Filed under: Memorable Life Celebrations | Tags: memorial services, cremation, life celebrations
Mary Adams was my next-door neighbor for 20 years. She died at home at the age of 91, on a sunny Thursday morning, March 8, 2012. Six months earlier in September, she asked me to come over and meet with her and her son Michael to talk about how we would create her life celebration after she died.
What a gift this was. We talked about what she wanted done with her body (cremation – still figuring out what to do with the remains). We talked about the setting, speakers, music and readings for the memorial service. We talked about having a cocktail party at her home afterward, just like the parties she was legendary for holding.
On Saturday, March 24, we held a unique memorial service that was all about Mary Adams. Son Michael agreed to have the service video recorded and placed on YouTube so that those who could not attend would be able to witness this celebration of her life.
We laughed, we cried, we said goodbye. Many people said it was the best memorial service they’d ever attended. The video is below, followed by the text of most of what was said at the service.
At the end of the service, I said that Mary Adams was now our guardian angel. Just the other day, I thought about her and that statement. The image that came to mind was a cigarette-smoking, martini-drinking woman with a wry smile and a twinkle in her eye. Now that’s a guardian angel!
Memorial Service for Mary Adams
First Corinthians 13: The Greatest Gift
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal.
And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.
And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.
Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil;
Does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never fails. But whether there are prophecies, they will fail; whether there are tongues, they will cease; whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect has come, then that which is in part will be done away.
When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became an adult, I put away childish things. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.
And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
Welcome. My name is Gail Rubin, and I am honored to be the Celebrant for today’s service honoring and remembering the life of Mary Adams.
Today we speak with love about a woman who has touched our lives in so many ways. To avoid distractions of sounding brass or clanging cymbal, and to be fully present in our remembrance, please silence or turn off your cell phone or electronic devices for the duration of this service. Thank you.
It is an important day when we stop to bear witness to a person’s life and times among us, the difference her living and dying made, and to reflect on our hope, our wonder and our collected grief. It is a time to create a circle of support for the loved ones gathered here.
On behalf of the family, thank you for being here for this important moment. We are here in support of Mary’s son Michael, her grandchildren Devon, Gray, Ian and Kayla, Mary’s sister Jean and her children, David, Doug, Andrew, and Susan and her husband Jay.
Mary said that she wanted us to talk about her, not what she did. Yet so much of what she did is a reflection of who she was: a woman of many talents and interests, of intellect and activity.
Stories of Mary
Mary Adams, born Mary Elizabeth Atcheson, came from Irish stock. We all know how well the Irish weave a story. She always had a twinkle in her eye. She was always ready to strike a dancer’s pose. Not only could Mary tell a good story, she wrote stories. She listened to stories of family, of friends and of clients. She edited stories. Her life was a story of grand proportions.
Mary said her family lineage in the United States stretched back to a forebear from Ireland who came to this continent and served in George Washington’s army. He very wisely married a lieutenant’s daughter, which brought added benefits.
Mary was born in Washington, Iowa. She came from a long line of farmers, the men, and teachers, the women. In the 1920s, when women got the right to vote, her mother told her she didn’t have to be a teacher. She could be anything she wanted to be.
Well, Mary was a teacher, and she was so much more – a dancer, a reporter, an editor, an art curator, a publisher, a grant writer, a social worker, a clinical psychotherapist, an advocate for the underdog, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a lover and a friend.
When Mary was a teenager, she spent a summer in Washington, D.C. and met Eleanor Roosevelt in person. If Mary wasn’t already a liberal, she certainly was after that meeting. Throughout her life she supported causes: The Southern Poverty Law Center, Doctors Without Borders, several veterans groups and Native American tribes.
Mary attended the University of California in Los Angeles. While pursuing her B.A. degree at UCLA, Mary was also active in dance and drama. One day, she was in the theater painting a set when Clinton Adams walked by. He said, “You’re doing that wrong.”
Thus started a romantic relationship and a professional partnership that lasted more than six decades. They married while Clinton was on leave during World War II, and she held jobs almost everywhere Clinton’s career took them.
In the 1940s, when Clinton was in the Army Air Corps in Colorado Springs, Mary served as a Corps administrative assistant. In the early ‘50s, they went back to Los Angeles, with Clinton at UCLA. Mary was an elementary school teacher, an assistant at UCLA, and an assistant at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Malibu.
In the latter half of the ‘50s, while Clinton worked at the University of Kentucky, Mary was a reporter for a radio station and for UPI, the United Press International wire service. They were in Gainesville, Florida when Michael was born, and she took some time off to be a mom. There was another jaunt back to UCLA in the early ‘60s and then the call came. Mary and Clinton arrived in Albuquerque for their long association with the University of New Mexico.
In 1962, Mary and Clinton moved into a stunning California contemporary home on Morningside Drive here in Albuquerque. In this home, she continued to work to improve the lives of the less fortunate. She wrote and published books and articles. And she became a counselor and psychotherapist at the age of 57.
