While I had been to my share of church services, I had never attended a funeral before. My gaze didn’t linger at the pulpit for long, but shifted past it, to where the two caskets sat side by side. One open. One closed.
The ceremony began on a solemn note, as mournful organ music filled the room. A prayer was said, a hymn was sung, and several people who had known my father and sister had stood at the pulpit and given brief eulogies of them.
The pastor was now at the pulpit and had begun an exuberant recitation of how virtuous my father had been – loving, selfless and devoted to his children, who never raised his voice in anger.
He’s dead, what purpose is there to lying about how good of a person he was?
