I went to a funeral today.  It was for an uncle who had few people in his life.  He was survived by a wife, a brother, two sisters, a mother, and some cousins.  He had a stroke at an early age.  Some of the relatives state it was because of too much alcohol as a child.  He walked with a limp and lost most functionality of his left arm for as long as I knew him (and for all of his adult life his sister told me.).  He didn’t go anywhere.  He didn’t have any friends.  He had no hobbies.  he rarely went to family get-functions.  In fact his own mother frequently criticized him for only showing up when there was free food available.    Near the end he had cancer.  He laid alone often in and out of consciousness of a nursing home.  The wife wanted the the sisters and brother to take care of him.  This caused much in-fighting.  In the end, he died alone hours after his sister and niece visited him.  He was unconscious when the visited.  The niece asked: “How is he still alive?  No one is feeding him.”

In the funeral hall there were 8 family members present.  The wife of his brother invited her family to fill the hall out (this added 7).  The wife invited some of her family (5 showed up).  In the end, 20 people was all that was there to remember his life and times.

At the mortuary, no one know what traditions to apply.  The females wore a white yarn bow in their hair, the mails work a black ribbon on their sleeve.  There was confusion about when to view the body.  6 layers of brightly colored satin cloth were put on his body.  After sitting around and saying very little the Buddhist monks showed up.  They laid out food, incense, pictures of Buddha.  A senior monk (Sefu) spoke at length to the family explaining what was going to happen when.  For a while the monks were addressing a cousin instead of the wife until it was pointed out to her who the wife was.

The monks brought a cadre of helpers (6) that were to direct people on when to bow, sit, kneel, chant, or pray.  The chanted a sutra as we walked around the coffin, lit incense, bowed, knelt, followed along in a sutra by phonetics book.  The sutra was about the great Buddhas of the past and the divinity of their wisdom and how everyone ought believe it. Then sefu spoke at length about life and hereafter.

Lucky money slips were distributed to all who helped.  Special lucky money envelopes were given to Sefu by family members.  The monks packed up and left.  There were some more incense offerings and viewings.   The “From” ribbons on all the funeral bouquets were cut and saved.  The flowers were packed into a car along with the body of uncle.  We drove to the cemetery were his body was interred.  The black sleeve ribbons were put on the coffin along with the white yarn bows and flowers.   The family burned incense and paper money.  Then everyone left and went to lunch.

Nobody said anything about his life.  Nobody talked about him at lunch.  Even in the time before his funeral in the time after no one recounted “good times and bad times.”  The funeral home made oil painting of him from a picture of him when he was young.  The only comment I heard about him the whole day was: “That was a nice picture.”

The day was ceremony and ritual without depth.  He had no legacy.  He accomplished nothing and did little with his life.  He will not be remembered except as a footnote of family tree conversations.

What will the sum total of your life be?