Emotions Part II-Funerals

Over the years, I have had several priest friends who have preached at the funerals of their family members. I always was amazed at the strength and faith that it must have taken to do those homilies. How do you keep the flood of emotions in check? Some did and some didn't and I guess that is the reality of it all.

My mother, Dolores Leach, died on July 1, 2010 at the age of 92 years old. I had left that morning with a youth delegation to El Salvador and my wife Mary was with me. During our orientation meeting at the Peace Center in Suchitoto, Mary got up and walked away and went into one of the bedrooms. She had her phone and was talking on it. When she came back, she told me that my oldest daughter, Michelle, had called and said Grandma Leach has died that morning from a stroke she had during the night. They all wanted to talk to me about funeral arrangements. I would be in El Salvador for nine days before I could return.

I called Michelle and got the details and then talked to my brother in New Jersey. They had spoken to the local funeral director in Yale, Michigan where my mom's plot was next to my dad's plot. Dick Kaatz was the director and I knew him well as his wife had been my baby sitter when I was growing up. (A whole other story about being baby sat in a funeral home environment!) I had grown up with all his kids. I had my brother call Dick back and tell him that I would be back in nine days and ask if we could delay the funeral until then. Dick was most accommodating as he had several other funerals that week. He spoke to the young pastor at Sacred Heart Parish in Yale and made arrangements for the Mass and for me to preach at the funeral.

While we were in El Salvador, a young man was killed in a gang related drive by shooting. The family had no money to pay for the funeral so we collected funds to give to Sr Peggy O'Neill to pay for the young man's funeral. Sr Peggy told us a tradition of having the family sit with the deceased for nine days before the funeral rites were celebrated. I felt as though that was a sign of approval that we would wait for nine days to bury my mother back home.

When I arrived home, we spent the night getting cleaned up and headed north to Yale the next day for the funeral rites. For so many days my mom had been flooding through my memories. My relationship with her was always very strained but I tried to remember the good she had done in the world. I remember choking up during the Gospel reading and wondering if I could ever get through the homily. While I had wide swinging emotions, I was able to speak well of her and trust that she was in the hands of a God Who I knew she loved and Who loved her. Afterwards, my family and cousins all commented on how delicately I had treated my mother and how they felt they could not have gotten through what I had just done.

I would however, not know how difficult it was to preach for a loved one until my mother-in-law Colleen Ureel passed away this year on March 10, 2017. Her death was unexpected after a hard battle with influenza and pneumonia.  Until her time in the hospital, I had essentially been her caregiver as she moved into our house and her husband Ken moved into assisted living here in Canton. It was hard to watch her decline and slowly slip away. The family all asked me to help plan the funeral and to preach at the service. I started out saying how I was not trained in how to preach this kind of homily but said I was inspired by Colleen who always said to just pull up your pants and get on with life. So I did and I remember touching her casket at the end and whispering, "I will see you soon." It was two weeks later when the scans were completed to identify the current Stage IV Metastatic Melanoma that was invading my liver and chest. When we went over to tell Mary's dad about my condition, the man just looked at me and said, "Can we change places?" I told him we would have to ride out whatever happened but that if I went before him then Colleen and I would map out some living quarters for him. How quickly the table of life can switch on us.

On July 2, 2017 the day before I entered the hospital for the second time this month, we took Colleen's ashes and buried then in the little cemetery by their old home in Metamora, Michigan. I read the prayers of committal and wept through most of them. As I choked up, a bee stung me in the palm of my right hand. It really hurt and later the family told me it was Colleen's way of just saying, "Come on Don, pull up your pants and get on with life!" I suspect she is going to have to keep reminding me of that over and over again as the future moves forward.

Recently, a priest friend of mine filed his funeral plans with the Archdiocese of Detroit (something they are all asked to do ahead of time. Imagine that!) He asked me if I would be willing to preach at his funeral for him. I said I would be honored and glad to as long as he promised that if I went before him he would do the same at my funeral. We both chuckled. Now that chuckle has a different and fundamentally deeper meaning than it did then--we never really know what the future holds and we need to rest in the hands of loving and mercy God.

Last Friday, the day after I got out of the hospital, I attended the funeral of an old friend from Ann Arbor--Michael Murphy. Mike was a social worker who headed many of the mental health functions of Washtenaw County. I had the great honor of working with him on some mental health issues and the development of the first Critical Incident Stress Debriefing teams for first responders in Washtenaw County. Mike was a gentle soul who was involved in the thick and thin of life. He brought joy and happiness everywhere he went in his quiet gentle ways. Throughout his funeral, I recalled how he had appreciated my diaconal ordination and celebrated my ministry with me. I always thought he was more of a deacon at heart that I was as an ordained deacon. He will be missed by so many. However, I am reminded of all the good he accomplished in his short lifetime--69 years. If I am remembered only a tenth of the degree to which Mike is remembered, I will be called a good and faithful servant. So at the end of this ranting about emotions all I can say is rest dear Michael-you were a good and faithful servant. May God welcome you into paradise accompanied by all the angels and martyrs!!!!!