Passersby
By: Brett Shilton
Tags: Life Lessons, Humanity, Relationships, Honor, Death

I saw something today I haven’t seen in a while: a funeral procession, led by a police escort, with lights flashing. The motorcade followed the immediate family, who followed directly behind the hearse carrying their beloved.

There was this moment as I saw the police lights come over the crest of the hill that I wondered what was happening. I pulled to the right and stopped. When I realized it was a funeral procession, I recalled a conversation my wife and I had had some months earlier about such an event.

We talked about how many people are unsure of what to do in those moments. Do you stop? Can you pass them? Do you drive slowly behind?

This particular procession was coming from the opposite direction I was heading. I decided in that moment to stay stopped on the side of the road.

Why? Why not just keep driving?

Respect.

For whom? Did you know the person? Do you know the family? Did you recognize any of those vehicles or those tear-stained faces?

No, I didn’t. I had no idea who had passed. I didn’t recognize any of the grievers.

Does that really matter? Is respect only a personal matter? Do we only show respect for those with whom we are personally connected?

How do we expect to ever create connections if we don’t show respect until after we meet? And how could I ever come to the point of connection with this person? After all, she was already gone, her body now passing by me in perhaps the greatest show of respect she has ever received.

It is hard enough to realize we often don’t give love and kindness to others while they are still living. Instead, we reserve it and only share it once they are gone.

Why should I not stop? Where do I have to be that is so important it couldn’t wait a few sober minutes to acknowledge the untimely death of another?

Untimely? Really? You know that?

Of course it was untimely. Death is always untimely. The individual could have been 120, but to those left mourning the loss, it is untimely. Even when it may be expected, it is too soon — unexpected and inconvenient.

They have jobs, lives, schedules. But here they are, dressed in black, driving in procession, in the middle of the week, in the middle of the day. They had not scheduled this out two months ago.

No —

Stop.

Respect.

Acknowledge.

Observe their grief.

Mourn with those who mourn.

Recognize their loss and offer your empathy.

Even if just in a passing look, a nod of the head. Make eye contact.

Let them see you seeing them.

Isn’t this what we miss? Acknowledging each other? My time is so precious, so important — my schedule, having more value than yours. My life, more valuable than yours.

Of course we don’t say this out loud. We value each others’ opinions of us, even if we don’t value each other.

How many busy lives have ended up in hearses because of their rush into the unknown, under the illusion of control and self-importance?

No —

Stop.

Respect.

Slow down.

Acknowledge.

That’s what these processions are for. They’re a call to action. Or, as it were, a call to inaction. But that inaction is active; we are not passive in it. We are intent — at stopping. At honoring.

At mourning.

The procession was maybe 20 cars long. That isn’t long. It took less time than I typically take to brush my teeth — that long, slow climb from the funeral home to the graveside. From the tears at the closing of the casket to the final goodbyes. It was a couple of minutes for me. It probably felt like it would never end for them.