some success to marshal the forces and circumvent the change, only to fail in the end.  During his term on the board, he and my mother became fast friends with Jack and Sandy Reynolds from Connecticut—a friendship that lasted long beyond their service on the board.

Jack eventually contracted cancer which eventually became terminal which eventually led to his funeral and a trip to Connecticut by way of Florida on the part of my parents.  They returned with a great deal of sadness, some very fond memories, and the “first of and last” Jack-In-Sert.  For years Jack had entertained his friends with his Jack-O-Grams but this time he penned his last message to those in attendance.  And what a message it was.

Being a funeral director he had planned or assisted in planning many a service, including, but certainly not limited to, those for his mother and father.  He gave his dad’s a B+ and his mother’s an A, but he was determined that his would be “the mother of all funerals”.  After identifying the players (ministers, musicians, pallbearers, etc.) and close friends (of whom my father was one) and praising his wife and children, he left his audience with some final observations, a few of which I want to share with you.

There was a list of things he wished to avoid in the afterlife; specifically mentioned were the media, Madonna, Michael Jackson, shopping coupons, and “blow in cards” that fall out of magazines.  His preferred accompaniments included CNN but only when imperative, a nice library, and caring and supportive people such as those who cared for him during his illness.  The last few paragraphs?  Well, I’ll just let Jack tell you in his own words.

“Last thoughts, when I wrote the Social Security Administration, I had $400,000 in my account.  How would you feel?

“At least the first living thing in my grandchildren’s household to die was their ‘Grammpy’, not a hamster/gerbil.  They don’t have very grandiose funerals.

“My magazine subscriptions and I expire together.  Perhaps this letter has seemed to you to be out of place, but not to me.  Might even be considered to be flippant . . . That’s always been my style, a little bit of the unexpected, humorous and curt.  But let me assure you of one thing, no one is sadder about this death than I.”

I’ll admit, I teared up a bit at that last line, mainly because I’m sure it summed up how many people feel when they have the luxury/curse of dying slowly.  It gave him time to plan and to prepare, but also to grieve over what he would miss.  He closed his missive with the following:

“Goodbye.  God bless you all—My hour glass has run out and then some.  Love and Kisses, JR”

But then he added a P.S.; as any good funeral director would do, he gave the mourners their final instructions.

“Process out together behind the piper, in proper order, and sing lustily, last thing you can do for me.  Don’t forget “Abide with me”.

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