“Hey, can I talk to you a second?” the Funeral Attendant motioned me toward a conversation.
“Sure” I replied, as we walked a few steps into a private hallway in the Funeral Home.
“I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but I know your dad is under a lot of stress right now and I don’t want to bother him with this.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’m asking you to find a group of pallbearers for the graveside service.”
Less than 48 hours after my mom had taken her life, I was now being asked to find a group of men to help carry her casket from the hearse to the grave site.
How did this happen…
How had we gotten to this point…
Pallbearer. What a strange word. A ‘pall’ is a heavy cloth that is draped over a coffin. Thus, the term pallbearer is used to signify someone who ‘bears’ the coffin which the pall covers. In Western cultures, pallbearers are typically male family members, close friends, or colleagues of the deceased.
Staring in space as I contemplated what had just been asked, the Attendant interrupted my mourning, “So, can you find some people? If not, I can ask around.”
“No, no…I mean, yes, I can do that, I can find some guys.”
We departed the hallway in different directions, my knees buckled, the lump in my throat too large to swallow. Shaking, I pulled out my phone from my pocket, and began to type out a text…my voice too weak to talk.
One by one, the notifications arrived back.
“Yes.”
“Yes. I’d be honored. I’m so sorry.”
“Yes. Can we talk? Love you brother.”
“Yes. Just tell me when and where. I’m here for you Tony.”
“Yes.”
And with that, 5 agreed. Heaving in a deep breath, I resolved…I would be the 6th. I would help carry her casket to her final resting place.
How did this happen…
How had we gotten to this point…
