Laughter and death: a paradox? For sure, but I had an amazing experience this weekend that gave me a different perspective.
On Friday, April 5, I attended George’s funeral in La Junta, Colorado with my brother. Because of his likable personality, I had a feeling the church would be full, so we arrived about thirty minutes early. Pickup trucks lined the street—I was right. As we approached the church’s entry, people milled around at the door. People packed the entryway. Friends and family already filled the sanctuary, so we ended up in the Choir Loft.
What a nice service he had. They had beautiful country and western songs throughout the service like “Wherever You are Tonight” and a traditional one, “Precious Lord, Take My Hand.” A close friend shared stories about George that made us laugh and remember his great sense of humor—also his love for storytelling. The minister shared a short sermon. The service ended with a PowerPoint show with more country-western music.
Then on Saturday, April 6, they planned a graveside service which led me to write the following poem:
Is Death a Laughing Matter?
I stood at the crossroads
Between life and death.
It happens a lot now
At 70,
repeatedly.
Yesterday, my brother and I walk by
His wife’s grave as we walked
To George’s graveside service.
I stood near George’s casket
In the country cemetery
Near Branson, Colorado.
I brushed my hand across the edge
Of the blue smooth metal edge—
Like a familiar touch
To a friend’s shoulder
Standing nearby.
March winds blew
Across the southeastern Colorado plains,
Swirling dust and grit,
With a piercing cold edge,
Adding to my grief.
A sea of faces watched
The day blow by.
Some familiar—lifelong friends—
Some not!
I sought out his family.
I wanted to hug them,
To share their sorrow,
To touch George through them again.
I met his 89-year-old sister
I had heard of
But didn’t know.
She left Branson the year
Before I was born.
Excessive strong wind gusts hampered
The solemn ceremony planned.
A short thoughtful prayer filled the air instead.
Then the music began,
With somber lyrics,
Country-western flavor
Guitars and familiar sounds.
Tears ran down my cheeks.
Sorrow for the loss
Of a dear lifelong friend.
Sorrow and regrets for
No more of his stories.
As the last song started up, I recognized its intro
And singer, Joe Diffie.
I gasped; in the midst of tears,
I choked back a chuckle.
The chorus confirmed it: “Prop me up beside
the jukebox if I die.”
In the howling wind, I strained to hear the first verse,
But the chorus captured me
And everyone there.
Laughter erupted—
Release
Appropriate humor
Through her tears, his partner
Announced,
“George planned it all!”
At that point,
I laughed;
I cried.
The laughter comforted me,
because
George taught me a meaningful lesson yesterday:
Tears
Laughter
Death
Life
It fits together,
Not a paradox,
But life
Reality!
I witnessed an honest
Graveside service,
Not contrived
Solemn
But mixed with
Laughter and tears.
Isn’t that life?
Now it’s death for me!
Thank you, George,
Laughter and death mixed,
And I walked away smiling
Because of you!
In closing, as I age and continue to lose close friends and family, death has become a hot topic. George’s graveside service helped me get it all in perspective—be sure the celebration of your life reflects who you really are! And for me, poetry captures the essence of any life event!
Enjoy my interview on the podcast, The Writing Table
~ Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir available in audiobook format at the following places:
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