When I was a kid back in the 30s and 40s, Grandma often came for a visit, always dressed in black, and usually it was a funeral that brought her to town.
I thought that was so weird. Did she enjoy funerals? Was that the only thing on her social calendar?
Well, guess what? I’ve arrived at that age when I open the paper first to the obituary page. First I check out to see if there’s someone I know. Then, I average the ages to see how I’m doing.
On a good day I’m younger than any of them. On a bad day I’m older. Too often, it seems, I find a friend has passed and I feel a stab of pain for the spouse and I want to express my sympathy and attend the funeral.
Final salvation at last
When I recently attended the funeral of my dear friend Betty, it occurred to me that funerals are really good for us seniors. They remind us of our own mortality, of course.