The last memorial service/funeral I went to at a Kingdom Hall was for Brother Salda (his real name). Funny, but I can't think of his first name (his wife's name is Eileen); as for him, I only remember "Brother Salda."
Brother Salda was a very intelligent man, but not a very good Dub. His wife and three sons were all JWs. He worked for the state as a civil engineer, I think. In his own way he was brilliant, but not without his quirks. Those quirks got him laughed at (and away from any meaningful position in the cong.), laughs that were usually behind his back, but not always. As far as I could tell, he came to the religion reluctantly, since his wife wasn't going to give it up, and I was always under the impression that if he wanted to have any kind of relationship with his sons he figured he better get with the JW program. He did.
Brother Salda had one quirk that drove most people insane, if not just away from his presence--he hugged everybody and he never quit. And when I say everybody, that's what I mean. Sisters, brothers, elders. Most thought he was odd, and so did I.
The thing is, because of how I grew up, I had a hard time expressing affection for anyone, even people in my family that I loved. Somehow, over time, Brother Salda broke down that very thick wall that life had created for me. In spite of the jokes that others made about him, I can say that I came to love Brother Salda. He'd come up and greet you, and never seemed to be able to talk to you--asking how your week had been or sharing an experience of his own--without putting his arm firmly around your shoulder, something that got under my skin... until I learned to like it... learned to look forward to it. It was something my own father had NEVER done.
Anyway... after cutting a neighbor's yard, he died rather suddenly one day about 6 or 8 years ago, and although by that time I had reached the point that going into a Kingdom Hall made my skin crawl, I loved the man and what he had done for me, so I thought I'd honor him by going to his funeral service at the KH. So, I did.
At the time, Donna, his teenaged granddaughter, was disfellowshipped, having spent the remaining months of her grandfather's life apart from him. During the service at the KH, others asked Robert, one of the local elders of high repute, if it was Okay to go up and speak to her. He advised that it was probably not a good idea. So, they didn't.
Now, the entire Salda family, from Brother Salda on down, were always people of high honor to me, and coupled with my disdain for JW etiquette, I couldn't care less for Elder Robert's admonition. I went out of my way, making my way to the front of the Hall and took my time speaking to Donna and the rest of the family. I honestly sympathized with their loss in ways they don't know to this day.
One day this past week my Brother/Friend Aaron sent me an article from his local paper about funeral services (a post for another time) that made me think of, not my father, not my grandmothers or others that I have lost, but of Brother Salda.
I thought I'd speak of him.
I hope you don't mind.