Two Funerals and a Wedding

The first two funerals I attended in my life were years and miles apart. They were for my two grandfathers, but they were as different as night and day. I remember them mainly for the incredible contrast between them and the realization that came from the experience. I classify the lesson as one of the most important of my life’s learnings.

My mother’s father, Eldon Forman, died when I was only eight years old in 1961. I still remember the phone call my mother received one evening while we lived in Hermiston, Oregon. It was from my Grandma Forman. When my mother heard the news of Grandpa Forman’s heart attack, my mother yelled, “Oh Mother!!” loud enough to scare the daylights out of all the children in the house. It was my first brush with death. I was too young to comprehend the gravity of the moment.

Our family drove to Portland a few days later to attend the funeral. My brother Tom and I were the only ones of all my siblings that attended the funeral with Mom and Dad. I remember looking at his still body in the casket and Grandma Forman saying, “He’s just sleeping, Dan.” After this, during the eulogies and other remarks, my brother and I were blubbering inconsolably. The enormity of death finally sunk in. I remember the feeling of loss and the hopelessness of ever seeing him again. I was too young to understand the moment from an eternal perspective. It was just lonely and so sad for an eight-year-old to have to comprehend.

Jump forward to 1985. My grandpa Williams was gravely ill because he had difficulties swallowing any food. He went to the hospital for surgery to correct the problem. During the surgery, it became apparent that his body was too weak to handle the anesthesia for the operation. His vital signs were fading fast, so the doctors had to abort the operation before they could correct the problem. He was told to go home and say his good-byes to his family.

I remember the last visit with him at his home in Provo, Utah. He said, “I’m going back home to live with my Heavenly Father.” He was very weak and frail, but totally at peace with his approaching last day in mortality.

A week or so later, the family gathered for his funeral. I was amazed at the mood in the Mormon chapel. There was no sadness or somber exchanges of “sorry for your loss” phrases, like you see on the TV depictions of funerals. Family members who had not seen each other for many months greeted each other with delightful happiness. During the service, many stories about Grandpa Williams were told that made everyone laugh and chuckle. It was a genuine celebration of a life well lived. We all knew we would see Grandpa again before long and that he had gone to a place where he would continue his mission of doing good things for others.

Before the funeral, I still carried the dark impression of my first funeral in my mind. I was not looking forward to the expected gloom of the occasion. My attitude was totally transformed by the joy and rejoicing that I found there instead. Upon reflection, I realized the huge gift of understanding the big picture. I was 32 and had heard all the Sunday School and seminary lessons. I even taught these things to others in Brazil, but this experience brought it all deep into my heart. The impact on my life and the gratitude I still feel is hard to put into words.

By the way, I was just kidding about the wedding.