Last October I received a distressing phone call from a good friend named Dave informing me that a young man named Mike, who had worked for me in the 1980s and 1990s, had stage four cancer.
Unfortunately, Dave explained, Mike had only weeks to live. I had been aware of his condition although did not realize he was living out his final days. My buddy also notified me that Mike had made an unexpected, sudden decision to have a celebration of his life.
Basically, Mike would be attending his own funeral service. It brought to mind a clip from a classic old movie I had seen many times as a youngster, Tom Sawyer.
The information unsettled me just a bit; however, I told Dave that I would be attending. The remainder of the day and well into the next, I wrestled with the notion of a person witnessing his or her own memorial service.
In the scene, young Tom wanders into the rural church where the entire town is gathered. Curious, he slips upstairs unnoticed to the balcony to see what the fuss is all about.
Below, one after another, the parishioners were tearfully honoring a beloved church member who had passed away. Soon the precocious Tom realizes the entire gathering believes he is dead and they are eulogizing him I must be honest; it freaked me out a little bit. I had heard of these types of “celebrations,” although I had never attended one.
I arrived at the church to find it overflowing with Mike’s family and friends. I knew many of the people in attendance but had previously met only one of his family members.
I took a seat next to Dave just as Mike’s aunt approached the podium on the stage. About 10 feet behind her sat Mike in a large recliner with his brother seated next to him in a folding chair, attending to his physical needs and occasionally whispering in his ear.
Mike had the bodily look of a Nazi concentration camp survivor. It was acutely evident by his physical appearance, hollow stare and ashen pallor that the end was near.
A bulky lump formed in my throat as I fought back the tears. Looking at this shell of a man who once coached youth basketball and roller hockey for me at the El Segundo Recreation Department profoundly touched and saddened me.
As the people settled in, Mike’s aunt picked up the microphone and addressed the somber crowd. “I’d like to thank you all for coming and I know Mike is so very grateful to see all his friends and family,” she said as I scanned the congregation.
In many of the faces, I witnessed the uneasiness I was experiencing. Soon Mike’s mother began speaking, followed by his extremely emotional brother. One after another, his family, boyhood friends, current friends and co-workers solemnly made their way to the stage to poignantly recall Mike’s life and their heart-felt feelings for this decent, honorable loyal friend.
When they had all finished speaking, some hugged him, some waved and some blew him a kiss. Mike faintly smiled and ever so slightly nodded his head. It proved gut wrenching and spiritually uplifting at the same time. My mind was forever altered that Sunday regarding the subject of attending your own celebration of life. Prior to Mike’s emotional ceremony, I viewed such events as a little creepy and definitely over-the-top.
No more. I now truly believe, depending on the situation and the person facing their mortality, it can be a fulfilling and internally divine experience. My eyes were opened and my heart touched by the unique and inspirational spectacle of Mike’s life. Four days later Mike quietly passed away at home, surrounded by his loving family. I firmly believe that the events from that glorious Sunday, and witnessing the outpouring of love from family and friends, gave him the spiritual strength to “let go”” and embark on his journey.
