Message:
The first funeral I attended was that of a 24-year-old friend. We went to a small town in northern Iowa, to a small country church. I grabbed a friend’s hand and walked to the front of the church where an open casket sat. I thought how strange he looked. How thin his cancer had made him.

After the service, we followed the casket into the graveyard beside the church. The church bell tolled 24 times as his friends carried him to his grave. It was February and the wind and snow were blowing like hardened tears in our faces. Then the pastor announced that everyone was invited inside for lunch.

How awful! I thought. This is a very serious and solemn time. How could anyone have lunch after this? But I was hungry. I went back into the church to a kitchen filled with the smell of warm soup and hot sandwiches.

Everyone was quiet for awhile, then someone laughed. Soon the room was filled with conversation, hugs for the family, movement again. Life after death. In one startling moment I saw the wisdom of my elders and other cultures in making a celebration a part of grief.