Mary was a voracious news junkie. She was keenly interested in following and discussing politics, and she loved political satire. We’re talking about the music of Tom Lehrer and TV programs such as That Was the Week That Was, Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In, and most recently, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and Politically Incorrect with Bill Mahrer.
Always the consummate hostess, Mary expertly made introductions and connections between people at her gatherings. Her Winter Solstice parties are legendary. No matter the date, cocktails were served at 5:00: hence the timing of our remembrance here today.
Many famous artists visited Mary and Clinton’s home and art was all over the house. A Matisse hung in the bathroom. Georgia O’Keefe was a friend, and Mary published several essays about her and other artists.
Mary lived in that home for 50 years. And on the sunny morning of March 8, at the age of 91, with son Michael, sister Jean, and long-time assistant Ethel Mae by her side, she peacefully died there.
Mary was my next-door neighbor for the last 20 years. There’s now a hole in my heart when I look at her house. Truly, love makes a house a home.
Mary was also a prolific list maker and used yellow sticky notes extensively. Back in September, she asked me to come over to meet with her and Michael to plan this service. We laughed together as we sketched out her final party. What a gift this was. We knew how she wanted her life to be celebrated. Today those plans are a reality.
We’ll now hear stories about Mary from her sister Jean Willson.
(Jean Willson speaks)
One of the people that Mary wanted to speak here today was Jim Belshaw, the former Albuquerque Journal columnist who was a longtime friend of both she and Clinton. He was unable to attend due to a family commitment, however he sent these words for me to share with you.
Mary and I talked about a lot of things – politics, art, journalism, psychology. We talked about UNM and the city and the state. We talked about her history and mine. We talked about her FBI “sheet.” I loved the strange irony of this beautiful woman, who was exactly the kind of American America needed, being looked at askance by the FBI. It made me think of all the times Tony Hillerman needled the FBI. I remember thinking that if the FBI thought it needed to investigate Mary Adams, then everything Hillerman said about them was right.
Mary and I talked about Clinton and his art and what made him the artist he was. We talked about her writing and mine. We went to lunch or I came to the house and we just let the conversation go wherever it wanted to go.
Regardless of the subject or the location, I always left feeling that I had been given something. I always felt a little better because of the time spent with her.
And here’s something else that in my mind will forever be connected to those conversations – I always left her house either singing or humming the same song:
There is nothing like a dame
Nothing in this world.
There is nothing you can name that is anything like a dame.
“Dame” is one of those generational words you don’t hear much any more. I don’t think I’ve ever used it in my life, except as it regarded one woman. Mary Adams was the best dame I’ve ever known.
When I first met her, we spoke only in passing, usually when I was sitting at her dining table with seven other men who were playing poker when it was Clint’s turn to host the game.
It was only after Clint died in 2002 that the lunches and visits with Mary began. I don’t remember exactly how they started. I remember only that I was glad they did. I suppose in the beginning I just wanted to see how she was doing, but it didn’t take long before it became clear that I was enjoying the time I spent with her more and more. There were things I could learn from her if I was smart enough to pay attention.
In 2005, I wrote a column about Mary and a long-distance relationship she had going with a man in Texas. It was a marvelous story about love and it spoke to the irrelevance of age when you found yourself crazy in love. But before I wrote the column, I worried about “trolls” on the Internet, those poor, empty souls who write anonymous attacks for reasons that escape me. I worried that they’d track her e-mail down and fill her Inbox with ugliness.
So I told Mary I wasn’t going to identify her or the man in Texas. Here’s what she said: “The nice thing about being old is you don’t really give a damn what anybody thinks. So do it any way you want. We don’t care.”
She was the best dame I have ever known. She made something inside of me sing.
The man in Texas was Donald Weisman. He was a college professor, a writer, an artist. After Clinton died in 2002, Mary found a 50-year old photo snapped on a New York street taken of her and Don. She mailed it to him, and a late-in-life love story bloomed. Jim Belshaw’s Albuquerque Journal column about them started out:
She’s 84. He’s 90. She lives here. He lives in another state. But they know how to get on an airplane and so they have one of those long distance things going, you know?
Don had sent Jim a poem he wrote about his relationship with Mary, which Jim put into this column. Here’s the poem Don sent. It’s called “Let Me Tell You.”
Have you ever
Looked up the meaning
In a big dictionary
of the word home.
You’d be surprised
How richly varied
And subject to ambiguity
That word is,
How it opens up
A virtual vista
Through a little window.
So let me tell you
What I,
A man of ninety,
After lots of loves,
After three wives,
All naturally dead
And mourned,
And children,
Grand children
And great grand children.
All living,
Let me tell you
What has come to mean
Home
To me
It means
Having the rare
Good fortune
Of falling freshly in love,
Deeply,
Body, mind and soul
Right now,
And feeling her easy open invitation
Even as I open to her
And we embrace.
Let me tell you
It’s like all the past good
Was a series of markers
Telling me
I was on the right road
Toward that embrace.
And,
Yes,
At last,
All the way
Home.
He’s 90. She’s 84. They have this long distance thing going. We should all live so long.
Thanks to Jim Belshaw for sharing his thoughts. Another great love of Mary’s life was dance. Her good friend Gigi Bennahum will now share some stories.
