I live in an assisted living facility in Littleton, Colorado. We have approximately 50 residents, all living here because for some medical reason they cannot safely live alone.

Living here almost six years, I have become deeply aware my belief in life as a circle is played out in full.

People move in, adjust to a new life, make it their home and settle in to live out the final part of the circle of life.

At the end of life, the circle is closed. Now what?

Family and friends mourn the loss of their loved ones.

Tributes are made and most often a funeral is given in honor of that person.

Here we always have a second funeral. Because we are a small facility, we make deep friendships, and when they pass, we are sad and we feel the loss.

There are many tears in that room and we go away sad.

Funerals are hard.

Even if you don’t know the deceased well you usually go away feeling down. If you know the person well, the funeral experience can and often does tear you to pieces.

Yet, we all have to attend funerals.

When Gene and I lived in Winchester, one of our friends passed. There was not a dry eye in the church, and when a group of us met the next day for lunch, we admitted all of us still felt down and couldn’t seem to shake it.

Then one of the women there with us in the restaurant said, “You know, I know of some wondrous exceptions to the solemn occasions we usually think of.”

I want to share a few with you.

There was a young mother of two little ones who died of cancer.

What could be sadder? How could a funeral under such circumstances be anything but heart wrenching?

An organist was to play during the service. She chose favorite hymns and a few classical pieces. But then the brother of the deceased said to the organist quietly, “Her favorite song was the rock piece, ‘Bad to the Bone.’ I want you to really belt it out as the people leave the sanctuary.”

The organist’s mouth fell open as she stuttered, “Oh my! I can’t play such a thing in a church at a funeral. I just can’t.”

The brother smiled quietly and said, “It really was her favorite song, and more important, she said to me before she died she wanted everybody to go away from the service smiling. Please. She really wants you to play it loud and brawly.”

There wasn’t a dry eye in the church at the end of the service and genuine sadness was heavy, overwhelming almost, as the people began to leave.

Suddenly a riotous, loud rendition of “Bad to the Bone” filled the room.

It was as if someone emotionally slapped everybody.

Then, one by one, tears were wiped away and smiles began to form. The mood totally changed.

Some began to laugh out loud and it spread to almost everyone until everybody was laughing.

That brave lady had given her friends and family one last love gift. They left in joy.

Then I knew of another true story about funerals.

The lady was warm, had many friends and was always giving to somebody.

Just before she passed away at 88 years old she told her daughter she did not want a sterile, formal, sad ceremony.

She said she wanted to be a part of the celebration of her own life.

After the daughter thought about this, guess what she did?

She gathered her mother’s hat, shoes, jewelry, gloves and muumuus and put it all in a box as the people entered the church.

Everybody was to choose from the collection and put it on before sitting down.

At first I thought this was just plain weird, but you know, now I see it as very intimate to wear something she wore.

She wanted to “be there” to celebrate with those she loved. What better way to bring her to the party?

I realize these ways to lighten the sadness of funerals are a little extreme, but I don’t care.

I say, “Yes” to wearing her muumuu over my suit and feeling her nearness.

I love it that “Bad to the Bone” wiped tears away and exchanged them with laughter so “Yes” to that also.

Yes, funerals are hard and they’re sad, but there are many ways to ease the stress of them. Maybe it is OK to be creative. After all, passing on, and completing the circle, they’re not sad things.

The light shines brightest as we step into eternity.

The view from the mountain is wondrous.

Jean Brody is a passionate animal lover and mother. She previously lived in Winchester, but now resides in Littleton, Colorado. Her column has appeared in The Sun for more than 25 years.