Considering the Alternative

"No one ever tells you how hard it is to get old," my 88-year-young aunt joked yesterday. "They call it the 'golden years' and the 'glory days.' Good grief!" she laughed.

"Really?" I pushed back. "I feel like I've heard that aging is not for the faint of heart. Didn't Grandma and Granddaddy complain at all?"

"All I remember is hearing them say that everyone they knew was dying and they had to go to funerals all the time," she replied. "They never mentioned not being able to bend over enough to put your own shoes on."

Our conversation took a different path from there, but I thought of it this morning as I scanned my wardrobe to choose an appropriate outfit for an end-of-summer memorial service for a former colleague. And then again as, somberly dressed, Heidi and I sat in the chapel of a local funeral home. 

The service was led by a chaplain who turned out to be the parent of a boy I taught in my first year, and who I knew had passed away a couple of years ago at the age of 41. She opened the service with welcoming remarks and the information that she had been a personal friend of Penny, the deceased. Then, after a granddaughter read the 23rd Psalm, the chaplain opened the floor, inviting any of us mourners to come to the pulpit and share an anecdote. 

Perhaps it was the holiday weekend, but the turnout was small; there were fewer than 50 of us gathered to pay our respects, mostly family, and the ten of us who knew her from school. The silence that followed the request to speak was notable and quickly grew uncomfortable. I sat in my pew two-thirds of the way back and racked my brain for something kind and comforting to share, but when nothing came to mind, I switched to berating myself for coming unprepared.

I realized then that, as my grandparents noted six decades ago, there might be many funerals in my future.  It would probably be prudent to spend some time in advance considering the person we'd be honoring and have at the ready some words and stories to share. 

Now that's something they never tell you about getting older.