Saying Good-Bye to a Client

Basden funeral

The usher handed me a printed program as I rushed into the funeral home.  We were late; Pat was parking the car.  “You must be the minister,” the well-dressed man posited.   “What?”  My mind was trying to make sense of his declaration that sounded more like a question.   “Well, I did go to seminary,” I thought to myself as I stared at the usher, wondering how he knew.  I opened up the program in my hand; yep, there was my name:  Cindy Adcock, Officiating.

Rose had asked me the day before to say a few words at her brother’s funeral.  Ernest was my third client to be executed, but my first to have a funeral.  I had imagined a small room with a few people saying “a few words” about Ernest.  I looked through the open double doors.  The room looked like a church sanctuary, and it was packed!  I took a deep breath and headed down the hall in search of Rose.  I reminded myself of my execution mantra:  expect the unexpected and roll with it.

************

The images of the last few days flooded my mind as I walked onto the elevated platform at the front of the funeral home.  Ernest lay in front of me in a flag draped coffin.  His family sat in the front rows of the packed house.   Organ music was playing.  When it stopped, Ernest’s niece, Kristin, rose and began singing a cappella: Precious Lord, Take My Hand.   I moved deliberately to the podium, led a prayer and spoke from the notes that I had scribbled in pencil under the blankets early that morning:  “We are all more than our worst deed, and Ernest Basden was much more.  What I want to share with you today is what I believe Ernest taught us.”  I proceeded to share lessons in forgiveness, hope, faith, death and continuing the fight against the violence of the death penalty.

After I sat down, Ernest’s brother James rose and stepped onto the platform.  He had been designated the “family spokesperson.”  I didn’t know what to expect.  He began singing/speaking “Let it Be” in an endearing off pitch manner.  When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me.”  Mary was the name of Ernest and James’ mother, who died tragically long ago.  James struggled to remain composed, as did I.

At the end of the service, I stepped down, walked to the center aisle and slowly led Ernest’s casket to the waiting hearse.  My silver pick-up truck had been designated the lead vehicle of the funeral procession, immediately behind the police escort.  “Seriously?” I snarked to my husband.  “They killed him and now they are honoring him.”

The long procession slowly snaked through Kinston, finally turning right, just past the Walmart, into the cemetery.

The sky was a clear blue.  By the time I reached the gravesite, Ernest was waiting in his casket.  As I approached, Rose handed me Ernest’s Bible and asked me to read the marked scripture, his favorite but one I cannot now remember.

After I read the verse, moved by the Spirit I guess, I kissed the Bible and lifted it to the heavens, as if I were releasing Ernest to God.

Advertisements

From Lawyer to Reverend

The usher handed me a printed program as I rushed into the funeral home.  It was only when he spoke that the mental clues began to fall into place:  “Are you the minister?”  Well, I did go to seminary, I thought to myself as I stared at the well-dressed man, wondering how he knew.  I opened up the program; yep, there was my name: Cindy Adcock, Officiating.

There was a part of me that was not surprised that I would be officiating at Ernest’s funeral.  I had prepared somewhat for such an eventuality, though not exactly for this eventuality.

Ernest’s sister, Rose, had called me the day before.   Pat and I were on our way to Laurinburg, ironically for a memorial service.  Pat’s beloved Uncle Charles had died a month earlier.  His funeral was held in California, where he had lived for decades, but he was now being buried at the McCoy family plot.  As we traveled the rural back roads, I was in a haze watching the ice-covered trees give way to a drier, but still bleak, landscape.

Rose asked if I would be coming to Ernest’s funeral.  “Of course,” I answered without skipping a beat.  I had never been to a client’s funeral before, but then I had never been invited.   “I was also wondering if you would be willing to say a few words,” Rose added tentatively.   “I would be honored,” I replied reassuringly.

Perhaps it was my preconceived notions of what a funeral for a man just executed might be like, but my mind latched onto “a few” words.  I imagined a few friends and family members gathered in a small room taking turns saying “a few words” about what Ernest had meant to us.

After Rose hung up, I turned to Pat, who was driving.  “The funeral is tomorrow in Kinston.” I paused and then added, “You will go with me, right?”  I expected he would.   Pat had been my rock over the last week.  Besides, I knew he understood the importance of funerals, always attending those of friends and family.  He had flown across country to be at his Uncle Charles’ funeral.

My cellphone rang again.  I looked down at it and saw Rose’s name pop up.   Guess she forgot something.  “How do you want to be identified in the program?” Rose asked, quickly adding “Reverend?”   Hmmm.   My mind searched for meaning in the question.  I had been Ernest’s lawyer.  Would that be appropriate?  “No, not Reverend,” I responded.  In the end, I left it to Rose.

That was an odd question, I thought to myself after we hung up, but my mind quickly turned to other matters.