The Funeral Parlor Story

Did you ever wish you could have a do-over, a mulligan, a chance to go back and make things right? This was one of those times for me.

One summer night during college, my girlfriend Bonnie and I were outside a crowded bar on Buffalo’s Elmwood strip, waiting to go in. (Yes, this is the same Bonnie who’s now my wife of 46 years.)

We were full of youthful radiance on that warm muggy night, me in cut-off jeans shorts and a t-shirt, her in cut-offs and a halter top. Springsteen and other rock music of the times blasted from inside the bar, and we were ready for some ice-cold drafts to get the evening going.

That’s when the old man approached us on the sidewalk. I can’t remember his face exactly, but I remember the aura of sadness that hung around him like a shroud.

“You two don’t know how lucky you are,” he said weakly. “You’re young. You’ve got your whole lives ahead of you.”

I didn’t know how to respond. There was a little pause, and then he opened his heart to us.

“My wife died,” he said. He pointed to the funeral home across the street and added, “She’s over there now.”

I wish I could tell you that I gave that man a heartfelt embrace and invited him to join us for a beer. I wish I asked him to tell us about his wife and their years together. I wish I did something, anything to ease his pain.

But I didn’t do any of that. We were young, and I was anxious to get into the bar where we’d be surrounded by other young people with no thoughts of funeral homes or other uncomfortable things because this was a party night during college summer break.

I don’t remember my exact words to the old man who’d just lost his wife, but I'm pretty sure it was something short and awkward, and we parted ways with me offering something in the way of a generic condolence.

Now, a lifetime later, I’d give anything to have a do-over on that encounter. If I could, I’d go back in time and give that man the sympathy and the companionship he needed.

I didn’t understand it then, but I’ve come to understand it during the years since: There’s not much distance between the college bar on one side of the street and the funeral home on the other side. We need to enjoy the journey to the fullest while we can. More importantly, we need to help each other along the way because we're all in this together.

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Photographer's Footnote: The photo above was taken in one of the oldest cemeteries in Charlotte, North Carolina.