I hope this doesn’t seem terribly callous or tacky- but I took this photograph during a funeral I played for this morning. It just struck me as such an interesting image, and it’s a powerful reminder of what it felt like to play for this service. It was the funeral of the grandmother of a former student of mine, Rita Torcaso, one of the most talented musicians to attend Carthage in recent years. (She’s a former student of Polly’s as well.) Rita’s brother Joe currently attends Carthage and is one of my voice students there. Anyway, Rita is actually the organist and choir director at her home parish, and she wanted to do most of the singing – but felt like she would be on more solid footing, emotionally and mentally, if someone else were at the organ and on standby if something became too “hard.” She asked me to do the same thing for her beloved grandfather’s funeral, and I was so honored – and so pleased that Rita thought of me. And it felt so good to know that I was making a difference for the better for Rita by allowing her to leave a potential source of stress behind her. And as with her grandfather’s funeral, Rita did an amazing job of keeping her composure and singing just beautifully. (She only became tearful, as far as I could tell, during the sermon.) Some people would look at that in utter amazement, but I suspect that it felt good for Rita to be doing something today rather than just sitting in a pew and marinating in her grief. When my mom died twenty years ago this November, dad and my siblings and I sang “There’s a Quiet Understanding,” one of her favorite songs, to begin the funeral. I know that a lot of people were absolutely astonished that we managed to do that- but nothing could have felt better than for us to express our love for her and for each other through the simple act by singing that song together. I’m sure it was hard on some level for Rita to sing today – and yet I’m sure it felt so right. And as she sang, it was neat for me to watch the faces of the church choir members who were up in the balcony with us, looking at Rita with such affection and concern – as well as two of her closest friends who were with her as well.
It was a Roman Catholic funeral mass, and although I’ve been in some Catholic parishes over the years, I am far from an expert on what comes when – and it feels so odd to compare that walking-on-eggshells sensation to the ease which I have in my own church where I have nearly every word of every liturgy memorized backwards and forwards. Today I was so dependent on Rita for every single cue- and I found myself watching my little rearview mirror with almost desperate intensity, so anxious not to screw anything up. And aside from one little blip, we pretty much made it through unscathed.
And afterwards, once the burial had occurred, it was time for lunch at the Italian American Club, the wonderful Italian restaurant which Rita’s and Joe’s parents operate. What a marvelous meal – served so lovingly by this wonderful, warm family. . . giving us all another reason to smile in the midst of the sad occasion for which we gathered. For there’s nothing like a gathering like this to remind us of the beautiful blessing of Having Each Other both in the joys and in the sorrows of life.