An amazing experience in Italy became my standard for passing on from this life.

Long story, however, touring Italy, I found a lovely location near the opera house in Turin where friends were staying, teaching there. The area was welcoming me like an old pal, so I merely set about daily activities, and enjoyed the sounds of the rehearsals.

Arriving ‘home’ one day, I was informed that the landlady’s husband had just passed away; she wanted help to "get him ready …" One of my friends, a male, was relieved to see me, and ready to help her, too. I was not quite sure about the protocol there, so let our kind mama lead the way.

"Prepare" we did - the body, dressed and presentable, the bed - where he was to lie in state, if you will. At some point, a priest arrived, hung something on the main downstairs entry door, and spoke to the widow at length - their children were in transit.

At this time, I only remember working fast, and working hard - I was an American, acculturated by U.S. standards, and more so having once had a mortician male friend; thus, I was fretting about all the things that the priest was certainly taking care of - kind of.

Immediately after he left, people began arriving with gifts for the widow, money, food, flowers, notes, wine, food, flowers, money, wine, money, flowers, notes, food, and love and more … Amazed at the incredible number of friends, I attempted to share with her (in Classical Latin) my astonishment at the number of close friends who arrived so quickly. Someone quietly informed me that they were merely "passers" who saw the door hanging left by the priest. Great Scott! People merely cared about someone inside this home who had just lost a loved one! They stepped in, and were with her, with us, with one another. I was numb.

As the days went on, my thoughts were again, typically American, until one day the padre returned to advise that it was "time." Before anyone I knew realized, a transport arrived, and her beloved’s remains were put on it, and off we all went on foot for the funeral mass, down the via, and to the cemetery.

The funeral itself wasn’t about the loved one, but the perfect culmination for everyone to finalize someones life, and nourish those left on earth.

That is what every funeral should be like. It was days of awe. Remember the deceased? You bet.

This is a very interesting and thoughtful question. When my Grandfather died (in Singapore), I went to the funeral to get in tough with my roots. I was 19 years old at the time. It was a very moving experience. Because of the shortage of land in Singapore, cremation is the only means of “burying” the dead. This is a very large ceremony with family and hired mourners being present. It is followed by a huge feast.

The best funeral I ever attended was for a man hundreds of cast member and guests from Disneyland only knew as Arthur.   He was slow and looked like he was homeless, but he was not (he lived with his brother who was a doctor).

Except for Mondays and Tuesdays he would go to Disneyland.  Years ago Disneyland was closed on those days.  Arthur thought he worked at Disneyland, so those were his days off.  When he would arrive at the turnstiles, a cast member would wave him on through.  He is the only guest that was allowed to come into the park for free.   At night Arthur would wait where the cast members exited to go home.  Someone would always offer him a lift home.

Arthur would walk through Disneyland saying hi to everyone.  Watch a parade down Main Street, where the young female dancers would blow him kisses.

It was a sad day when he past, it still brings tears to my eyes.  I attended his funeral along with most of the Disneyland cast members.  This included management who left their offices to attend this sweet person funeral.

The church was so backed, there no more room.  So people were standing outside the church during the service.