Walking Behind the Casket
Last autumn--2006--I went to my cousin's funeral at the Binghamville Church in Fletcher. It was windy and sunny and the small church was packed. Some of us spoke up about Rae. But the most wonderful thing happened after the service!Rae's casket was muscled down the 6 or 7 steep, narrow steps and then down the little knoll that the church sits on. The pall bearers slid it into the back of the hearse which then slowly moved out to the road. We knew where it was going--to the cemetery next to the church. The entrance was about 500 feet down the road and we all fell in behind the dark gray hearse.
We ambled and talked, held hands, hugged occasionally while the wind blew over everything. After we entered the gate, there was about another 2 or 300 feet more.
No leaping into cars and separate grievings, no isolation from the casket. No long trip to another parking spot. Just a walk behind Rae, in the town he'd lived in all his life. I was struck by the fact that we were walking, and, by our walking, paying homage to a fine Vermont farmer on a day he would have loved, and in a manner he would have felt comfortable with.
I've been to a number of funerals, but this was the first one that had more reality than pomp. Thanks, Rae.
2007-05-09 14:18:13
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