Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire The first funeral you remember?

Maternal grandfather. 4th grade. Woke up and wondered why mom let me sleep in so late. Then heard everyone crying in the kitchen.
He died young in a car wreck on the way to work at 3am.

was it just you two? That sounds incredibly scarring to me. I'm wondering how his parents reacted to you afterwards? Did the driver go to jail?

There were 4 of us, driver wasn't at fault, darrel just went into the lane from the shoulder without looking. the parents didn't treat us any different I remained friends with his other siblings till I was 13 and we moved away.

First funeral I remember going to was my dads, I was 21 and he was 45.

Two of my Great Grandfather’s died when I was 8 years old. Within a couple of months of each other. Then one Grandfather when I was 9.

I was 3 or 4 at the time. One of my first memory’s of watching TV.

My maternal grandmother in 1972. I was seven.
I didn’t really know her that well, but I remember that she had health issues, maybe cancer.
I know that I had a Great Aunt on Dad’s side who died when I was 5. Funny how I can remember her before she died, but I don’t remember the funeral.
7mm

My great grandmother… mom’s dad’s mom. Roman Catholic. I was LITTLE… like maybe 3? I just remember the building and the somberness.

Back when reverence wasn’t considered unchristian.

Geez,
This thread's almost as depressing as the one about tainted hand sanitizer.

My maternal grandfather, I was 5 years old in 1963.

I went to one with my folks for one of their friends when I was about 6. It was catholic so took forever but the afterparty was awesome, 1st time I had sandwiches w/ the crust cut off, lifechanging


mike r

Grandfather, was 10

Sept 1967 my only grandpa, it was an open casket, never forgot that one. He was a gruff old Scotsman that fought in two wars and was badly wounded and would never talk about it, but I was told he was picking shrapnel out till the day he died.
I have a copy of the letter outlining what he did to get the medal.
I tried once to figure out which battle it was, still not sure but the ones I found were bad ones, he came to Canada at a young age and signed up to fight in the war as he felt it was his duty, his brother also fought in the war and I had a picture of both of them in a bunker or maybe a bombed out house.

My uncle Brian....1979. I was 10 years old and remember Dad waking me up about 10 P.M. And telling me that Brian was in an accident and didn't make it.

Dad was the chief of Police in Branch Twp. It was the night of his brother's Brian's bachelor party. Brian was the designated driver.

A rather inebriated guy coming from a wedding lost control of his car and hit Brian head-on.

It was a conflict of interest for Dad so the State Police handled the investigation.

They concluded that Brian was traveling at about 30 miles an hour on this rather windy road.....The other vehicle was traveling at around 70 mph,

My uncle and his Best Man died at the scene and 2 of the future wedding party were in ICU for weeks....The other 2 only slightly injured. The guy that hit them......Had a broken nose.

August 30, 1979. I attended the funerals of Brian M. Schultz and George Koch. May they Rest in Peace.

My Great Grandfather. I was 14

Been to so many I dont even like to think about it. But that happens as you get older. In my small town I think I know more people in the cemetery that I do newcomers....
But the first ones I remember were my paternal grandparents in 63 and 65. Then one when I was 13 when one of my friend drowned.

Don't think this was my first, but first I remember, an uncle who lost his battle with stomach cancer when I was 13.He had 4 kids with the youngest being 11. He owned a cement business that made septic tanks and vaults for caskets. Him and his 2 boys who were only a year or 2 out of high school ran the business. They worked a lot of funerals since they provided the vaults. I will always remember my cousins insisting on lowering their dad into the grave to make sure it was done properly. Was one of the saddest things I had ever seen. They couldn't do it without absolutely breaking down.

I was about 8 or 10. Family friends had a Down syndrome son who died at about 6. I was asked to be a pall bearer.

I must've been around 2 - 3 years old. Maternal grandfather's funeral. Only thing I remember is my grandmother was so grief stricken she had to be restrained from trying to crawl into the casket with him. I assume everybody my parents knew and trusted to babysit was attending the funeral as well so they just took me too. Just a memory -- never really affected me good or bad.

Paternal Grandfather died in 1946 at about age 50 and that was the first funeral I remember. The experience was unique and a bit mysterious - met many aunts/uncles and cousins for the first time. Seems like the extended family got together with some frequency after that. My Maternal Grandmother died a few years later and I better knew what to expect.- was the oldest grand kid and well remember standing by the casket with Mother and Grandmother through the entire evening as hordes passed in line and the members of his lodge had a brief ceremony. That time was tough because he and I were very close and good fishing buddies. The two Grandmothers passed in rather short time after that, and my resulting overall projection was that I would be lucky to live until age 65.