![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I attended the funeral of one of my uncles today - Horace H Rutherford, Jr.
He was the husband of my father's oldest sister, and had been seriously ill for quite a while.
His death was anticipated, and I know his family is glad he is no longer in pain.
Both the service in the funeral home chapel and the graveside service were quite nice, and well-attended. Uncle Horace was a World War II Navy veteran, as well as a Mason. The graveside service included rites from both the Navy and the Masons. It was the first time I witnessed a Masonic funeral ritual.
His remains were laid to rest in Pinecrest Cemetery, in Saline County. My son was responsible for the opening and closing of his grand-uncle's grave.
Not a lot of people know where Uncle Horace's middle name originated.
Until I started shakin' the family tree, I didn't know what the second H stood for, either.
Uncle Horace (and his father before him), carried his great-grandmother's maiden name.
She was Sally Hanby, and was born in January 1836 in Alabama. She died in 1918 and is buried in Rock Springs Cemetery, in Sparkman, Dallas Co., AR.
Uncle Horace was born in Fairview in Dallas County, on 9 May 1928, to Horace Hanby Rutherford, Sr., and Maybelle Gilliam.
We have a saying here in the south - the height of tacky.
As in, it is (or used to be) the height of tacky for southern ladies to wear white after Labor Day.
Or, it's the height of tacky to fail to send handwritten thank you notes in a timely fashion after receiving a gift or gesture of thoughtfulness from family, friends or acquaintances.
This week, we can add another thing to those things which are the height of tacky.
Like carrying a grudge for so many years against your husband's sister that you refuse to note her among his survivors in his obituary, or hug her when she comes to his funeral anyway, or even have a moment of shame that causes you to make sure the pastor preaching the funeral knows that the deceased's 91 year-old, only surviving sibling is sitting on the front row with the rest of the immediate family, but only because she introduced herself as his sister to a funeral home usher.
So in the interest of trying in some small measure to rectify that thing which was *beyond* the height of tacky, I say here for the record...
Horace H Rutherford, Jr. was also survived by his older sister, Marion Rutherford Hillman, of Dallas Co., AR.
And for any of my immediate family who decide to get their knickers in a bunch about this, thinking I have pissed in their coffee (that's another southern saying)...
Get over yourself.
See you on the other side, Uncle Horace.
He was the husband of my father's oldest sister, and had been seriously ill for quite a while.
His death was anticipated, and I know his family is glad he is no longer in pain.
Both the service in the funeral home chapel and the graveside service were quite nice, and well-attended. Uncle Horace was a World War II Navy veteran, as well as a Mason. The graveside service included rites from both the Navy and the Masons. It was the first time I witnessed a Masonic funeral ritual.
His remains were laid to rest in Pinecrest Cemetery, in Saline County. My son was responsible for the opening and closing of his grand-uncle's grave.
Not a lot of people know where Uncle Horace's middle name originated.
Until I started shakin' the family tree, I didn't know what the second H stood for, either.
Uncle Horace (and his father before him), carried his great-grandmother's maiden name.
She was Sally Hanby, and was born in January 1836 in Alabama. She died in 1918 and is buried in Rock Springs Cemetery, in Sparkman, Dallas Co., AR.
Uncle Horace was born in Fairview in Dallas County, on 9 May 1928, to Horace Hanby Rutherford, Sr., and Maybelle Gilliam.
We have a saying here in the south - the height of tacky.
As in, it is (or used to be) the height of tacky for southern ladies to wear white after Labor Day.
Or, it's the height of tacky to fail to send handwritten thank you notes in a timely fashion after receiving a gift or gesture of thoughtfulness from family, friends or acquaintances.
This week, we can add another thing to those things which are the height of tacky.
Like carrying a grudge for so many years against your husband's sister that you refuse to note her among his survivors in his obituary, or hug her when she comes to his funeral anyway, or even have a moment of shame that causes you to make sure the pastor preaching the funeral knows that the deceased's 91 year-old, only surviving sibling is sitting on the front row with the rest of the immediate family, but only because she introduced herself as his sister to a funeral home usher.
So in the interest of trying in some small measure to rectify that thing which was *beyond* the height of tacky, I say here for the record...
Horace H Rutherford, Jr. was also survived by his older sister, Marion Rutherford Hillman, of Dallas Co., AR.
And for any of my immediate family who decide to get their knickers in a bunch about this, thinking I have pissed in their coffee (that's another southern saying)...
Get over yourself.
See you on the other side, Uncle Horace.