Memorial service in OS

[Blake Mills]

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

*
*
==========================================================
OSLIST at LISTSERV.BOISESTATE.EDU
------------------------------
To subscribe, unsubscribe, change your options,
view the archives of oslist at listserv.boisestate.edu,
Visit:

http://listserv.boisestate.edu/archives/oslist.html