Until Saturday, I had never been to a funeral that played Pharrell Williams’ “Happy” and Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” on a continuous loop before the services began.
The odds of my attending such a funeral again are rather low.
But in between lies a funeral where Pharrell Williams and Bobby McFerrin set the tone - or at least set the tone as much as they possibly could.
Saturday, I attended the funeral of a dear 41-year-old woman named Valencia. Valencia was the daughter of a woman who often sings on our church’s praise team.
Valencia’s middle name was Coniah, which means, “Strength of the Lord”. She and her family needed every ounce of that strength.
Valencia was born with Down’s Syndrome. And no matter how much you hear about the “blessing” Down’s Syndrome children are to their families, they are also a challenge, as all people are who deal with a disability, whether physical, developmental, or otherwise. Valencia was fortunate to have a caregiver - a woman who bonded with her over many years while Valencia’s mother worked.
Before that caregiver, however, she and her family had moved to Georgia from Oregon . . . and then they had to send Valencia to Milwaukee for her to get the help and education she needed. Georgia, at the time Valencia’s family moved there, could not meet Valencia’s needs. And although some things have changed for the better in Georgia in the care and education of the disabled, Georgia ranks near the bottom of the 50 states when it comes to services to the disabled. (A person can make more money walking a dog in Georgia than they can caregiving someone with a disability. That is criminal. Our minister has developed a heart for the disabled and those who care for them, and during Valencia’s eulogy, called on us to vote for people who would work for their interests. Didn’t Jesus talk about “the least of these”, and how whatever we do for “the least of these”, you do for Him?)
Since the song “Happy” was written for the movie “Despicable Me 2”, and since Gru’s minions do have streaks of mischief, “Happy” was probably more appropriate for Valencia’s funeral than one might realize. One of Valencia’s sisters commented that Valencia was a “sneaky ninja” when it came to getting out of the house. She could figure out any lock put on a door. Eventually, her family installed alarms on the doors so they’d know if she was getting out.
She’d also watch to see where stuff was hidden. I have a feeling that no hiding place was safe from her.
Back in 2004, Valencia was baptized, and her obituary testified to her love for God.
Towards the end of her life, Valencia’s vision deteriorated. But if you said to her, “Hey, V,” she’d turn her face towards the sound of the person’s voice.
When she was at church, not only did she have her mother and sister near her, she had a group of people surrounding her, making sure she was loved.
After the funeral, Valencia received one more honor: a funeral repass (also known as a reception) that featured many of Valencia’s favorite foods, including chicken tenders and potato chips. I don’t know if Valencia liked chocolate or not, but there were several chocolate desserts available (and I had too many :) )
It’s become common to refer to funerals as “celebrations of life”; I think because “funerals” have a negative connotation. I do think of people weeping and wearing black mourning when I think of “funeral”.
But this truly was a celebration of a person’s life; a person who lived, who was happy, who was sometimes a “sneaky ninja”, and who, in the end, loved and loved back.
When people loved you, and you loved back, you deserve to be celebrated by two songs singing about being happy.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
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