I went to a funeral in my former hometown Saturday. Our local fix-it man, Mr. Courtney--he was always "Mr. Courtney," never John--was buried with full firefighter's honors. A 31-year veteran of the Paola, Kansas Volunteer Fire Department, who rose to the rank of Assistant Chief, he hadn't died in the line of duty, but with his contributions to the department and his son and grandson both current volunteers it seemed "the least we could do," the Chief commented to me. Perhaps it is a testament to training, good luck, and small town cohesiveness that this is the first time this department had ever performed this ritual, and they "did him proud."
The fire fighters came as a group to the funeral in their new dress uniforms. Later, a fire truck led the procession to the cemetery, with the Chief in his department SUV taking up the rear. Along the route, cars pulled to the side of the road out of respect, police stationed on the historic downtown square saluted, and the firefighters stood at attention in an honor guard as the procession approached the burial site. At the grave, the department executed the Last Roll Call, with the plaintive wail of the high-pitched whistle and the chilling voice of the dispatcher calling Chief Courtney's name for the final time. I had to think that Mr. Courtney's spirit was chuckling in his Kansas twang, "Well I'll be...they got that radio to work."
The sheer effort of these volunteers to create a fitting tribute was emotional, for I knew what association with this group had meant to this otherwise private man. And having just buried my mom in this small town fifty days before, I understood how much having the support of a group can mean to a grieving family.
I had seen how the group support of his employees helped my brother John at the time of Mom's funeral at the end of December. Working among themselves, they cooperated to continue coverage for the business while bringing a delegation of some 20 current and former employees to Paola for the funeral. Some of these returning employees hadn't been associated with the business for 20 years, and few knew my mother except from visits with her at the company's annual Christmas dinner. Nevertheless, they and their spouses were there, giving their collective respect to Mom and support to my brother.
I hadn't expected that sort of support since Mom's funeral occurred during the semester break at the community college where I teach English. Because the timing was awkward for flowers, our program's typical group response to such things, I added a school scholarship to the suggested memorials to make a group response simple. My thinking was that a group collection could garner a nice gift for a cause whose value we all recognized. Moreover, memorials don't have the time limitation on them that flowers do. Most importantly, rather than a token gift for me, it would be about Mom for student benefit--a good fit, I thought. The scholarship did receive a boost--from Mom's acquaintances. From my program, only my dean and one colleague contributed. While my family certainly appreciated those individual contributions, as a group, the faculty did nothing.
I feel badly about that--for the inequity involved and the awkwardness of the situation. After spending six months of daily advocacy on her behalf, I don't apologize for being a bit defensive about Mom getting her due, though I must say that I never imagined that I would have to advocate on her behalf to my own faculty. As a matter of equity, however, I argue that my parent deserved the recognition comparable to those extended on behalf to two other parents--a mother and a mother in law--who died within a week of Mom's funeral. Because of group dynamics, group condolences need to be consistent; deviations discriminate--positively or negatively--but discriminate they do. And discrimination does damage, sometimes to the individual, but surely always to the group.
On her behalf, I am frustrated that my parent was not recognized by my colleagues, and I am irritated that I have been put in an awkward social situation. Advocacy for Mom reinforced the value of thanking people for their good efforts, especially when doing so on her behalf. But in this situation I was left without any communication of what, if anything, had been done on her behalf by my colleagues. Were people expecting a thank-you note? For what?
For nothing, it turns out. Because my dean had not monitored his email and, thus, missed the funeral, he chose to leave any acknowledgement up to the faculty members as individuals. (Apparently he notified faculty of this decision by email; I did not receive that message.) The effect of this decision was to silence the collective voice, I think. Eliminating a group response troubled me, and it should not have seemed right to others in the faculty either. Our relationship is professional, not personal. It is group-based and organizationally motivated, in other words, not driven by individual alliances.
My point is that the nature of the remembrance needs to fit the relationship and the situation, and I also suggest that it is best when it emerges organically--from within the group itself. If the dean missed or overlooked or ignored the value of a group condolence, why didn't faculty members step forward to initiate their own collective effort, as my brother's employees had? Why not at least a card that the group signed? One of the most touching and re-assuring remembrances my family received came from the Palliative Care staff at Lawrence [Kansas] Memorial Hospital on Mom's 97th birthday--two days before she died. The entire staff turned a placemat with a big, bright birthday cake painted on it into a card, which they each autographed and posted on the wall by her bed. It was merely a make-shift card at one level, but the message was clear: "We're here for you." Isn't that really the message of a group condolence?
To me, because the power of the group is so significant, its absence is profound. I certainly feel that absence, but it also occurs to me that such activities are as important for the group's growth and development as for the individual's healing. I think that the firefighters and my brother's employees understand that. I wish my faculty colleagues had.
