Flowers an ancient custom

I have to order flowers today. I do not want to be doing this but it is a necessary thing. My friend has died. She was a kind and wonderful lady and I am fortunate for having known her. Now she knows first-hand what comes after life has ended here on earth while there rest of us do not. We may believe but we do not know. There is a difference.

People have been honoring the dead with flowers almost since the dawn of civilization. Even the graves of Neanderthal people who lived and died about 60,000 years ago show evidence of flower fragments and other means of paying last respects. After many thousands of years traces of the flowers remain, as do the traces of all our ancestors.

Every culture and civilization ever studied has some type of funeral rites. We seek solace in the rituals that we believe honor the dead. We seek to ensure a happy afterlife for them. We desire concrete reminders that serve to keep our loved ones in our hearts long after they have gone away. We want people to know how much they meant to those who knew them.

Little do we realize that they continue to exist in the rest of us. My grandmother lives on in how I sit and in the ways I choose to occupy my time with crossword puzzles and needlecrafts. She lives in many other aspects of her character that are now my own. Her fondness for the Cincinnati Reds will have to live in her other grandchildren as baseball is boring and her beloved Pete Rose has proven to have feet of clay.

My grandfather also lives in me. He is evidenced in my love of thunderstorms and dark starry nights, among other things. Each person with whom I come in contact is a part of who I am. All of the folks who touch your life become a part of you. So, too, will my friend live on. She will be remembered for all the things that made her unique. She will live forever in the hearts of her friends and family.

A funeral is one of the rituals we observe when someone dies. Funerals serve many purposes. They confirm the reality of death even though when my stepfather died I swore I could see him breathing in the casket. It was an illusion, albeit an unsettling one, as my brother saw the same thing. I suppose we deserved a good scare for staring at him.

Funerals allow us to remember the good things and gloss over the bad. They allow us to express our grief in a safe way and gain the comfort of others. Funerals also provide stories to be handed down as when the priest at my father-in-law’s funeral asked if our loved one was referred to as “Sly” instead of Sylvester. The family promptly told him that the deceased was referred to as “Syl” and any reference to “Sly” would cause him to rise up out of the casket. I think the young priest thought we were all nuts because he quickly took a couple steps backward as he made notes on his paper.

I can only imagine what will be said and done at my own funeral which I hope is many years in the future. I have told my daughter that I want to be buried with socks on so my feet don’t get cold. I know full well that I will be dead and won’t feel anything but have demanded that she make sure I’m wearing socks anyway. She has promised to find the ugliest, most gaudy pair ever created for this purpose. That is fine, as long as they are warm.

Speaking of socks, I will think of my friend every time I wear a pair of funny socks. We took a yoga class together one time and she had the greatest socks. She said her daughter picked them out. It always made me smile to see those colorful stockings.

I wish I had no reason to visit the florist. No matter how much I want to, I cannot bring my friend back and restore her health. Therefore, I will order flowers today in order to pay respects to a good friend.

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