Arvid Huisman.

Over the years, I have developed a discomfort with funerals. But, at the same time, I understand their value.

I was honored recently to be asked to participate in a memorial service for a childhood friend. This service was of great value.

Jack passed away in a New England state in December, and the memorial service was held in late May in our home county.

Jack’s memorial service was truly a celebration of his life. He had served in the Army as a medic and, later, served in the Air Force. After leaving the military, he had served his communities well.

The officiating pastor shared not only Psalm 23, a funeral staple, but also the Love Chapter from I Corinthians. She explained that sharing the Love Chapter at Jack’s memorial service was fitting, considering the love he had shown to so many over his lifetime.

Over the years, I have attended numerous funerals.

Many of them are emotional experiences, but each of them is of value to the grieving process.

The most difficult funeral of my experience was that for my wife. My mind was so befuddled and my heart so heavy that day, I have difficulty remembering many of the details.

Ironically, I can still remember the first funeral I attended nearly 70 years ago. A three-year-old cousin had tragically drowned in the family farm’s stock tank.

I was six-years-old and my parents took me along to the funeral. Seeing my parents and other adults crying was a new experience that left an indelible memory.

When I had children of my own, I came to appreciate the deep grief of the friends and relatives of my cousin’s parents and siblings.

Though it has become more acceptable for men to show their emotions, I am uncomfortable when it happens to me. That vulnerability is one of the reasons funerals can be difficult for me.

Nearly 30 years ago, a co-worker lost her mother-in-law. I attended the funeral and sat in the back of the chapel. My co-worker’s sisters-in-law were deeply saddened by the loss of their mother and were weeping piteously.

My heart broke for them, and it was all I could do to remain dry-eyed myself.

When we lived in Sioux City, our neighbors’ infant son died of SIDS. Several weeks earlier, I had taken Christmas photos of the baby and his older brother for their parents.

The grieving parents were members of our church, where our pastor and his wife had two young children of their own. The pastor was a big, athletic guy; an imposing figure in his clerical robe.

As he conducted the service, he said or read a few words and then paused to regain his composure. There were few dry eyes in the church.

Over the years, many of the funerals I attended were for older people — grandparents, uncles and aunts, business associates and the like. Nowadays, it seems, the funerals I attend are for people my age.

When the last of my grandparents passed away in 1986, my older cousins and I were asked to serve as pallbearers. After the funeral, as we were riding to the cemetery, my oldest cousin said, “Well, guys, we have moved another notch up the ladder.”

Since that time, all our uncles and aunts on that side of the family have passed on. Now, my cousins and I are indeed at the top of that ladder.

So, why am I writing about funerals? Well, this is a subject we will all have to deal with at some time.

My wife and I, both having had to deal with a spouse’s funeral, are open about the subject and have met with a funeral home to make our own arrangements.

A few decades ago, discussing end-of-life subjects may have seemed creepy. Nowadays, we recognize that we are in what some folks describe as the autumn of our years and are planning accordingly.

Planning for the future includes planning for life after death. I take comfort in the words of the late Corrie ten Boom: “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.”

Taking an open view toward funerals helps keep one’s outlook in balance. After all, the only people without problems are those in cemeteries.