Greetings, Synchronicity is amazing! I have been planning to write about the OS service for my 92 yr. old mother on April 3, 01 here in Seaside, Oregon, USA and ask a similar question and/or note what we did. Then up pops someone's similar thought. No, I don't think it is morbid...death is another marker in the soul's journey.
Here's what transpired. In the beginning, I unconsciously started down the road to an OS service. I suggested to the funeral director, the minister and my family, a circle with aisles at 12, 3, 6 and 9 o'clock, with my mother's casket in the middle. It was to be placed low enough for the attendees to see each other over the flowers. The minister was to have a battery microphone to walk around with at the same level as the audience. He was not to be high up and beyond, behind the podium. I have to say my family, the funeral director and the minister all humored me in my grief, probably since I was the only family caregiver for my mother. However, there was some mild resistance. "We don't have a stand low enough," said the funeral man. I persisted and said I was sure they could figure out a way. They did. Four boxes holding computer paper with a swath of tan material around it all, became the new stand. The casket looked like it was floating in air. Very, very nice. "We've never done this," objected the minister, until I drew the OS floor diagram. (that's when it hit me, I was setting up OS...I am a little slow figuring things out!) He got the idea immediately. His next challenge was to convince the janitor who was just putting the finishing touches on 100 chairs, all neatly facing the high-up podium. "You were always a little different, sister-sue", said my family. They were the last to convince. Maybe because I have my parent's Finnish "sisu," they did not argue long. ("Sisu" means tenacity, perseverance, or stubborn beyond all reason). We asked for people to share, some planned it, some were spontaeneous, some sang. I could not speak for the tears choked my throat in grief, but, also, in the joy of hearing my mother's 9 year old great-granddaughter read a poem. Here it is: "If my boundary stops here I have children to draw new maps on the world. They will draw the lines of my face. They will draw with my gestures my voice. They will speak my words thinking they have invented them. They will invent them. They will invent me. I will be planted again and again. I will wake in the eyes of their children's children. They will speak my words." >From the book: "Tamsen Donner: A Woman's Journey" by: Ruth Whitman (about the tragic Donner party) I hope Ms Whitman will not mind me including this. We have a program of most of it and deep memories of the undocumented love and laughter. My sons now know my wishes for a memorial service. Thank you, Harrison Owen. Kindest regards, Nancy Blake Mills * * ========================================================== osl...@listserv.boisestate.edu ------------------------------ To subscribe, unsubscribe, change your options, view the archives of osl...@listserv.boisestate.edu, Visit: http://listserv.boisestate.edu/archives/oslist.html