A Memorial for Millions

Dad died July 9, which seems both like ages ago and just yesterday. About five days after his death, there was an Open House held. It was catered and there were pictures set up in the room where he died. Roughly 100 people mingled and told stories. It was nice. It wasn't a memorial service. Some family members, most notably my sister and her family, were not there. The actual memorial service was going to be held "later."

How much later? Try late October. That's one hell of a delay between death and memorial. Apparently, that's how long it takes to organize around everyone's schedule, and plan what is turning out to be a memorial service of celebrity proportions.

The main purpose for a funeral or memorial service is closure for friends and family. It gives structure to the puzzling void of death and loss, closure to the turmoil of illness; it's a signal that yes, indeed, he really is dead and isn't just on vacation. Ideally, it should be held within a short time following the death; absence has a way of becoming reality, and people's memories are short. Life goes on.

What I'm wondering now, though, while facing a memorial service held at a huge venue, complete with video presentations like a Beverly Hills bar mitzvah, is how effective closure can be in such a spectacle. The guest list, apparently, could run as high as 700 to 1000 people, most of whom didn't know Dad well at all. The actual close friends and family is a very small percentage of the list. Public speaking isn't my forte, and there's no way in hell I'm speaking in front of that many people about such a personal subject.

Plus, there's the law firm's involvement. Before Dad went under for that last big surgery, he made a funny morphine laced statement: "Don't let those fuckers (the firm) give the eulogy." We all laughed; of course we wouldn't let the firm hijack the service. To my knowledge, it was the only request regarding these arrangements Dad ever made. But now the firm is paying for the whole thing, and it has indeed been hijacked. It's a sell out of massive proportions. While I recognize that spending 40 years at one firm does indeed merit some involvement, the idea that the firm began vetoing potential dates infuriated me. Who is this service for, anyway?

Perhaps, given all that I've written on this blog regarding Dad's remarkable split between business and family, public and private, it's only fitting that his service be all about those who knew him least, but got the best side of him. I'm not anticipating any sort of relief from the somewhat numbing depression that's swept over me. I'm hoping it's just par for the course, and over by late October. Perhaps my sister, my mother, my aunt and I will all get together with some of Dad's ashes and hold our own "family" memorial service, just for us, those who knew him solely in that complicated context.