These days
there are more than a few purpose built funeral parlors, but in this town, the best ones, the oldest ones, are the modified remains of once stately homes. The halls wide enough, the rooms large enough, to pack away a dozen folks and a casket in Viewing Room A, a handful in B, fifty in C. Or open the connecting doors for one great room with seating for a few hundred.
I always wonder about the original owners, their families, how they might have felt if they knew one day their dining room and parlor would be occupied by a Batesville Truman, with mourners huddled around asking if he ever looked that well in life. Would they be proud that their home was used as a last stopover for the deceased, or revolted at the idea of embalming fluids and blood running down their basement drain.
I spoke some years ago of a mission. I’ve been doing this to the extent I could, and locally we have a group of men who I can count on to help bring a man to his final resting place. My knees no longer being what they once were I sometimes have to bow out. I’m a bit disapointed that I have been unable to do more with this, but i have done what i couild, quietly and with as much dignity as I can muster.
There are no lack of volunteers for my brotherinlaw, so I’m an innocent bystander. All the same, my thoughts run to the people who built this once stately home, the mourners there now, and who will (if anyone) wonder these things about me, when my day approaches.
Perhaps the original owners would be pleased knowing that many are comforted there in a time of sorrow.
Savannah had the fancy built places out on the Southside, but the ones I preferred were Fox & Weeks and Henderson Brothers, located downtown in old Victorians, with lots of red brick and forbidding turrets. Henderson’s was the black funeral home, every bit as grand and terrifying as Fox & Weeks, with even more spires.
I remember your mission post, and was surprised I hadn’t left a comment. An excellent idea. Might even force me to get to know my neighbors before its my turn to be carried to the Great Beyond.
Being a man both larger and stronger than average, I have been called on for that duty many, many times. Like you, often at the funerals of people I did not know well, or hardly at all.
Often I would be approached at the visitation, or even scant moments before the deceased was taken to the hearse for the procession. Almost always approached by a loved one of the deceased, apprehension on their faces.
Your idea is sound, Og. Nobody should have to worry about who will carry their loved ones body to the grave.
On the flip side, you’ve got folks like my dad — he has a strong sense of duty and he’s more than willing to help, but he physically can’t (leg brace, etc.). He had to walk behind his grandmother’s casket while someone else did the actual carrying.
I always thought the old house funeral homes were more, well, homey. Plus they have kitchens, so there’s somewhere to put the deli trays.