I lost three friends recently. The most recent was Dan Miller, a long time television news anchor in the Nashville market. He was an anomaly in today’s culture. While polls indicate a public dislike for members of the press, Dan was beloved. And so he drew people to his memorial service and visitation as if it were the funeral of a movie star. 
     It’s hard to know what to say after you say, “I’m sorry” to members of a deceased’s family. I stumbled around trying to think of something memorable while forgetting that his family was standing numb, probably in shock, not hearing anything anyone was saying. The best thing is to just express your sympathy and move on. Lingering too long with the grieving is like rubbing salt in a fresh wound.
     I saw people I have not seen in twenty-five or thirty years. Visitations are like class reunions. You stand around talking to people with whom you used to have a lot in common but don’t anymore, and wondering if they think you have aged as much as you think they have aged.
     Pat Sajak, the iconic star of TV’s Wheel of Fortune performed a hilarious tribute. He got roars of laughter and applause. Mike Kettenring, Dan’s former boss and now a Catholic Priest, reminissed about Dan’s career and enourmous talent. And Rudy Kalis, who was with Dan in Augusta when he suffered a fatal heart attack in Augusta, described Dan’s final day. Rudy was funny, warm, and inspirational. Three professional broadcasters—each one a close friend of Dan Miller—rendered just the right touch to the service. They were funny, nostalgic and effective.
     Then the preacher of the church where Dan attended spoke, which was like someone trying to sing after the Three Tenors sang O Sole’ Mio.
     Funeral services can be cruel, especially if there are children or grandchildren of the diseased present. It is difficult enough for a child to suddenly lose a loved one, how does the child deal with the rituals accompanying the American way of death? I don’t think children should go to funerals. I never did until I was in my twenty’s.
     Now, that’s all I do.