(Gigi Bennahum speaks)
Mary was so proud of her granddaughter Devon, a dancer since she was a little girl. Today we are honored to have Devon perform her dance, “Oh My Soul,” in honor of her grandmother. The psalm readers are her siblings, Ian, Gray, and Kayla.
(Dance, music, readings)
A Meditation on Psalm 90
Lord, what are we, that You have regard for us? What are we, that You are mindful of us? A thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by, or like a watch in the night.
We are like a breath; our days are as a passing shadow; we come and go like grass which in the morning shoots up, renewed, and in the evening fades and withers.
You cause us to revert to dust, saying: Return, o mortal creatures! Would that we were wise, that we understood whither we are going! For when we die we carry nothing away; our glory does not accompany us.
Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty if our strength endures. They quickly pass and we fly away. Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
Mark the whole-hearted and behold the upright; they shall have peace. Lord, You redeem the soul of Your servants, and none who trust in You shall be desolate.
May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us – yes, establish the work of our hands.
Mary Adams’ strength endured for 91 years. She was as sharp as ever right up to the end. The work of her hands and mind and heart will endure in ways beyond our knowing. We affirm that her love endures in the lives she touched.
Parents give us roots and give us wings. They bring us into the world, provide a foundation and then give us the tools to find our own way. Though we may have grown up and grown away, there is still something special about sharing our victories and commiserating our defeats with that special parent figure in our lives. Even if the relationship might have been challenging at different moments, we never stray far from the promise that home is where the heart is.
Losing a parent, even after a long and full life, leaves an empty place in our hearts. In spite of the darkness cast by this loss, we reaffirm our belief in the light of life.
If you would like to join in the reading of the 23rd Psalm, the text is on the inside of your program.
The 23rd Psalm
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.
Closing Thoughts
The time is now 5:12 p.m. At Mary’s house, that would mean it was cocktail time. Her favorite drink was a vodka martini with as many olives as she could get away with. Second place was Irish whiskey.
There’s an Irish ditty that goes:
There are many good reasons for drinking. One has just entered my head.
If a man doesn’t drink when he’s living, how the hell can he drink when he’s dead?
I have a special memorial gift for you to take home with you. This cocktail napkin has Mary’s name, date of birth, date of death, and a martini glass with two olives. Please take one or two as you leave, and raise a toast to Mary as you enjoy your favorite beverage over the next few days.
Let us finish our service with an Irish blessing:
These things, I warmly wish for you-
Someone to love, some work to do,
A bit of o’ sun, a bit o’ cheer.
And a guardian angel always near.
Mary Adams is now our guardian angel. Keep her memory burning bright in your heart. And keep telling her stories. As long as we remember the lives of those we love, they never truly die. As David Marshall plays Amazing Grace, please allow the family to exit first. They look forward to greeting you outside the chapel.
Bagpiper – Amazing Grace
Filed under: Memorable Life Celebrations | Tags: funeral planning, Mardi Gras
With Mardi Gras tomorrow, the song “St. James Infirmary Blues” came to mind. The lyrics actually talk about funeral planning issues. The man who’s mourning the loss of his woman goes on to talk about his own desired send-off.
The song has been performed by a number of artists, perhaps most famously by Louis Armstrong. Here is one version of the lyrics, with the funeral planning part highlighted in red:
I went down to St. James Infirmary
Saw my baby there,
She was stretched out on a long white table,
So cold, so sweet, so fair.
Let her go, let her go, God bless her;
Wherever she may be
She can look this wide world over
And never find a sweeter man than me
Went up to see the doctor,
“She’s very low,” he said;
Went back to see my baby
Good God! She’s lying there dead.
I went down to old Joe’s barroom,
On the corner by the square
They were serving the drinks as usual,
And the usual crowd was there.
On my left stood old Joe McKennedy,
And his eyes were bloodshot red;
He turned to the crowd around him,
These are the words he said:
Let her go, let her go, God bless her;
Wherever she may be
She may search the wide world over
And never find a better (or sweeter) man than me
Oh, when I die, please bury me
In my ten dollar Stetson hat;
Put a twenty-dollar gold piece on my watch chain
So my friends’ll know I died standin’ pat.
Get six gamblers to carry my coffin
Six chorus girls to sing me a song
Put a twenty-piece jazz band on my tail gate
To raise Hell as we go along
Now that’s the end of my story
Let’s have another round of booze
And if anyone should ask you just tell them
I’ve got the St. James Infirmary blues.
Now there’s a man who knows what he wants in his funeral and isn’t afraid to express it. Jazz funerals in New Orleans are a wonderful tradition that recognizes the duality of laughter and tears at any life cycle event. The twin masks of comedy and tragedy at Mardi Gras carry the theme throughout this celebration.
