Monday, 28 July 2008

• Guest of Honor at Her Own 'Funeral'

  If you've been following some of my recent blogs here you know already that I and my family have been dealing with my mother's being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  That dreadful diagnosis forced us to face Mom's mortality.  And to a lesser extent, it forced each of us, from the oldest to the youngest, to confront our own impending deaths.
  
  When I first jetted up to Sactown in June, I spent a lot of time with Mom, catching up emotionally and relationally after being in SoCal for 30 years.  I recommended that she read Mitch Album's "Tuesdays with Morrie," since Album's former professor (slowing dying from Lou Gehrig's disease) discovered some important aspects of how then to live when you can't deny you're dying.  "Mom, one of the things that Morrie asked Mitch to do was to organize his funeral before he died.  I'd like to plan something like that for you, while you're still here, so you can attend.  What do you think?"
  
  "Ken, I've never heard of such a thing.  Attending your own funeral?  I'm sorry.  I'm really not comfortable with doing that."
  
  Being my usual persuasive self, I got her to change her mind the next day, and this past Saturday, my family and I drove up to celebrate my mom's life at the little Chinese Baptist Church that she has been attending again.  One of my aunts flew up from Arizona the day before so she could be there for Mom.  After dinner, I was driving the two of them and a van full of Mom's grandkids to get mochi yogurt and we were all laughing and having a great time.  That's when Mom remarked to my aunt, "Isn't this great, Mary?  It's like a nonstop party with people I love!"  I was hoping that what I'd planned for Saturday was going to meet her growing expectations.
  
  Nearly 100 people had rsvp'd to the invitation that one of my nieces had designed with Adobe.  That number would just fit in the church's tiny social hall but it required us to move the program to the sanctuary.  Once I realized we were going to be in the sanctuary, I asked if it would be cool to move the old wooden pews so that they were in a V-formation and to put the pastor's loveseat on the stage for Mom.  The pastor and church members loved the result so much that they decided to leave the pews in that array for Sunday!  The pastor's wife told me after Sunday's service, "Ken, any time you have good ideas to help us improve things here that don't cost any money, please let us know!"
  
  Once lunch was done, it didn't take long to get everyone re-situated in the sanctuary.  It was a curious assortment of family, old familiar faces and people completely unknown to me.  There was a sense of awkwardness in the air, because no one else but me had ever been to something like this before.  And I'd only done it once before, several years ago, for EBCLA member Michael Lai who was dying of cancer.
  
  I thought the best way to handle everyone's uncertainty was to hit it head on.  "In my profession, I've performed countless funerals and have finally come to the conclusion that we do it backwards.  We wait until the person we love is dead to say the things they would have loved to hear.  We don't know how many days God has planned for Mom on this earth, but her diagnosis of pancreatic cancer has made doing something like this more urgent and more poignant.  Each of you potentially will play a big part in the program today.  In about 6 minutes, following the slideshow of Emilie's life, I'm going to put up some memory-prompters on the screen, to jog your memories with stories and examples of how Emilie was, say, generous or proud of her family or a person of remarkable faith in God.  This is your opportunity to let Mom know that her time on this earth has made a real difference.  I hope many of you will bless Emilie today by saying something meaningful."
  
  After that, I asked Mom to sit on the loveseat on the stage.  One of my brothers whispered in my direction, "Psst!  Don't leave Mom up there by herself.  Put Dad next to her."  Something inside me told me to ignore that prompt, but I went ahead and put our 86 yoa father on that little sofa with Mom.  Bad idea.  REALLY bad idea.  Because out of the entire 80 minutes of sharing poignant stories, honest tears, and belly laughs together, Dad probably slept through at least 75% of it.  Hey, he's old and on all kinds of medications, so he typically sleeps through 75% of most days, whether it's in church or at home in front of the TV.  But because I succumbed to the pressure of my brother's audible, Dad took his nap up on the stage, next to Mom, in full view of everyone else.  The first time he fell asleep, his chin was resting on his chest when Mom finally poked him.  "Jim, you're embarrassing me.  Why can't you stay awake?"  "I wasn't sleeping," Dad protested.  "My eyes are weeping and I had to close them." 
  
  Ok, some of us there gave dear old Dad the benefit of the doubt.  But the second time, it just wasn't possible to believe he wasn't in full-out REM sleep.  His head was cocked backwards so far that I was afraid he'd broken his neck.  His mouth was wide open and facing the church's ceiling.  He could have swallowed a sword!  Mom was horrified once she turned and noticed what everyone else could see.  My brother said, "What do you expect?  Dad had to listen to TWO pastors today."  [Note to self: Always remember that, when it comes to stuff like this, I'm the professional, not my brother.  Mom would have been fine up there without Dad.  Don't listen to Rob.]
  
  In spite of Dad's serving as a major distraction, I'd say maybe 35% of the people shared how grateful they were for Mom's presence in their lives.  One retired lawyer shared how thrilled Mom was when he passed the bar 40 years ago.  Others relived episodes of serving alongside Mom, of being inspired by her leadership and faith, of even coming back to Christ because of Mom's reaching out to new neighbors on our street.  It was especially touching to hear from most of her grandkids, soaked through with lots of tears.  Each of her three daughters-in-law shared how thoroughly embraced they each felt after marrying one of her three sons.  And then it was our turn to thank our mother for giving us such a strong belief in ourselves so that we've been able to take risks and learn from mistakes and failures.  I finally lost it when I turned towards her and said, "Mom, I've been gone for 32 years and yet there hasn't been a single time that I can recall when you've made me feel guilty for being a pastor in LA.  That's because you believe in me, in my call, and in my ministry.  That's been an amazing gift to me, to our church, and so many others.  I've been away too long.  Your having cancer means that it's time for me to come home, to make sure you know that I love you and am so grateful for your role in my life."
  
  I found out the next day that several of my Christian friends who live in Sacramento and were there thought I was announcing that I was leaving EBCLA and LA and coming back to pastor somewhere in Sacto.  But they soon figured out that they'd misinterpreted my words due to wishful thinking.
  
  Just as I was calling up Mom's pastor to pray for her, Rob audibilized again.  "Pssst.  Give Dad a chance to share about Mom!"  My instincts told me to ignore his suggestion, but instead I turned to the slouching figure on the couch (who looked awake now) and asked, "Umm, Dad, would you like to say something to Mom on her special day?"  To which he curtly replied, "No."  And the room couldn't contain their laughter. 
  
  So God enabled us to honor my mother in a special way, something that she'll probably cherish for however long she has left here.  And my brother got me to embarrass my father publicly twice in the span of 90 minutes. 
  
  That's my family.  And I'm sticking to it.
  
  Pken.
  
  

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