They stand beside the casket, gazing at its contents, lingering as long as possible . . . unwilling to leave because they know, once they do, they will never again see that person on this earth. They will never again caress their hands or look lovingly at their face . . . never again gently stroke their hair . . . or kiss their cheek. And when they finally do move toward their assigned seats, one of the funeral staff will take the flowers from the casket while the other quietly folds the fabric inward then slowly closes it. The flowers will be returned to their rightful place, only centered this time, rather than perched upon the foot of the casket. And with that final act, the funeral home personnel will turn and walk away, signaling the end of the visitation and the beginning of the service.
In the last few months I’ve been called upon to attend two funerals. I say “called upon” not because someone specifically requested my presence but because I felt a duty . . . a responsibility . . . an obligation to be there. The manner in which I attend a funeral has changed a bit these days. Previously I might stand in the back of the chapel or auditorium with the other directors, watching the proceedings from a distance, a part of the process, but not really. I was a “director”, not a “participant”, and those are usually two very different roles. But now? Now I stand in line to speak with the family during visitation. I sit in a pew or chair with the others in attendance. And that new role has offered me a new perspective.
When a family chooses to have a service that includes a visitation with an open casket, there comes a moment I call The Final Farewell. If the events have taken place at the funeral home, then this moment is held in private, away from the watchful eyes of the friends who have chosen to attend the service. Those friends are asked to move to the chapel while the family remains behind, giving them the opportunity to say goodbye one last time. But when the visitation and service are held at a church, there is no privacy. The casket is already in place. The friends are already seated . . . waiting.
At that moment, as the family gathers around the casket, everything and everyone slowly fades away, leaving them with a flood of memories . . . a blending of love and grief that acknowledges what has been lost to Death . . . and what has been so drastically changed in Life.
It is a heartbreakingly beautiful moment—a moment that speaks of a life well-loved.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