Here’s the history of the “St. James Infirmary Blues” song, according to Wikipedia:
“St. James Infirmary Blues” is based on an 18th century traditional English folk song called “The Unfortunate Rake” (also known as “The Unfortunate Lad” or “The Young Man Cut Down in His Prime”). There are numerous versions of the song throughout the English-speaking world. It also evolved into other American standards such as “The Streets of Laredo“. “The Unfortunate Rake” is about a sailor who uses his money on prostitutes, and then dies of a venereal disease. Different versions of the song expand on this theme; variations typically feature a narrator telling the story of a youth “cut down in his prime” (occasionally “her prime”) as a result of some morally questionable actions. For example, when the song moved to America, gambling and alcohol became common causes of the youth’s death.
Here’s a lovely modern version by Hugh Laurie:
Chillin' out in Nederland
I have a warm spot in my heart for Frozen Dead Guy Days, having presented “The Newly-Dead Game” there back in March. Then I see the festival is for sale! But it sounds like Grandpa will still be hangin’ in the Tuff Shed.
Here’s a news story about it in the Boulder Daily Camera:
For sale: Nederland’s Frozen Dead Guy Days festival
The Nederland Area Chamber of Commerce is looking to get out of the business of celebrating a corpsicle to do more of what other chambers do: nurture the local business community.
The Nederland chamber has put the town’s annual Frozen Dead Guy Days up for sale.
The 10-year-old March festival is, literally, a tribute to a frozen dead guy. Grandpa Bredo Morstoel’s corpse has been packed in dry ice inside a Tuff Shed in the quirky mountain town since 1993. Morstoel’s Norwegian family hopes that the necessary technology eventually will be developed to thaw and “reanimate” him.
“We’re trying to move the chamber more into business development,” said Blue Hessner, interim president of the chamber’s board. “It’s such a big event. It takes so much money and man hours — it’s just exhausting.”
To some degree, the chamber recently has acted more like a traditional event company, putting on the High Peaks Art Festival, the Neder-Nederland 5k and 10k race and Oktoberfest.
Now, Frozen Dead Guy Days has grown so large — bringing 15,000 people to the festival this year — that it’s time to hand off the torch, or frozen turkey, as the case may be, to a professional, Hessner said.
“We’ve gotten to the point where we feel like an event company would do a better job,” he said. “The one thing we don’t want — we don’t want to sell it to somebody and have them move it out of Nederland. We want to keep it in the community, and we want to see it thrive.”
DailyCamera.com
Filed under: Memorable Life Celebrations | Tags: funerals, memorial services, rituals
“Don’t have a funeral for me when I’m gone.” People say this, not realizing while the memorial service is about them, it’s not really for them. Funerals are for those still living who grieve the loss of someone they love.
Funeral and memorial service rituals help recognize this transition, socially acknowledge the death, and help start processing grief to move toward healing.
Dr. William G. Hoy, a grief counselor and death educator, explained, “Very often — with those who don’t stop and ritualize the death — six months later, these families are in my office, having a harder time with grieving and healing.”
Dr. Hoy and other counselors believe every good funeral includes these four R’s: Recognize Reality, Remember, Reaffirm, and Release. Use these as a guide towards a “good goodbye.”
Recognize Reality
The bereavement process starts with the recognition and realization that someone has died. To come to terms with the reality of death, someone has to stand up and say, “Yes, so-and-so has died,” or if you prefer, “passed on.” The reading of an obituary written and published about the deceased often serves this role at a funeral.
Remember
Funerals or memorial services provide an opportunity to remember and share stories about the person. Eulogies by clergy, family members, and/or friends provide insights into the person’s character and family history. Remembrances can also be sparked by tabletop displays of items related to the person.
Reaffirm
An important part of funerals is to reaffirm beliefs, whatever they may be. If you believe your loved one has gone to a better place, say so. If you believe you will be reunited with him or her when you leave this world, say so. If you believe love is a valuable thing, just say so.
Release
Releasing the spirit of the deceased gives the living permission to move on, prompting healing tears and goodbyes. A simple release statement can be, “We now commit the body of (name) to the earth (or sea, fire, or wind) and let his/her spirit go free.”
Psychologists cite a number of reasons for holding funeral rituals. They make the dead “safely dead,” dispatched with proper ceremony to rest in peace. They confirm the deceased and their survivors matter, and that the community will continue. They provide structure in the midst of chaos and disorder, and ensure communal support for survivors during a stressful time.
I’d like to add a fifth R: No Regrets.
Let’s live our lives to the fullest every day. See and hear the beauty in nature. Take time to thank a loved one and tell them how much they mean to you. Share a hug. Enjoy good food and drink. And, of course, stop to smell the roses and admire all flowers.
Live life so that when it’s time to say goodbye, you can die with no regrets. And let your loved ones know it’s okay to have a funeral – they’ll bless you for it.
Gail Rubin is the author of A Good Goodbye: Funeral Planning for Those Who Don’t Plan to Die (www.AGoodGoodbye.com) and The Family Plot Blog (http://TheFamilyPlot.wordpress.com). This article is available for reprinting with attribution.
Weddings plus funerals equal family stress. Whether the event is happy or sad, planned for months or just days, you can bet someone will melt down.
