Speaking at Funerals
An NBC anchorman died last week. Tim Russert, host of "Meet the Press". He was not a figure of which I was very much aware; I made no scheduled meetings to be sure to catch his show. As someone who has grown up watching the TV news for terrorist attacks and political elections though, his was a familiar face.
His is not a death I wonder around the house pondering. He seems to have been an excellent man, well liked by his colleagues and loved by his family. There is one part of his memorial services that really spoke to me, though.
His son, newly graduated from college, spoke at his father's memorial service and on all the major news network about his father. Watching a young face praise his parent in a church reminded me of an episode from my high school days.
A student lost his younger brother and mother to a car accident, while they were visiting colleges. It was the first funeral I ever attended for someone near my own age. Classes were waived for those who wished to attend. The throngs of people moved across the street to the local Catholic church.
I played in a brass quintet for that service; the first of the few funerals I've ever attended as a performer. What I really remember about that day, though, was watching the eldest son stand and euologize his brother and mother. I remember being overcome with emotions at this high school senior (who seemed much older than me, the freshman). He was able to get up at the most solemn of occasions and praise the lives and spirits of his family.
I remember wondering whether or not I would have the strength of will to do the same, should I lose family members.
I don't know where that high school student went after that day, what job he took, what life he lead. But the memory of his determination and fortitude has been with me ever since.
His is not a death I wonder around the house pondering. He seems to have been an excellent man, well liked by his colleagues and loved by his family. There is one part of his memorial services that really spoke to me, though.
His son, newly graduated from college, spoke at his father's memorial service and on all the major news network about his father. Watching a young face praise his parent in a church reminded me of an episode from my high school days.
A student lost his younger brother and mother to a car accident, while they were visiting colleges. It was the first funeral I ever attended for someone near my own age. Classes were waived for those who wished to attend. The throngs of people moved across the street to the local Catholic church.
I played in a brass quintet for that service; the first of the few funerals I've ever attended as a performer. What I really remember about that day, though, was watching the eldest son stand and euologize his brother and mother. I remember being overcome with emotions at this high school senior (who seemed much older than me, the freshman). He was able to get up at the most solemn of occasions and praise the lives and spirits of his family.
I remember wondering whether or not I would have the strength of will to do the same, should I lose family members.
I don't know where that high school student went after that day, what job he took, what life he lead. But the memory of his determination and fortitude has been with me ever since.
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