A number of us from the newspaper went to Rita Holliman’s funeral this afternoon. Rita had worked in the front office at the newspaper, primarily with classified advertising; she was always a pleasure to have as a co-worker, soft-spoken and easygoing but very dedicated to her job.

Unfortunately, the man doing her funeral today didn’t know Rita and either hadn’t had a chance or hadn’t made an effort to find out any specifics about her. I know from my father that it can be very difficult to do a funeral for someone you don’t know, but I also know that it’s usually possible to get at least a few details from friends or family members.

Rita was 67, and the eulogist’s reference to “a long and happy life” and his implication that she was at the natural twilight of things also rang hollow. Rita died too young, from a lousy, drawn-out illness. She wasn’t some sort of 97-year-old matriarch who passed away in her sleep.

I know I’m being hard on the eulogist, but he also wasn’t a very effective speaker. It was hard to hear and clearly understand him at times. It was a frustrating way to say goodbye to a friend. It was also a closed-casket funeral, and some of my co-workers said it’s harder for them to get closure if they don’t get to see the person to whom they are bidding farewell.

Rita, may you find joy in the arms of your creator. We are richer for having known you, and poorer for having lost you too soon.