What I Saw
I sit on a green stuffed chair in my Grandma Longenecker’s parlor. The top of my back legs feel a little itchy. My mother has starched my Sunday dress to make the skirt stand out nice and pretty. Because I am little, I can see the tips of my high-top shoes, both of them looking spotless with white shoe polish.
People I know like Uncle Joe and Aunt Bertha and John and Emma Longenecker are mingling with others I don’t know in the living room where I am sitting. I know this is a solemn occasion. Usually we are never quiet at Grandma’s house, sitting stiffly with grown-ups, whispering among themselves. Some of the people walk slowly to the casket at one end, “He looks so natural,” one of them says. Later, I learn that the funeral director has placed two pink torchiere lamps at either end of the casket, the soft light casting a slight glow on the face of my Grandpa, lying dead—unexpectedly from a stroke.
Image from eBay
I understand that this evening is the viewing of my Grandpa’s body at the Longenecker home, with a funeral to follow on Sunday, October 20, 1946 at Bossler Mennonite Church, Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania nestled in farm land.
Grandpa Longenecker’s Funeral Announcement
His memorial leaflet shows text typewritten on pre-printed paper with a slight sheen and subtle texture, the only fancy thing about his commemoration. In those days it was customary to include “please omit flowers” at Mennonite funerals because church leaders thought flowers in the sanctuary to be worldly and a frivolous expense even though asters and chrysanthemums may have been blooming gloriously in Pennsylvania gardens at this time of year in 1946.
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How I Remember Grandpa Longenecker
I have three recollections of my Grandfather Henry Longenecker, who died when I was five. I remember him killing a garter snake in the front lawn of the home-place. Another time he bought me a soft drink in a cold, curvy glass bottle after I asked him, “Grandpa, how do you spell ‘Pepsi?’” And, finally, I remember him talking about Scravel Hill. I watched how he said the word. “Scravel” Hill, which sounded both interesting and odd to me. Now, when I look up the location in Pennsylvania with Google, I can find the name only in Oregon, not in my home state, which I think he would have been referring to.
Grandpa Henry had the reputation to be shy and “all business.” Family lore has it that Henry as owner of H. R. Longenecker & Sons chauffeured President-elect Woodrow Wilson in a Model A Ford from York to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, sometime before his first term in office 1913 – 1921.
Victorian Houses with Two Front Doors
Victorian houses sometimes had two front doors for practical reasons. Besides offering aesthetic symmetry, one of them permitted guests to enter without disturbing the family’s private space. Before funeral homes were common, funerals were often held at home.
Friends and family attended Grandpa’s funeral at church, but the viewing, a day or two before, took place at the Longenecker house. My dad told me when I was older that the funeral director placed a black wreath on the kitchen door on the east side of the house, so the milkman or newspaper delivery boy would know a death had occurred in the home.
The Longenecker house originally had two front doors side by side, but later the second door (placed at right) was removed, allowing only one front entrance as shown in the photo.
Have you observed a viewing or funeral in a family home?
What do you think of the saying about loved ones who die, “Not lost but gone before”?
Good morning, Marian!
It’s interesting what we remember!
I’ve never been to a viewing or funeral in a home that I can remember. I don’t think I went to any funerals as a child. I don’t know the saying. I imagine it’s comforting if it’s what you believe.
I remember you paid tribute to your mother as an artist when she died some time ago. Thanks for being first to chat this Wednesday morning. 😀
You’re welcome, Marian! 😊
Hi Marian,
You have a good memory! I don’t think I can remember anything from when I was five. There is only one thing, but I’m not sure if it’s an actual memory or because the story has been retold to me a few times, but it’s when I tried to ride a bike for the first time without training wheels and I rode it straight through the nettles into the water-filled ditch along our street. My mom had to jump in and save me from drowning.
As children death doesn’t mean the same as it does when we are adults. That uncomprehension is not present anymore now.
That’s a vivid memory! Of course, I never heard that you almost drowned in a ditch riding a bike. That event certainly has not quelled your adventurous spirit as as a young adult, piloting a sailboat and more.
I agree: “As children, death doesn’t mean the same as it does when we are adults.” Thanks! 😀
I agree with Merrild that its interesting what we remember of our childhoods for me it is often just a place or food but I don’t have a memory of a viewing or a funeral in a home ever in my life until I lived here…the saying I vaguely remember hearing it before but cannot remember where …
Carol, I’m not at all surprised that your memories are connected to food, which you have made a career of–blogging and writing cookbooks. Wow! 😀
It was common in rural areas especially to have a viewing in the home when I was a child. I don’t recall being to one myself, but my parents were quite protective of me when it came to those things . My great grandparents passed away when I was between 8 and 12, and as was the custom then, the casket was open at the funeral service.
I found it unsettling. My dad didn’t like it and asked us to please not do that at his funeral, when the time came. We honoured his wishes. I also don’t visit after a loved one passes away, but respect that others feel the need to. We have just laid my mother-in-law to rest so these things have been on my mind. Five is very young to loose your grandfather. I’m glad you have some memories of him. ♥️
Your dad was sensitive to your feelings at a young age: good for him!
