Journal of a Living Lady #71
I don’t know if the corpse was male or female. Nor do I know the color or age of the deceased. The funeral procession, consisting of a sheriff’s car, a hearse and approximately twenty cars was slowly approaching. I signaled, pulled my car over to the far right edge of the highway and stopped.
Four teenagers in the car behind me didn’t appreciate my gesture of respect. Perhaps they didn’t know it is a southern custom to pull over when a funeral entourage is passing. It used to be the law. Regardless, it is still good manners.
Barely braking, the young driver stomped the gas pedal and
rushed past my waiting car. A boy on the passenger’s side relayed the driver’s
disgust by giving me a middle-finger salute. That punky kid doesn’t know how
lucky he was that Buddy wasn’t with me. He wouldn’t put up with anybody disrespecting a lady, particularly his.
A couple of years ago our family was leading the funeral procession for my mother. The Memphis traffic was heavy. It was one of the saddest days of our lives. My youngest brother, Bob, pointed out that several cars were pulling over to the curb. Grateful tears stained our cheeks. What a compassionate demonstration of respect for an unknown person who happened to be someone’s daughter, wife, mother, and friend.
In contrast, those teenagers who sped past the line of cars with their headlights on showed both their ignorance and arrogance. Sooner or later, death will visit their families. I suspect that only then will they realize the significance of this small act of kindness.
A death brings us face-to-face with universal reality. All the bad one can do in this life will have been done. All the good also. The Shakespearian lines I memorized in high school quickly come to mind. Regarding Julius Caesar, Anthony aptly said, ”I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. “
So it is with us. While we are yet living we are writing our own eulogy. A candle loses no power by lighting another. May each of us spark a little light in this dark world.
And, to you rude boys. Someday when you are riding in the family car on the way to the local cemetery, I hope a hurried stranger will stop long enough for you to recognize and appreciate a traditional expression of sympathy.