July 23,1983, my first wedding took place on a hot, muggy evening in the garden of an elegant mansion. My father proudly escorted me down the steps. I wore my aunt’s white wedding dress, which had an antebellum hoop skirt that took up a lot of space.
A full moon rose in the east as my groom Bob and I stood before the only rabbi we could find in Washington D.C. who would marry a Catholic and a Jew. The rabbi had Parkinson’s disease, and over the course of the short ceremony, he shook and stuttered so badly I wasn’t sure he’d finish.
The reception in the mansion featured a cool jazz trio and waiters passing trays holding pigs-in-a-blanket and mini-quiches. I tossed the bouquet while standing on the grand staircase. Bob and I made a memorable exit wearing electric blue jumpsuits and futuristic sunglasses. It was the Eighties, after all.
How we had planned! The creamy white invitations with a raised flower motif had been mailed out months before. We had silk flower arrangements and potted palms. We found the shaking rabbi to conduct the ceremony.
There was so much to decide: What caterer to use? What to serve? Photography! Transportation! Attendants! Flowers! Outfits!
Meltdown number one was the day before the wedding. I was having my nails done at the beauty parlor. The manicurist made some benign comment. Suddenly, I burst into tears. The pressure was just too much.
The marriage lasted five years.
Fast forward to December 27, 2000. A thin crescent moon hung over the last glow of sunset as family and friends gathered at Congregation Albert synagogue. On the seventh night of Hannukah, Dave and I had a Jewish Western wedding.
Dave proposed on the Fourth of July. We made all the arrangements in six months. Secured the date with the rabbi. Got an Old West portrait for the invitation. Bought styling Western outfits.
The wedding started late. We waited in the rabbi’s office for Dave’s father, Norm, who had run home to change his “itchy” shirt.
Dave and I walked down the aisle together. I wore a red dress with a black fringed and beaded jacket and red-and-black cowboy boots. We invited the guests to wear Western attire, and they responded with gusto. Even the rabbi wore boots and a bolo tie.
The reception was a barbeque buffet held in a converted barn with sawdust on the floor. A Western swing band provided the entertainment, with recorded Jewish dancing music during their breaks. Dave’s artistic mother Myra hand-painted more than two-dozen ceramic cowboy boots for centerpieces. Everyone said it was the most fun they’d had at any wedding.
Dave had meltdown number two. We woke up the day before the wedding to see six inches of snow had fallen. Albuquerque was paralyzed. The synagogue called to say they were closed that day. No rehearsal – although we did have a rehearsal dinner. No setting up the wedding canopy. Everything had to be done the morning of the wedding.
Dave turned very red and complained, “How can they do this? We’ve got to get set up! There’s no time!”
I pointed out the roads were treacherous and sent him out to shovel the walk. There’s a good reason weddings are held in June.
Seven years later, Dave’s father died. Norm was 82 when he fell and broke his hip. After seven weeks of hospitalizations, he succumbed to pneumonia.
I pulled out my wedding contact list to call Dave’s relatives the day before Norm died. The end was near. Close family and friends flew in on short notice.
Dave and I had pre-planned his father’s funeral three years before. Norm wanted a plain wooden casket. Jewish tradition calls for simplicity in funerals – no flowers. Charitable contributions were requested to the Jane Goodall Foundation. Myra provided a soft cotton tracksuit, so Norm could rest in something that wouldn’t be “itchy.”
We already knew what we wanted for a program, where the service would be held, and who would conduct it. We decided we didn’t need a limo. In our exhaustion, we wrote just a short obituary to announce the funeral.
In the rabbi’s office before the funeral, our family tore black mourning ribbons and pinned them to our clothes. The rabbi told us how the event would unfold. We lined up outside the sanctuary. There are no rehearsals for funerals.
Meltdown number three came from Dave’s brother Steven. At the last minute, Steven wanted his wife to walk in next to him. There was a scramble of rearranging. In the end, the two sons escorted their mother. The two daughters-in-law walked in together behind them.
Weddings are stressful. Funerals are more stressful still. It helps to plan ahead. And in spite of the best-laid plans, you can bet – someone will melt down.
Gail Rubin is the author of A Good Goodbye: Funeral Planning for Those Who Don’t Plan to Die and The Family Plot Blog. Listen to recent radio interviews with Gail at http://agoodgoodbye.com/news/radio-interviews/.
This article is available for reprinting with attribution and links to Gail Rubin.
Filed under: Memorable Life Celebrations | Tags: burial, funerals, green burial
The funeral and burial for Tu Moonwalker in a pioneer cemetery located in the open high desert between Albuquerque and Santa Fe incorporated Native American rituals that left me with a profound appreciation for our physical existence and the eternal nature of our spirits.
Before describing this funeral, please know that I was invited to attend and write about this event. Before taking pictures, I asked for permission and was told pictures could be taken up to the time the body was lowered into the grave, and then after the grave was filled.
Tu Moonwalker, 61, was born of Apache and South American Native American parents. Tu’s obituary in the Santa Fe New Mexican listed her many accomplishments: artist (noted for work in basketry, leather, beads, and feathers), musician (collaborated on the lyrics to “Puff the Magic Dragon” and “Dust in the Wind”), academic, and author (Business Revolution through Ancestral Wisdom).