I remember your announcement that your mother-in-law has died. My condolences to you and Paul. I imagine honoring her memory has involved some travel. Thank you, Darlene! 😀
Thank you, Marian. No travelling for us as they lived 7 minutes by car from us here in Spain and for the last year, Mary was in a care home a 5 minute walk for me to visit her. Her son and grandsons came from England for the service. But as we are the only ones here, we had to look after all the arrangements. Which we were happy to do. Mary was Paul’s step-mother.
Thanks for including the detail here. You have honored Paul’s step-mother very well.
Yes, I remember seeing my grandfather ‘laid out’ – as they use to call it in the South, in the living room. The curtains were drawn, all was quiet and dark, but the kitchen was buzzing with female chatter making sure the food was warm and all were well fed. Men on the front porch smoking and talking politics, farming, and the high cost of living. Who knew then what the high cost of living would become. Marian, you always take me back to a long-forgotten memory. Thank you.
Thanks for sharing this memory with your typically vivid recollection, Carolyn. I don’t think there was food at the viewing, but probably after the funeral people gathered in the basement where there was a kitchen, dining area, and Sunday School rooms. 😀
I just remembered a poem by Emily Dickinson that describes the flurry of activity after a loved one has gone. Maybe you’ve read it before:
The Bustle in a House
The Morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted opon Earth—
The Sweeping up the Heart
And putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity—
Yes, I have been to many viewings. I have one coming up on Monday.
The first funeral I attended was when I was six. My dad’s sister died.
This is a hard time for you, L. Marie. My condolences to you and your family. You may have noticed I sent you an e-card; I hope you got it.
Hugs! ((( )))
Hi Marian. I have never viewed a body. I’ve seen two closed caskets at funerals. Most services I’ve attended are memorial services.
Yes, Robbie, I’m glad viewings of a body are few and far between these days. Like you, most services I attend these days are memorial services. Often families choose cremation instead. 😀
Your family home is lovely, and you are so darn cute!
I remember the funeral of a little boy in our village in Paraguay when I was five years old. He was dressed in white and he looked like a doll. I remember the heavy scent of roses on top of a casket at the MCC home in Asuncion when I was 9. Shortly after we arrived in Canada my great grandmother died and I would never kiss her wilted cheek again. We always did that before a family gathering.
My dad who grew up orphaned often quoted lines from a German poem he memorized: “Oh love as long as you are able/ the hour will come/ when at the grave you stand and weep.“
Oh, Elfrieda, the house is Grandma and Aunt Ruthie Longenecker’s where the viewing was held. Thanks for the compliment.
You have vivid memories from funerals of young and old. I remember touching the body of a loved one and remembering how hard and cold it was. (When the spirit leaves the body, just a shell remains.) Thanks for reminding us of that and sharing your memory–and the poem. 😀
This is such an interesting glimpse into the past, Marian. I love how you take us there in the present tense. I definitely never went to someone’s home for a viewing and never saw any family members in a casket (for which I am appreciative) but I have seen a couple. It’s a little strange for me, but I respect the custom, nonetheless. And I liked the interesting info on Victorian houses. 😊
Melanie, I debated whether to use present or past tense but thought I could access my memory better with the present tense. You are the first to mention info on Victorian houses. You know I always like a little dab of research! 😀
Thanks to a special photo, I have documentation of the viewing that was held in our farmhouse when I was six years old. My brother and I are standing in front of the casket that held our 39-day-old baby sister. We are looking stunned, which was the way we felt. We knew about death at a young age, and the fact that a baby died meant that anyone could die at any time. It was a sobering realization.
Shirley, I have a vivid memory of reading this story in BLUSH: the agony of your mother and, as you say, your soul, stunned at such a tender age. It must have been a crib death. Thanks for sharing this. 🙁
My brother and I were not allowed to go to funerals as children. The first “viewing” I went to was for the baby daughter of a high school classmate when I was nineteen. The sight of that baby all made up like she was asleep, with a teddy bear tucked next to her in the coffin was so upsetting, I bolted from the funeral home after paying my clumsy respects to my classmate.
“Dolled up in death” was an image that felt wrong to you. No wonder you bolted. If the mother was only nineteen, her story may have been fraught with other tragedy as well. Thanks for sharing this memory, Liz. 🙁
You’re welcome, Marian. She married right out of high school. What I remember about her baby was that she’d been sick since birth.
Very sad for all concerned.
This reminds me so much of my grandfather’s death in Missouri in 1954–also by stroke and unexpected.” I was 9 and have photos of my father, brother, and me, dressed in our Sunday best to attend the service in the small country Presbyterian church. My uncle and cousins were also there and the rural neighbors prepared a feast. I don’t remember if there were flowers, but I know there was music because with my grandma there was always music.
In just weeks, my dad and uncle cleared out the old farm house and moved grandma into an apartment in town. It was a serious and somber time of transition in my family. especially because everyone loved Grandpa Ware. (And now I’m the old one in the family so feel the seriousness of this time for my sons.) Thank you sharing this family story.
I have a faint memory of your referring to this time on your blog. Maybe you even included a picture too. Memory is a little foggy these days.
