There’s a price to be paid when you live life on your own terms. And so many rewards to reap. Jay Barker managed to do both.  Of course, there were people who didn’t understand or appreciate his approach to life—but those who knew him well loved him all the more for who he truly was and the knowledge they could always count on him to be that person.  

He was a man who filled many roles . . . from park ranger to landscaper to chef to musician to community activist, environmental guardian, and more. And that didn’t even include the ones he deemed to be the most important . . . husband . . . father . . . grandfather . . . brother . . . and son.  It didn’t matter that his parents had gone on before him.  The love was still there, as was the acknowledgement of their faithfulness and involvement in his life, devotion he wrote about in his song “Mama’s Love”. She was the one who was always there for him, with the assurance she always would be. She was the one who accepted him as he was and who, according to his lyrics, told him “Don’t worry, son, you can’t please everyone. Just find a good wife, try to live a good life, and be proud of the things you’ve done”.  

He took her advice to heart and found his precious “Lady Di” as he referred to his wife Diana.  He was never shy about publicly proclaiming his love and appreciation for her with her happiness being his ultimate goal—and the occasional side of aggravation thrown in for good measure.  And he was so proud of his children and his grandchildren, a pride that often spilled over into his Facebook posts where he would promote their endeavors and celebrate their successes.

If you want to know all about Jay Barker and the many accomplishments of his life, then I encourage you to read his obituary. I believe you’ll be amazed—just as I was—when you see how much a determined person can squeeze into 67 years.  My purpose right now isn’t to repeat what’s already been said and is readily readable.  I want to tell you how his family honored his life. How they turned a “funeral” into a true celebration.

Among his many talents, Jay was a musician—a writer and singer of songs based on life as he was experiencing it.  His family recognized the importance of his words, so his music served as the background for his video.  Walking into the stateroom where everyone was gathered, you were greeted by Jay’s voice telling you about the women of Pickwick or his love for Diana or the beauty of Costa Rica and his desire to return there with his bride, “just you and me, that’s the way it’s meant to be”. They chose speakers for his service from among his family and friends . . . people who knew him well and had all the stories to prove it.  Those stories were sprinkled with “Jay-isms” (that I like to refer to as words of wisdom from “an old soul with a young mind”—Jay’s description of himself in one of his many Facebook broadcasts) and generated fits of laughter more than once.  It echoed down the service hall and across the foyer . . . and made my heart smile when I realized they were acknowledging his life and celebrating the man he was rather than focusing on their loss and the grief I had seen first-hand just a few days before.  

The service wrapped up with a video of Jay, driving down the road, singing Goose Creek Symphony’s “The Gospel”:

And as I stand here on the shore

I can hear the ocean roar;

The tide’s gone out I’m stranded on my own.

Not a love, not a friend,

But on God I can depend

To show me the light and safely lead me home.

Follow that with Willie Nelson’s version of “I’ll Fly Away” while his chapel full of friends passed by the casket for one last good-bye and you have the perfect finale. Only it wasn’t the end. As everyone lined up for the procession to the cemetery, the driver of the hearse lowered the windows and cranked up the volume as loud as he could stand it on the portable CD player that sat beside him. And as they made their way to Jay’s final resting place, the words and music of “Git ‘er Done”, a song that easily could have been Jay’s anthem in life, floated out into the world . . .

That’s right (that’s right)

I’m gonna git ‘er done.

That’s right (that’s right)

We’re gonna git ‘er done.

That’s right (that’s right)

Can’t have no fun

Till you bend that back

And you git ‘er done . . .

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.