She co-founded with her partner Láne Saán Moonwalker the Philosophy of Universal Beingness within the Whole, a spiritual system based on environmental consciousness and peaceful coexistence. Her community, family, and students worldwide honor her as a Grandmother of great wisdom and insight.
After she died at home near Moriarty on March 28, her body laid in state for four days. She had post-polio syndrome and had developed pneumonia. Dry ice helped preserve Tu’s body while Láne and others washed and dressed her and performed rituals leading up to the burial on April 2nd.
Hearse at Hyer Cemetery
The Hyer Cemetery, the site for this burial, was founded over 100 years ago, when New Mexico was still a territory. The town has since disappeared, leaving the graves of pioneers in one part of the cemetery. The Hyer Cemetery Association was founded by people living in the area to continue using the deeded cemetery. It is a no-perpetual care burial ground under the wide-open sky, with natural earth and native plant life. The association allows green burial for people who live in the area. No liner or vault is required.
The grave had been dug with a backhoe the day before. The dug-up earth was piled over three feet high next to the grave. No effort had been made to cover the dirt, as happens in so many traditional cemeteries. Planks along and across the grave supported a low plywood platform, which supported the body during the ritual before burial. Several thick ropes were laid across the platform.
Tu's body rests over the grave
A hearse driven by two young men in light-colored suits brought Tu’s body to the cemetery. Her body was wrapped in a colorful Pendelton blanket, resting on a “cradle,” a wooden frame designed for transportation and burial. Colorful sashes secured the blanket, and evergreen boughs were arranged around the cradle once it was positioned over the grave.
Láne made offerings to the four directions – East, South, West, and North – and to Mother Earth and Father Sky. She held up colorful bundles, spoke different words of prayer in each direction, then tucked the bundles around Tu’s body.
Lane makes offerings before burial
Friends offered attendees a cleansing liquid to rub on their hands and over their heads. They then brought around containers of corn meal and invited attendees to sprinkle corn meal on the body, after offering blessings to the four directions, earth and sky. The corn meal is to offer food and assure Tu a safe, prosperous journey to the spirit plane.
Láne then told a wonderful story about the Moonwalker family, upstanding members of the Apache Nation, warriors of the Red Rose and the Rainbow Path. The story involved Tu’s father, Grandfather Carl Moonwalker, mother Mei Mah, and the entire family in a humorous encounter with a missionary woman who had come to their home on a cold winter night to convert them. She was not successful in her mission, and the family had some fun messing with her mind.
“Life is challenging – it’s just that way,” said Láne. “Our task it to have joy in spite of life’s challenges. With that story, we release Tu back to Mother Earth.”
Chanting of “Ah-hey anah, ah-hey anah, ah-hey anah, ah-hey oh” started with drumming and rattle as preparations were made to lower the body into the grave. The drum and rattle rhythm sped up as the body was lifted with the ropes, the plywood platform was slid off over the foot of the grave, then the body was lowered using the ropes. The chanting continued as Láne poured water on the body and attendees threw evergreen boughs and flowers into the grave.
Completing the burial
Everyone was invited to help place earth on Tu’s body. This was not a mere ceremonial placement of a handful of dirt. People took turns shoveling until the grave was entirely filled. I pitched in, shoveling energetically for several minutes. It was dusty business, hard work that drives home the reality of burying the dead. While the burial was occurring, Tu’s followers went around and sprinkled corn meal on attendees, offering the blessing of all life.
Packages of Tu’s favorite foods – green grapes, a small orange, and dried fruits and nuts – were offered to all attendees. People were invited to take Tu’s personal belongings that had been brought in large baskets. Folks were encouraged to take more than one item. “Blue light special! We’ve got to clear it all out!” said Láne.
While the grave was being filled in, a woman donned a lime green jacket and matching hat started acting acting a little strange, dropping onto her knees next to the grave saying, “Bye, bye! I love you!” She came over to me at one point and said what she was doing was a native tradition that translated as “The art of making fun.”
When the grave was totally filled, the attendees sang “Puff the Magic Dragon” in Tu’s honor. A guest book was passed around for people to sign their names, and attendees received a program with Tu’s picture and a poem written by her father, Grandfather Carl Moonwalker.
Prayer of Beingness
May my feet walk upon Mother Earth with humbleness,
May my feet walk in Father Sun’s Light with humility,
And may I walk as One with The All.
*******
May I always be with Her on my one side,
May I always be with Him on my other side,
And may I always be as One with The All.
Marker for Tu Moonwalker
Christina Taylor Green, the 9-year-old girl killed in the Tucson shootings last Saturday, was mourned at her funeral yesterday. An Associated Press story detailed many of the event’s elements that moved the thousands in attendance. Here are details from that article:
TUCSON – The casket for Christina Taylor Green seemed too small to hold the grief and despair of the 2,000 mourners who packed into St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Church on Thursday to say goodbye to the 9-year-old girl whose life began and ended with two of the nation’s most soul-searching moments.