Thanks for including this–and all the detail–so typical of you, Elaine. ((( )))
Have you observed a viewing or funeral in a family home? I have not.
What do you think of the saying about loved ones who die, “Not lost but gone before”? I’ve never heard that exact saying, but my uncle used to say a prayer before family holiday meals in which he’d mention those who’d gone before.
I just read your reply to my comment on your blog; now I’m doing a “reversal.” (By the way, it must take your ages to respond to all your comments. Wow!)
Thanks for religiously answering my questions, Ally Bean. I’ll have to re-evaluate the idea of a pushcart to/from Aldi, thanks to you–ha!
Your question is interesting on whether we have observed a viewing in a family home. My daughter’s best friend lost her grandpa just a few years ago, maybe 10. Since we were nearby and knew the family somewhat, we did go to the home visitation–that was my first time, I think. Or I could have been just a 4-5 year old when our great grandpa died and had home visitation (which I don’t remember.)
Anyway, that tradition is mostly lost– okay by me. And I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the “Not lost but gone before” line. I do appreciate one line at funerals where you just don’t know what to say in sympathy, especially if the loss is very unexpected: I heard a husband say (when I stumbled over what to say when his wife died far too young), “Its just unspeakable” … and that was consoling for me. She worked with us at Mennonite Media.
Yes, I agree, a coffin in the house seems inappropriate–too grim, really. I’m glad the tradition is no longer practiced.
“It’s just unspeakable” is probably an accurate description of the sudden loss of a loved one. I have heard that just one’s presence is the most consoling thing in times of bereavement, words not necessary. By the way, I saw the “Not lost but gone before” line in a little church in Alabama with rough-hewn walls which held a glittering stained glass window with this expression.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts here, Melodie. It’s nice to see you again here; you must have gotten your WP problems fixed. 😀
Yes, and it was a new learning curve again … 🙂
Sorry – maybe our learning curves will help prevent dementia. One can only hope!
My first memory is my Grandfather’s wake at the farmhouse. My Dad picked me up so I could see him. I thought he was sleeping. Then I went back to the pantry room next to the kitchen to play with my toys. I was 3. Mom said I used to sit with him and he’d draw glasses on the animals in my colouring book. For months after he died, I drew glasses in my book…but only at the farm. 🙂
What a poignant memory! I imagine death to an innocent three-year-old probably looks like sleeping. Thanks for telling us about your experience, Jenn. ((( )))
A viewing can be a tough thing for a child to process. I know I never attended one in a home. I respect everyone’s right to gireve in their own way, but I’ve never been a fan of open caskets because I’d rather remember family members and friends in my mind.
I see your point. I’ve never been a fan of open caskets either. These days such viewings are fewer and fewer as families opt for cremation. And “celebration of life” sounds more consoling than the word “funeral” anyway. Thanks for telling us your views here, Pete! 😀
That’s quite a memory for a little girl Marian. I’ve never been to a viewing in a home – except when my religious paternal grandmother died on a high holiday that didn’t permit her body to be removed from home for two days. I was in my mid 20s and found it all creepy. 🙂
Oh, how terribly distressing. I would think that after two days, there would also be problems with hygiene. Certainly, at any age, such an event would be upsetting.
These are busy days for you pre-publication; thanks for checking in anyway. 😀
You would be correct Marian. But my father brought over two massive industrial fans from their plant – almost like a windstorm in there. Things that stick. 🙂 And yes, I was planning for end of September release, but it will be more like first week October. One of the benefits of being my own boss. 🧡
You father was a practical man—smart!
I’m glad you are not obsessing over your book release. Yes, you are your own boss, a wonderful thing, and the pub will happen at the right time. 😀
You remember very well at age 5 of your grandpa’s funeral, Marian! You also remeber three things about your grandpa. I think it’s wonderful. Melanie wrote a psot about the caskets after reading your post. I made a long comment there, so I just copied the comment to here:
I’ve seen my grandma, my parents, and my husband’s parents in caskets. With my parents, we went to the “family room” behind the funeral room to view them one more time before they closed the caskets, but the caskets have a window to show the face of the deceased. I was at one sister’s death bed in the hospital. She was unconscious from the congested heart failure but was on life support. The family took turns to be with her individually. I was with her talking to her and stroking her forehead. Then her face relaxed but she was bleeding through the nose. I got the nurse and the nurse said she was gone. They shut off the life support but had to wait for the momentum to fade before the doctor pronounced her death.
My grandma had a burial and we visited her graveside twice a year growing up. My parents were cremated and shared one cubicle in the cemetery. My father-in-law was cremated but my mother-in-law wanted burial. They shared the same plot in the ground. My son-in-law’s mother was cremated and had the ashes scattered in the ocean. My sister’s ashes scattered in a garden.
Thank you for noticing the details of my grandfather’s funeral and for taking time to comment, Miriam.
You too have a good memory for detail. I did not know that the caskets have a window to show the face of the deceased. Most of the memorial services I attend these days are cremations–no body on display.
And your telling the story of your sister’s end of life is poignant. I’ve lost a brother, but I think losing a sister would be worse because we are so close in age. Blessings to you! ((( )))