The Final Southern Send-off

There are two things in life we obviously cannot escape- death and taxes. I’ve come to terms with the death thing, but taxes I’m still working on. At least when you die, there’s a celebration. Maybe paying taxes would be easier if we threw a party each April. Then again, you’d have to have some money left over for a proper celebration. Now, everyone knows the closest big event next to a southern wedding is that of the southern funeral. Southern funerals are just as big (sometimes even bigger), last even longer, can be very impromptu at times, and can even require an event coordinator. I know, that seems crazy, right? But I’ll have you know, a few funerals I have been to in Nashville, Tennessee, had an event coordinator because they were such the soiree. And if an event coordinator is not in the budget, a nosy and over-involved aunt will suffice.

The first thing most people think about is the overflow of food at a southern funeral. The program usually goes as followed: visitation, service, burial, then reception. It’s so interesting that even when you die, a good southerner is still expected to host everyone for drinks and heavy hors d’oeuvres. It’s like your final cocktail party/ send off to heaven. I distinctly remember helping a friend pick out the perfect blush monogram for her mother’s cocktail napkins. We were having such a difficult time deciding between two choices of the peachy-pink shade. After heavy consideration, we finally decided on one we believed her mother would approve of. It’s all in the details- even in death.

One of the most perfectly named pieces of literature I have in my stash of cookbooks is “Being Dead is No Excuse” by Gayden Metcalfe and Charlotte Hayes circa 2005. These Mississippi Delta women lay out the quintessential rules of tastefully kicking the bucket. They ask the important questions like, “What does one do when a family overserves themselves and eats the entire funeral feast the night before the event?” I’d say this is when the event planner (or nosy aunt) in your back pocket comes in handy. I know it seems excessive, but how nice to toss over that responsibility.

Another thing I think about is color scheme. Now, this can range from the flowers to the clothing someone is buried in. Personally, I’d like to be cremated and sprinkled in my most favorite places, so I get to skip that part. I have a hard enough time picking out an outfit for dinner as it is. I’ll never forget going to my maternal grandmother’s funeral and saying to myself as I entered the ceremony, “Well, I guess she liked pink.” The entire Presbyterian church in Taylorsville, Mississippi, looked like they had used the leftover wedding reception flowers from Shelby and Jackson’s nuptials in Steel Magnolias. Apparently, my grandmother’s colors were also Blush and Bashful. In that same church a little over a year ago, we held my precious Great Aunt Lucy’s funeral. She had an open casket and was positioned with her favorite purse placed just between her hands. Apparently, she was quite the fashionista and intended to go out that way, holding her fashionable clutch all the way to heaven.

Speaking of being buried with things, my husband told me a story about a wealthy businessman who wanted to be buried with all the money he had made in his life because he had worked so hard for it on earth. Obviously, his wife reminded him of the age-old adage of “you can’t take It with you when you go”, but eventually she obliged. The grieving widow did as her husband wished and wrote a check for everything they had, placed it next to her husband, then closed the casket knowing she’d be just fine.

There are a few jokes I’ve also heard when it comes to planning a funeral. Now, I’ve been an Ole Miss football fan since I was in the womb, and with that comes many ups and downs. Everyone who has followed the team throughout the years knows exactly what I am talking about. I'll never forget having a pre-Grove cocktail (yes there are pre-Grove drinks before you get to the real drinks) at my dear friend’s home a few years back. A few family friends had shown up to reconnect before the day’s athletic event, and we were hemming and hawing over a morning game-day mimosa like any good old Rebel fans do. Now, Charlie, who was between sixty or seventy years old at the time started rambling on about his own funeral. He was nowhere near dying that we knew of, but he went on to tell us exactly how he wanted it to go down. Charlie proceeded to say, “and no matter what, I want members of the Ole Miss football team to be my pallbearers.”

“Really?” we asked. “How come? Wouldn’t you want close friends or family members?”

“I’m sure. I wouldn’t have it any other way. You see, I just really want them to let me down one last time.”

I laughed for the next thirty minutes and continue to repeat that story from time to time. And man, I love my Rebels, but I do understand what Charlie meant. That being said, any lifelong fan could insert their own team in the punchline of that joke.

Another major thing that needs to be considered when planning a southern funeral is timing. Back to the Southeastern Football Conference- Now, we all know you can’t always time a death, and unfortunately these things come on unexpectedly. However, I would be lying to you if I told you that I have never sat next to a grown man during a funeral service with earbuds in his ears while he listened to the play by play of his favorite SEC football team. You’re running a risk of “touchdown” being yelled out in the middle of a prayer for the loved one if not timed just so. Also, if the service is during gametime, let it be known that access to a television will be expected at the reception, much like any fall wedding in the South.

With timing, comes other things. I recently heard a story about two families conducting simultaneous graveside services at a small-town cemetery. One family requested a dove release. The other funeral had a gun salute for their deceased veteran. Since the two ceremonies ended around the same time, you can see how it was very surprising when the two funerals ended up being an unintentional and impromptu dove hunt. It was most likely not the feel either family was going for.

Perhaps my favorite tradition of a good, southern funeral is that of the second line in New Orleans. Those Cajuns know how to do it down there. Not only are you going to have the best food around, but you are also going to have a damn good time making your way to the reception. Historically, the African American community started the second lines as a neighborhood celebration to honor members who died in their community. In a jazz funeral, the family and the hearse are part of the first line, then the grand marshal or parade leader, brass band, and revelers falling behind make up the second line as they travel to the burial spot or reception. In the second line, there’s usually an array of colorful, twirling umbrellas and handkerchiefs being shaken to the jazzy, brass beat, celebrating the life of the lost. In my opinion, everyone should have a send-off like that, but then again, I’ve always loved a party.

I find it ironic that after I wrote this Sunday Short Story, my husband and I attended two separate funerals here in Nashville. Though death is never something to laugh at and can be unexpected, extremely tragic, and full of relentless grief, I do believe the life of those lost can be beautifully celebrated. And let’s face it, no one does those celebrations better than good old southerners.

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