I didn't want to go to the funeral, but I needed to go to the funeral. I knew I wouldn't understand what was being said and that probably nobody would be able to speak English, but it didn't matter.
Everyone wears black to a German funeral. It doesn't matter if you wear nice clothes or jeans as long as you wear black. I was watching out my front window waiting to see the procession of people walking up to the Friedhof (cemetery). We live just down from the cemetery so I have watched the people walking before and knew it would happen. As I was waiting and watching, a line of about 20 motorcycles slowly drove past the house each with a driver wearing black and carrying a bouquet of flowers. I'd forgotten that Andrea and her husband were more of the biker type. People started walking up the hill and so I got in line and joined the procession to the funeral, just watching to see what was happening. I have seen many processions to the cemetery in our years here, but never have I seen so many people attending a funeral before.
Most cemeteries seem to be up on a hill and they have a little house/building in which the services take place. If a person is especially religious the service could take place in the village church, but it is much more common that it takes place at the small cemetery building. The building, at our cemetery, overlooks the cemetery on one side and has a garage door type opening on the opposite. Inside was a very small amount of chairs in which the immediate family was sitting. The motorcycles had made a half circle outside the open "garage" door and people were standing in and around the motorcycles maintaining the semi circle. I stood back and watched what people were doing. They were slowly taking turns walking forward and then going to stand with the waiting crowds. I still stayed back wondering what was really happening. Then, a mom that I recognized from the Kindergarten came and stood by me. She stopped grabbed my hand and then gave me a hug before she joined the line. The tears just wouldn't stop. I was concerned that these Germans, at least those who noticed, would wonder why this American (or at least someone they didn't recognize) woman would be crying so much. Everyone was very sad, but I felt like a strange and sad outsider. I finally noticed what was going on. Everyone was going forward to a big book at the front near the doors and signing their name in her book of "life." I sadly took my turn and signed my name as she has most definitely signed her name in mine. Quickly my little dear neighbor grabbed me and hugged me and took me to stand with her. She shared her umbrella with me and held my arm the entire time. It was so nice to have a friend near.
When 2:00 finally arrived the church bells started ringing. They rang for 5 minutes. I couldn't see into the area inside the building very well. I could see where her husband and family were sitting, but not the preacher or the front of the room. When the bells stopped the preacher started. There were speakers on the building so that those who were standing outside could hear. He seemed to be reading the official facts about her life and a few scriptures. Only he spoke. Only once did it get personal when he was speaking about her tattoo that read "Live, Love, Joy" and her son, Marlon. It was brief. It seemed impersonal, but what do I know? I don't speak German. It ended with a song from a CD that was in English. It was a song that she and her husband thought of as their song. I wondered if I was the only one that really understood the words about the rodeo queen who rides on the back of a motorcycle. But the way everyone really started to cry, I doubted it.
Rodeo Queen by Boss Hoss (The song played at the funeral of Andrea Gross)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c0yaeDhs4cA
After the song, someone walked forward and was then followed by her husband and the rest of the family. The first man was handed her urn to carry to the cemetery. It was red and seemed small. Up until now I didn't know that she had been cremated. It happens often and especially when cost is a factor; the urns are buried. I had never seen someone in an urn before. It made me sad to think that that was my friend. Everyone slowly and silently began to file out and follow to the burial spot. I was hesitant, but Erica grabbed my arm and we followed.
Once in the cemetery I watched as they took her urn up to the hole in the ground. The preacher started a graveside service of sorts. It was quick. Then everyone started to quote, "Our Father who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name..." Then her husband was given a moment to say goodbye to her. The sound that came from him as he said his good-byes was heart breaking. He then picked up a handful of dirt and tossed it into the hole. He was followed by several family members and friends. Not everyone, just a few went to toss their dirt. At this time people started to stand around and talk quietly and others started to leave sadly.
I quickly left and caught up with Bianca the mom of Noah's other best friend from the Kindergarten. Marlon, Valentin, and Noah were best buddies. We cried and hugged and she shook her head and asked why; I just cried.
Kids are not at German funerals, not even teens. Marlon was not there. It seemed strange to me. He is only 6 and it would be hard for him, so maybe it was better. I think of him all the time. How much his little life has changed. How much he will forget and how soon he will forget. His dad works a lot. I can't help but look at their house every time I drive by it. I look for lights on, signs of life, signs of a little boy playing. I think that Marlon has gone to live with grandparents. Most of the time the house is dark. It makes me sad to think that in some ways he has lost his mom and his dad.
We happened to find Marlon at our village Christmas market. It was so good to see him running and playing. He and Noah picked things up right where they had left off. Marlon was looking for his dad, that made me happy.
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| German graves are beautifully cared for. They are visited on a Daily basis. Flowers are watered, candles are lit. Andrea's husband will wear black for about a year to show his mourning. |
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| At night the cemetery is all a glow with candles. These are the smaller graves where the urn's are buried. My house is the white pointed roof in the top left side. |
