We were returning from a craft fair in Nashville. Joe was driving . . . it was late and dark and the intersection of 128 snuck up on him. And he missed it. So, a few yards down the road he swung wide, circled back onto the highway, and proceeded to complete the offendingly sneaky turn. Cue the following conversation:
Malcolm (adorable four-year-old grandson who is safely strapped into his car seat in the back):
“Papa Joe?”
Papa Joe (also known as just Joe): “Yes?”
Malcolm: “No U-turns are allowed on the road.”
*crickets*
Then Kathryne and I dissolved into separate puddles of laughter (‘cause she was in the back with Malcolm and I was riding shotgun). And when she could finally speak, she said “You just got called out on your driving by a four-year-old!”
Of course, he was absolutely right. How I don’t know. I mean, how does a four-year old know that U-turns are forbidden under normal driving conditions? How do they even know what a U-turn is?! But no matter how smart or observant that little munchkin may be, there’s something he missed. Probably due to his lack of life experience.
Driving isn’t the only time U-turns aren’t allowed. And since this is a blog on a funeral home website, I’m sure you can guess where I’m headed (semi-pun intended) . . .
Over the years I’ve spoken with a lot of people about funerals they were planning, whether it was their own or someone else’s, and there are two things I always try to work into the conversation. One (if we’re talking about their own)—kindly remember, the service may be about you, but it’s for everyone else. Two (and this holds true no matter whose service is being discussed)—think about the honoree and tailor the service accordingly. And what do I mean by that? If you’ll indulge me for just a minute, I’ll explain using my father as an example (I promise, he won’t mind).
We’d known for years what lay at the end of his journey. We just never knew how close he was to his destination. So, when he finally reached it, we were as prepared as unprepared people can be. As we planned his service we thought about his love for music, especially singing and the beautiful voice he had. First on the list? Almost 30 minutes of congregational singing to open the service—and I cannot begin to express how much that helped my aching heart. The speakers weren’t limited to ministers, either. My brother spoke. My son spoke. A dear friend of his spoke. That may seem like a lot of speaking, but each one shared a different perspective about the man whose life had drawn us there. And you know who closed out the service? My dad, singing “May You Always”. My only regret? We didn’t roll him in five minutes late. He was never on time for much of anything and it would have been fitting to have him arrive late for his own funeral. I mean, we’d only joked about it for decades . . .
We were able to plan that service and add the meaningful details because we took our time. In true Shackelford fashion he had died the week of Thanksgiving and we elected to wait until after the holiday for his service. To us, it made perfect sense. We weren’t going to ask his friends and colleagues to choose between their family celebrations and ours—mainly because we knew who’d wind up on the losing end of that proposition. And that gave us unintended time.
These days it seems everyone is in a hurry. If we aren’t flying through traffic we’re muttering under our breath because someone is browsing the grocery aisle and we can’t get by. That also goes for planning someone’s going away party. Sometimes it's a necessity but more often than not, it's a matter of choice. Sooner rather than later seems to be the norm—and when you go that route, there’s no room for error . . . because there are no opportunities for U-turns.
I grew up in funeral service and spent the last 45 years of my life immersed in it. Over that almost half a century (insert wide-eyed emoji here ‘cause putting it like that makes me feel VERY old), I’ve had a good many families tell me they wish they’d taken more time or regretted rushing headlong into the service instead of planning something more meaningful and much more personal. But you know what?
I’ve never had anyone tell me they’re sorry they waited.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926. She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
