BACK HOME
An article written by The Reverend Raymond Tiemeyer, 1974
IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER: CATHERINE VIRGINIA ROACH ROTH MORROW (1929-1974)
A friend of ours had died of cancer at age forty-two, the mother of four children and the wife of
a devoted husband. We were told of the "arrangements”: a viewing was to be held from 1 to 9
at the home. We went with some hesitation because I hadn't been to a viewing in a private
home since my grandfather was buried from our home, twenty-five years ago. I was afraid the
situation would be morbid, but because the family was our friends and because they were
former Mennonites, I excused it as their custom and went. When we arrived, the family and a
few friends were seated in a small living room with the casket. I was even more afraid then
that the situation would be morbid.
But it was natural--much more natural than any "visit" I had made to family at a funeral
home. In fact it wasn't in the least morbid. There was no eternal lugubrious background
music, no deep pile carpet, no people standing about in dark clothes ushering strangers to
parlor "a" or parlor "b," no day-old smell of flowers, no deep burgundy drapes and gray-green
walls--just home, the natural surroundings of home with family pictures on the mantle, casual
chairs, and work, and now and again of mom and her friends and her devoted work for the
family.
Nothing was strained, no one wondering if they were following the right formalities, no one
calling down the children who were playing at the door, no one even wondering why the
children were allowed to be present. It was the family and their friends, in the lonely modern
world where family and friends are so precious.
This article is not about funerals, it is about the meaning of family in a day when so many
family functions have been professionalized and removed from the home. It uses the occasion
of a funeral to illustrate what "home” has lost. The obituary card of our friend also had the
touch of home. The art on the cover had been done by one of the teenage daughters and run off
on a mimeograph at a corner store. The card read,
"Departed this imperfect life at her home in the presence of those who loved her most."
She had been in the hospital twice before in the year, but this time when they knew it would be
her last illness, they decided to care for her at home and devoted their time to her comfort.
The husband spoke of how communication had gone on between the patient and the family
for several days after she had lost her voice and some of her consciousness. They could read
her eyes and she could see their love. THE CIRCLE WAS NEVER BROKEN.
The funeral was the same: invested with love and care and tasteful planning by everyone-the
husband, the daughters and son, and the younger child. It included a few songs sung to
guitar, the reading of a letter from a friend who had known her for many years, and the Epistle
and Gospel with a sermon that confirmed the love of God and witnessed to the resurrection.
This family will have many moments of bitter sadness ahead, but they will also be much
farther along with the grief process because they were together for so much. This family has
already done its work of love.
I know these kinds of "arrangements" aren't possible for most of us in our society.
I would be reluctant to have a visiting in my home for a member of my family, but that is
because I'm so out of the habit of having the family personalized. I would feel strange.
Still though, this family did it and it was so refreshing to me to witness again this profound
meaning of home. It caused me to realize how much my world has been depersonalized.
When I go back to my childhood home in the country a thousand miles from here I visit
the grave of my father. The cemetery has hundreds of stones, and I know the families whose
names are on almost everyone of those stones. When I go to the cemetery ten blocks down the
street from my present home, I don't know a single name. I wonder if anyone else does.
So much of the closeness has gone out of our way of life.
When I went to the funeral of my father, the church was full as it always is back there
because most people who live there have lived their whole life there. They know each other
and care. When I die I will probably be retired somewhere far from any true home and the
service at the funeral home (I almost said church) will probably be attended by only a few,
who won't know each·other.
No wonder our society wants to have communes and small corner grocery stores again,
and little shops with a congregation down the street that cares.
No wonder we want meaningful family relationships.
We need it to feel the love of God who sets the solitaire in families.