A couple of days ago I was driving Simeon home from one of our gazillion appointments. It was a truly lovely spring day. We had the windows down, the radio on.
Soon I realized, as the cars in front of us were going more slowly than typical for the four lane road we usually take, that we were only one or two cars behind a small funeral procession.
They had just pulled out of a nearby funeral home and our car soon blended in with the line. Within moments of entering the main road, the on coming traffic began stopping and pulling over. This was the first time I’ve been part of a funeral procession without mourning myself. The experience was heart warming.
As we drove several miles, cars stopped and pulled over. No one passed us. The world seemed to grow silent and still.
I know the few times I’ve grieved the loss of a loved one, the I most appreciated being given room to grieve and permission to be sad. A few weeks after my father died, I was shocked by how casually the world continued moving.
Here in my South, metropolitan as it is, the world stopped a few moments. We gave a gathering of family and friends room to grieve. Their world is forever changed by the loss they’ve experienced and it’s the least our community can do to stop the world for a few moments, seconds really, and allow them to pass their mourning in peace.
It made me proud of my heritage. It made me glad that while the culture I’ve grown up in seems to be changing rapidly, somethings continue to stay the same. My rather homogenous community beginnings are more diverse (often a welcome change, of course) each day. I love that this tradition has stayed, and I hope it never changes.