Reminders of the innocence of the bubbly girl born on Sept. 11, 2001, were everywhere: A group of little girls dressed in frilly dresses and white tights craned to see as their friend’s casket rolled into the church and Christina’s best friend sneaked them a wave from her place in the processional line.
Outside the church, more little girls – and hundreds of other people – wearing white and waving American flags lined both sides of the street for more than a quarter-mile to show their support. Hundreds of motorcycle riders from all over stood guard and more than a dozen residents were dressed as angels.
Before the service, Christina’s family and closest friends gathered under the enormous American flag recovered from Ground Zero and paused for a moment of silence, holding hands and crying. White-gloved state troopers escorted family and dignitaries into the church as a choir sang hymns.
“She would want to say to us today, ‘Enjoy life,’” said Bishop Gerald Kicanas, who presided over the funeral. “She would want to say to us today, ‘God has loved me so much. He has put his hand on me and prepared a place for me.’”
“Here time to be born was Sept. 11, 2001,” he said. “Her time to die was the tragic day, Jan.8, 2011, just nine years old she was. But she has found her dwelling place in God’s mansion. She went home.”
At the church, the focus was on the little girl who was an avid swimmer and dancer, a budding politician and the only girl on her Little League team. Mounds of flowers – pink roses and wreaths – surrounded the closed casket and a large photo of Christina and her older brother, 11-year-old Dallas, stood at the entrance to the church.
Her father, John Green, recalled in an emotional eulogy how his daughter used to pick blueberries, loved snorkeling and played for hours with her cousins and brother behind the house.
“Christina Taylor Green, I can’t tell you how much we all miss you,” her father said. “I think you have affected the whole country.”
With this funeral service for Christina Taylor Green, may her family, friends, and our nation move our mourning and grief toward loving and healing.
This Christmas Eve, I stopped in the Mount Calvary Cemetery, a Catholic cemetery, to take in the sight of thousands of luminarias decorating the graves. It’s a ritual that brings light in the darkness to those who sleep in the dust.
Luminarias are simply brown paper bags with sand or gravel in the bottom and a single votive candle casting light on the inside of the bag. They are a magical Christmas Eve sight in New Mexico neighborhoods as well as in the cemeteries.
Families visit the graves of their loved ones on Christmas Eve, and the cemetery was busy with people coming and going in the dark among a sea of glowing paper bags. Some families added small Christmas trees with lights and other holiday decorations.
It was heartening to see so many people visiting the graves of loved ones on a holiday that’s all about love and giving. Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.
Filed under: 30 Day Challenge, Memorable Life Celebrations | Tags: memorial services, religion
Ah, to be present at your own memorial service! The beautiful soprano voice of Jacquie Walter, MD, 58, was part of a creative memorial service within the outline of the Presbyterian Service of Worship at St. Andrew Church.
Jacquie had already been celebrated by her family back in Minnesota, where she grew up. This was a second memorial service put together by friends in Albuquerque to remember a talented ER doctor, musician, and singer. One lovely touch was a piece of paper inserted into the program with the line “Please share a memory of Jacquie for the family” across the top, so attendees could preserve and offer their stories to her siblings in Minnesota.
Before the service started, a DVD of Jacquie performing with musical partner David Straub was projected on the screen. A pianist provided prelude music, and the Rev. Dr. Frank Yates offered words of welcome and led the call to worship. We sang hymn #464, “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee,” and Pastor Yates shared scriptures Psalm 121 (I lift my eyes unto the hills…), Ecclesiastes 3 (For everything there is a season…), and John 14 (Do not let your hearts be troubled … in my father’s house there are many dwelling places…).
In his homily, Rev. Yates said, “The end of the journey has a turn in the road we cannot see.” He spoke of the healing Jacquie did with the hands of a physician and the voice of a musician. He also said the end of the journey is filled with song, referencing a passage from Revelation about the world being filled with song eternal, and that Jacquie’s voice has joined in that great choir.
Then several friends got up to provide reflections on Jacquie’s life. Some background, from the program:
Jacquie Walter died peacefully on Sunday, October 10, as she wished, in her own bed with her dogs, Remy and Dulce, and a few close friends at her side. Jacquie had bravely undergone chemo and radiation for her recently diagnosed lymphoma, but the cancer proved too strong…
Jacquie will be remembered for her hospitality, especially her Thanksgiving dinners; her willingness to help strangers; her stubbornness; her legendary dislike of house cleaning, and her ability to make life-long friends. Her loves included her son and her friends, her dogs, her home and gardens, football (always the Minnesota Vikings), bird watching, and camping and hiking. She was also a talented musician who played piano, oboe, and guitar and she sang beautifully. She graced many church choirs with her lovely soprano. She loved being in the spotlight and performing.
Bill Miller said, “Some people sing music, some write music, some are music – Jacquie just lived it in her soul… If angels really do sing, heaven just got a marvelous soprano.” Her friend Monica said, “I know she’s off having an awesome adventure without me, very busy investigating her new world… When my journey in this world is over, I know she will be there waiting with hugs and fill me in on all the details of what I need to know.” Marcia Lewis, who’s known her for 30 years, said “She couldn’t organize laundry, but in the ER she could save lives with grace and precision.”
