I looked out at the dozen faces: family, one friend and one hospice social worker (who had become a friend too at this point). I began with an explanation of what they should expect. I told them that if/when they felt like it, they could say something to Dad, us or themselves. They could tell a story or recall an event that was on their mind or they could simply say something along the lines of good-bye to Dad. I reassured them that whatever their heart told them to do was the exact perfect course of action for them.
First up, my Brother, Raul, pulled out a marker and commented on how Dad loved to "beat the system" and certainly had in his final exit. Then Raul pointed out that since the casket was cardboard, he wanted to write a final message to his pop. After he moved to the box and inscribed a short note, he invited anyone else to do the same. Most of us ended up writing something. Powerful. Unplanned. Perfect.
Then a 12 year old grandson produced a dozen flowers and gave them one at a time to each of us. He explained that before the dirt goes in, we should give him a gift. Each of us lovingly delivered our red roses. Perfect.
Stories and tears began to flow as we oscilated between sad realizations of our collective loss and our rich memories of what we had gained through the years of having him in our lives.
This was a Butland funeral. No rules, no wrongs, no expectations of anyone else's role. It was what seemed to make sense to us at the time.
In 20 minutes we were finished with the funeral, but I will cherish the event forever. Powerful. Unplanned. Perfect.
First up, my Brother, Raul, pulled out a marker and commented on how Dad loved to "beat the system" and certainly had in his final exit. Then Raul pointed out that since the casket was cardboard, he wanted to write a final message to his pop. After he moved to the box and inscribed a short note, he invited anyone else to do the same. Most of us ended up writing something. Powerful. Unplanned. Perfect.
Then a 12 year old grandson produced a dozen flowers and gave them one at a time to each of us. He explained that before the dirt goes in, we should give him a gift. Each of us lovingly delivered our red roses. Perfect.
Stories and tears began to flow as we oscilated between sad realizations of our collective loss and our rich memories of what we had gained through the years of having him in our lives.
This was a Butland funeral. No rules, no wrongs, no expectations of anyone else's role. It was what seemed to make sense to us at the time.
In 20 minutes we were finished with the funeral, but I will cherish the event forever. Powerful. Unplanned. Perfect.
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