Here is the Albuquerque Tribune column that ran Nov. 24, Thanksgiving Day:
THANKFUL TO DEATH
Joyous funeral send-offs a happy development of recent years
By Arthur Alpert
Every Thanksgiving Day I ponder my luck – my good looks aside, I have friends, family, food, shelter and health. This year I am grateful, too, for a new blessing – funerals.
No, really. They’ve changed.
If memory serves, the funerals of my youth were cruel. Button up emotions. Recite prayers. This is death, everybody, be miserable and share it. Wakes were better - for crying out loud - but still not ideal. Funerals were few but punishing.
Today, because I am ancient, I regularly visit churches, synagogues and funeral homes from the far Northeast Heights to Barelas. And I come away feeling pretty good.
The idea of celebrating the life rather than bemoaning the death has caught on - a great advance.
Well, not always. When a teacher-actor friend passed away a few years ago, his memorial service resembled a Dean Martin roast, a platform for narcissists who forget the star. Still, he loved laughs.
Most funerals I attend do not overdo. They combine traditional liturgy with thoughts from the priest, minister or rabbi and testimony from family members and close friends.
I must confess the liturgy- whether in English, Spanish, Latin or Hebrew - doesn’t inspire me, but that’s my problem; others presumably find consolation in the ancient prayers.
The clerics usually acquit themselves well, using the content of their faith to comfort family and friends. Only once or twice have I bristled, as when an otherwise intelligent Protestant minister in Los Lunas explained that God welcomes only members of his denomination. Behind me sat several Roman Catholic friends of the departed. What did they think? Me, I figure any Deity worth his or her salt despairs of human arrogance.
The celebration arises, of course, from family testimonies. Now I wouldn’t be there, right, if I didn’t know the man or woman they’re talking about. Turns out, I didn’t. Listening, I become envious of those who spent more time with the departed, sorry I wasn’t closer and that I missed hidden traits – some that bring me to tears and some Pink Panther silly.
Family photographs adorn a lot of these celebrations; the more candid, the more emotional. Video, too, and the deceased’s favorite music, not just Ave Maria but Dixieland, Country and songs of the Auvergne.
Family members spoke of their father’s love of chocolate. And as we left, they handed each of us a silver-wrapped "kiss."
Words spoken to celebrate the dead can pierce. "A happy man," is how the rabbi described a New Mexico pioneer I often lunched with. Walking out, I thought that’s not true of me and ever since, I’ve been wondering why and can I change.
Most inspiring are stories about how these friends loved, laughed, were quirky, maddening and brave. Like the stricken priest who, near the end, "refused to yield…his beautiful full head of hair" to the doctors.
Bartender, I’ll have what he was having.
I walk out of the Masses, memorials, services and – yes, roasts – crying inside for the spouses and kids but joyful, too. I haven’t decided yet if I am going to die, but these celebrations spur me to live harder, with as much passion and humor as I can summon up - starting, oh, 10 minutes ago.
For which I am thankful.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Alpert is a semi-retired journalist in Albuquerque. Email him at ArthurAlpert@swcp.com. His column runs the fourth Thursday of the month.