A trilogy of remembrance

Three funerals a mix of tradition and technology

As October bids farewell and Halloween beckons November, I am ready. I am well practised in praying for the dead, considered “a holy and wholesome thought,” (2 Mac. 12:46) during the Month of Remembrance, the Month of the Dead, or the Month of the Holy Souls in Purgatory, all monikers for the ninth month, Gregorianally-speaking.

I am well practised because in the last 30 days I have attended three funerals in three different ways.

I experienced the first of the triad in the way to which I’ve become most accustomed. I walked into the church, picked up the booklet to follow along in the somewhat traditional liturgy and, after greeting a few fellow mourners, took my seat and prayed, cried, laughed and sang along with the rest of them.

The second experience was similar and yet so very different than the first. Renée and I enjoyed a quiet and beautiful drive under a fall canopy of sky and leaf to Owen Sound. It was for the funeral of Gen Henry, the mom of my best friend, Leisa. We arrived early for a change because I wanted to be sure to introduce myself to the priest. I needed his permission for something new to occur.

Leisa wouldn’t be attending her mom’s funeral because her partner was dying in their home in Australia. She couldn’t risk leaving him to die without her, while burying her 97year-old mom whom she’d seen in the spring and had been praying the rosary with through the magic of FaceTime pretty much up until the night she died.

So I had to be sure to introduce myself well to the priest because I was seeking his permission to FaceTime Leisa into her mother’s funeral. Some of you may not be familiar with the word, “FaceTime,” as a verb but here’s what it looks like.

While we were getting ready in St. Mary’s Church for the funeral mass at 11 a.m., Leisa was getting up at a quarter to one in the morning, Australian time, putting on the black dress she’d chosen and pouring herself a glass of wine which, I believe, is also a holy and wholesome thing to do in this situation. She positioned herself on the couch in front of the computer screen next to the altar she had adorned with family photos and funeral flowers.

Back at St. Mary’s, just before the hearse arrived, I phoned Leisa using FaceTime and she popped up on the screen of my iPhone, glass and tissue in hand. I introduced Leisa to Father Kuzma who had been so pleased to accommodate our request. When the coffin arrived I reversed the phone and discretely shot a live unrecorded video of the funeral rites for Leisa to see.

At the reception I ate little sandwiches and squares while my phone was passed from family member to friend, giving each one a chance to console the other across the miles in real time with virtual hugs. It was the next best thing to being there. Praise be, technology when it works!

The third funeral was last Wednesday. I set my alarm for 12:50 a.m., and rose in the dark to a crowd of curious cats. By one o’clock I had crept to my corner of the couch and cracked open my Thomas Merton breviary and began to pray. It was 3 p.m., in Mount Sheridan, a suburb of Cairns, Australia.

That is where Leisa was attending her second funeral of the month, for her beloved husband, Stewart. It was me who couldn’t be there physically this time and yet, I knew I could attend in another way, being present in a more spiritual or virtual way without a computer screen.

I pictured Leisa sitting up front with Stewart’s “boys” and the families they’ve begun, likely in the dress she wore for her mom’s mass. I tried to hear her giving her eulogy, attempting not to cry while she shared funny Stewart-stories. I wrote in my journal and I told Stewart I was sorry for being such an ass at Spectacle Lake that time.

Three funerals, three different ways. A trilogy of remembrances for lives lived and loved.