The St. Andrew Choir, of which Jacquie was a member, sang the anthem “What Wondrous Love Is This,” all recited the Affirmation of Faith, followed by hymn #526, “For All the Saints.” After the pastoral prayer, a recording of Jacquie singing the Lord’s Prayer was played, and it brought tears to everyone’s eyes. The service finished with the commendation, charge and benediction, choral response (Amen!), and postlude music.
At the reception afterward, which featured chocolate raspberry cake (something Jacquie loved), friends distributed two “funeral favors” – a DVD of her musical performance shown before the service, and a copy of a prayer by Mother Teresa, which Jacquie loved to meditate upon.
The calligraphy quote on the front of the program read:
Lord
Support us all the day long,
until the shadows lengthen
and the evening comes,
and the busy world is hushed,
and the fever of life is over,
and work is done.
Then in thy mercy grant us
a safe lodging,
and a holy rest,
and peace at the last.
Amen
May Jacquie Walter continue to sing in the heavenly spheres.
Filed under: 30 Day Challenge, Memorable Life Celebrations | Tags: 30 Day Challenge, memorial services
Peggy Jackson’s lengthy obituary, written by her husband Dave, painted a detailed portrait of a fascinating artist, and it really made me want to attend her memorial service. Unfortunately, no event had been scheduled when this obit ran.
A few weeks later, a short notice appeared saying a memorial for Peggy Jackson, 76, would be held at the Manzano Mesa Multigenerational Center the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I was attracted by the brevity of the announcement, with no other details, unaware that she was the intriguing artist I had read about earlier.
Creative touches were everywhere, reflective of Peggy’s life: the displays of her watercolors, UNM yearbooks from the 1950s opened to the Alpha Delta Pi sorority page, bouquets of flowers that had been artfully arranged by friends, and the cards that featured a photo of Peggy in her studio, attached with a ribbon to another card with a recipe for “Peggy’s Favorite Lemon Meringue Pie” (more on that later).
Her husband Dave told me the family wanted to schedule the memorial service at a time when her students and the grandchildren could attend. The start of the Thanksgiving holiday turned out to be the best opportunity, and the multigenerational center space was available and free.
The event started with a video photo-montage of Peggy’s life, set to songs “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and “What a Wonderful World” as done by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole, “Blue Suede Shoes” by Elvis, and an instrumental. At the end, everyone applauded.
There was a different spirit in this memorial service from others I’ve experienced during the 30 Funerals in 30 Days Challenge. Every speaker was applauded when they finished. They spoke of an independent and adventurous woman who made friends for life, as evidenced by her sorority sisters in attendance. Peggy loved to have a good time holiday decorating, throwing theme parties, and making costumes for Halloween. Pink and turquoise were her favorite colors. She loved to laugh, cook, and live life fully.
The only mention of any religion was the reference to Phillips Brooks, an American Episcopal clergyman who lived in the 1800s, who wrote the following passage Peggy enshrined in her studio:
The ideal life is in our blood and never will be still. Sad will be the day for any man when he becomes contented with the thoughts he is thinking and the deeds he is doing — when there is not forever beating at the doors of his soul, some great desire to do something larger, which he was meant and made to do.
Peggy Jackson knew she wanted to be an artist from her earliest days growing up in Clovis, NM. She received a BA in Art Education in 1956 and became a junior high art teacher. She and husband Dave moved around quite a bit over the years, and everywhere they lived, Peggy painted, took art classes, expanded her range, and her art began to win awards and sell. Some highlights from the obit:
Their home became an art gallery – constantly changing as shows came and paintings sold. It was a cacophony of color and design, of change and innovation, work in progress and by artist friends. It was figurines, pottery, candle sticks, weavings, Navajo rugs, photographs – all of which had a special place (which changed from time to time). And flowers. She loved flowers, growing and painting them. The yard and home was a constantly changing garden and flower display, all placed in a location where their color was highlighted…
Every day when she got out of bed she was thinking about art: what to paint, where to show, what to show. Her house is still an art gallery, not only of Peggy’s paintings but of many other artists’ works. She has been accepted at many juried shows, and her paintings are displayed all over Albuquerque in many public and private collections. She had seven paintings accepted by the New Mexico 1% for the Arts Program that are hanging in public buildings all over New Mexico.
At the end of the service, daughter Melissa thanked everyone for coming and for all of the friends who helped put this creative service together. She said that whenever she wanted to get on mom’s good side, she would make her a lemon meringue pie using lemon Jello brand pudding. For this service, they brought a dozen homemade lemon meringue pies and asked everyone to stay for coffee and a piece of Peggy’s favorite pie.
Usually, I leave these events before the reception, but the pies were right there and they looked so good! I can see why this was Peggy’s favorite. It gave me a chance to thank Dave for allowing me to experience such a warm, creative celebration of life.
Peggy’s ashes will be scattered over the New Mexico areas she loved to paint. May she continue to be a guardian angel for those she loved.
