An old friend died a few weeks ago. His funeral was yesterday and I wanted to honor our long acquaintance. It was one of those work friendships that stop and start, but always warm and convivial . He challenged my intellect.
So I went to the Mass.
I did not go to the wake and gathering the day before. I almost NEVER go to the internment and for reasons I will explain below, I did not go to the after gathering.
The Mass was at a church in my childhood neighborhood and I remember going there for Mass with my neighbor, Sandy. I am not Catholic, but Sandy was and she HAD to go to Mass every Sunday so often when she missed going with her siblings, she would convince me to go. I had to put on a dress and put a bow in my hair ( this was before the whole head covering rule was removed, a bow was acceptable for young girls.)
I remember arriving breathless ( we ran) on the steps and entering the vestibule, where there were candles you could light, after making a small donation, to honor the dead or something like that. I was not clear on the concept. The church was dark and hushed as we scrambled into the pews- Sandy would genuflect, but I just crouched down and slid in beside her. The Mass was in Latin and I remember her poking me to get up or kneel at the appropriate moments.
The church has been redesigned since those days in the 60s I walked around, past the old steps to wide glass doors. I walked into a light , airy space that reminded me more of a social hall than a church. The pews looked like they could be moved out of the way for a dance or a party. It all felt... temporary.
I sat by myself and and some point, realized the only person I knew was the one we were mourning. I sat quietly, no one approached me or spoke to me. I felt like an interloper. I sat, thinking about my friend, our debated and our laughter. I thought of what I knew of him and wished there were stories being told ( I think there was an event the day before, but I usually avoid Wakes.)
The sound in the room was terrible. At one point, I wondered if the priest was doing the Mass in Latin, it was so garbled ( yes I had my hearing aids in, yes I had them up high)
It was just a Mass. The way the priest spoke my friend's whole name when he mentioned him as part of the Mass made it feel less personal. I found myself wondering if he even knew him or was just contracted to perform the mass. The vibe in the room felt... off. There were no eulogies and we were dismissed without much emotion.
Funerals are to comfort the living. I thought about the rituals of Funeral Masses and how they are supposed to be comforting. I was not comforted.
No one made any announcements about the rest of the day and I felt terribly out of place, so I came home. I will think about my friend this weekend and probably off and on for the rest of my life. We shared a birthday, although he was younger than me. Remembering his life, the impact of our friendship will stay with me.
Rest in Power, Marcos. And try not to give God a hard time.
