Creative Connections by Sara Aeikens

Sara Aeikens is an Albert Lea resident.

Around a month ago, for the first time in my  life, I attended two funerals, back-to-back.  With only a quarter-hour break in between them, I rushed home to pick up my husband so we could attend the early afternoon funeral together. The vast contrast between the two events to honor the lives of two unique Albert Lea women in their 80s was mainly a reflection of denomination

differences: a Catholic rite in the morning and a Protestant service the other half of the day. The more formal first service of traditional passages between the priest and the people, helped  distinguish between regular Catholic parishioners and visitors like me. I noticed established worship practices nurtured in the two different churches somewhat took me away from the life stories of the deceased. 

At the luncheon after the first service, the only connection I made with the family occurred with the husband of the deceased, immediately after the entire family returned from the burial site and just minutes before I departed after the meal. I chose to sit at a table where I recognized three people, but only knew the first name of the one furthest  away. I found myself connecting with dim memories drawn from decades of the intertwining of familiar faces. The spark for wanting to converse with these people came from the priest’s earlier poignant and personal comments, as he stood directly in front of the deceased’s husband, and shared about the positive impact she had on her loved ones.

I walked out the church doors carrying with me an inspired feeling that I could possibly nurture two acquaintances into friendships in the future. I then recalled the one quote from the priest that I wanted to remember and cherish. “Instead of seeing a problem I can decide to turn it into a story” is a useful thought to help nourish relationships.

I quickly picked up my husband at our home a mile or so away and dropped him off at the front door of the second church funeral. I then realized I’d never once done that before. As soon as I entered the door, I recalled that at the first funeral the priest led the procession down the center aisle with the casket. At the second funeral, two grandsons led the procession, with the first one carrying the sunlight-colored urn containing his grandmother’s ashes.

At this funeral luncheon, I was able to interact with a half dozen family members since the burial isn’t scheduled until spring. There was time to do some sharing, with one of the five sons, of memories about his mother that I found both moving and humorous. Meanwhile, my husband carried on several extended conversations with both family members and friends. Two of them have a connective relationship with him because of being able to speak German or talk about the language with each other.  My husband and I turned out to be some of the very last ones to leave. 

Inspired by the priest’s quote, when we returned home I opened my journal to write another story. I found mention of going to three other funerals in a month on the page just before this story. The funerals I attended that day and the ones mentioned in my journal caused me to sit down on the sofa and contemplate the last quarter stage of life we are in and have gratitude for the stories it holds.