My mother’s funeral was held Wednesday at Trinity Episcopal Church in Easton, PA – the church where, after meeting my father, she gave up Methodism and joined the Episcopalians. In attendance were mostly family members: Her brother Jim came with his children from Lancaster; unfortunately her sister Jo’s health made it impossible for her to make the trip down from State College. But her niece Joanie flew in from California, as did her granddaughter Eileen.
It was the traditional Episcopal funeral service. Father Harbort spoke in his homily of mom’s kindness and graciousness, her faithfulness as a Phillies fan and as an Episcopalian, her insistence on wearing a hat to church years after it was no longer a requirement. Smiling, I looked down at my tie, one of my collection of Roosters that mom always called my “chicken ties.”
After the service the casket was taken to the cemetery in Phillipsburg, NJ – her life ending, as my brothers’ and mine began, with the crossing of a border. Then everyone gathered for lunch at Flynn’s.
Afterwards, Joanie drove north to see her parents and tell them of the day. Jo remembered that when mom became an Episcopalian she had announced happily, “My funeral will be just like the Queen’s!”
