All Around the Casket

There is nothing funny about a funeral. UNLESS the family decides that it will be a celebration of life for a life well-lived. When they sing “It Is Well with My Soul,” it’s more than just going through the motions.

One of the most awkward times for most people is the receiving line before the service. We are often at a loss for words. “I want to tell the family what their relative meant to me, but I don’t know if this is the right time.” Blame me. It’s the right time.

Sometimes, we are at a loss for words. What do you say to a family dealing with suicide? Or losing a child? Or the ex-spouse of a good friend? How about a newborn or a murder or drug fatality? It ain’t easy. Usually, the first thing that comes to my mind is “know that I will be there if you need me. We will get together in a couple of weeks and reminisce.” The jury is out on the comment from Steel Magnolias: “You know she’s in a better place.”

Like many of you, I have stood by the casket (both open and closed) of family members. My dad, my mother, my wife, my grandmother, my father-in-law and my mother-in-law. Each service was different but indeed a celebration.

I can remember visitation before Daddy’s service in March of 1988. Right before the directors were pushing people out the doors, there had to be a dozen of Dad’s old ball players laughing through a few tears and telling old stories about Coach Bradford. Baseball stories. Football camp stories. Biology class stories. Chicken stew stories. Edsel stories. I wouldn’t take anything in the world for those few minutes and what they meant to our family.

At my wife Barbara’s visitation which lasted 3 hours, Mike Shula and his wife Sherry made a truly classy move. Since he was the head coach at Bama at the time, he wanted to slip in at the end, say his condolences and exit. Mike and Barbara had a special relationship since she was the Bryant Hall Athletic Dorm “mother” when Shula was playing.

Mike told us how Barbara helped him through a tough time while his mother was dealing with her own cancer. His words meant a lot: “She was like my mother away from home.”

I got to thinking about how many receiving lines I have passed through and searched for the right thing to say to the family. Believe me, your attendance alone makes a difference during a difficult time. A special comment or remembrance seems to mean even more.

Without naming names, here are a few comments I remember making to let a family know my heart. Here goes:

“As one of my idols, he is the reason I wanted to go into medicine. He was like another Dad. I don’t know if I ever met a more competitive person in my life.”

 “Your mom didn’t just raise her 3 daughters; she raised all of us. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. I know how proud she was of each of you.”

“Your father was the true picture of a quiet, Southern gentleman. You could trust him in his word. When he stood up and walked, he looked like John Wayne with more class.”

“It’s not fair. He had so much more life to give but we must play the card we are dealt. When I hear the Wildwood Flower playing on the guitar, I always think of him.”

“I never told your dad what it meant to the baseball players; to look up and see him cheering us on and smiling like we played for the Yankees. He was special to our family. Thanks for sharing him with us.” 

“You probably don’t know me but my dad was Coach Bradford from Colbert County. Your dad was one of his favorite players since he reminded him of himself. Both grew up tough and served our nation. He will be missed.”

“Nobody loved Colbert County High School like your mom. Many of us moved away from Leighton but she stayed and remained a loyal Indian. She probably entered through the Pearly Gates and shouted: Gimme a C.”

“I will always be thankful to your dad. He took a chance on me when no one else would. He changed a number of lives and was the main reason, I was able to get into college coaching.”

“Your dad wasn’t my closest black friend. He was my close friend who happened to be black. He and a few of my classmates who transferred from Leighton Training School, did more for race relations in our town than any civil rights march. They lived through example, what Dr. King preached about.”

“I played under a lot of coaches in my life. My Dad was one of my coaches but that’s different. Your father was one of the first to tell me I was going to make a difference on our team. I never got a chance to tell him what that short phrase meant to me. There is no telling how many times I have used his coaching phrases to players I coached.”

“I could probably name on one hand, the number of men I have known that I NEVER heard anyone say a bad thing about. Your dad was one of those. He did so many things behind the scenes going unnoticed. He was special.”

As we play through the fourth quarter of our lives, it’s more important than ever to tell people what they mean to us while we are still on the green-side of the grass.

Don’t wait for the receiving line.