Musing On Funerals

I've been musing on funerals lately, perhaps because I've been to an increasingly frequent amount of them. Hey, retirement central: what can you expect?

I hadn't been to one  until I was a teenager in junior high. I was in shock the whole time, unable to pay attention to the funeral for the death itself. He was a friend of sorts, a grade behind me in school but active in our church youth group and religion classes. His name was Greg, but better known as Mouse, a nickname we were too insensitive to realize he hated and found demeaning. For some unknown reason he'd picked me out as a friend, a situation rare in itself. He also confused me by how he talked, enough to send me to his aunt, who was also our Sunday school teacher, to try to express my confusion. I didn't realize he was calling out for help.

One morning everybody was gathered outside the church in groups. The night before Greg had taken the family's rifle and shot both his younger brothers, then killed himself. One brother survived. What we kids hadn't known was that his father had divorced his mom and left the family. In the early 60s this was still a scandal, and there weren't things in place to help children deal with  it, especially as it was mostly hidden. It was said - I think from the surviving brother - that Greg thought he was sending all three of the boys to a better place.  He assumed they felt as tormented as he was.

His actions changed my life. I decided to major in psychology, hoping to find the answers so I could keep it from happening again, or at least recognize a call for help. Turns out psych didn't have the answers, while each branch/philosophy loudly proclaimed it possessed the only one. (I hope it's evolved since them.)

Years after Greg there were family funerals, both grandmothers, both pretty much a matter of form to attend and pay our respects. I knew so little of them, living a couple hundred miles away, that there was nothing to miss and mourn. There was the traditional embalmed body in a casket looking nothing like anybody I remembered, imparting an unreality to the whole thing. It was about seeing relatives we also lived hundreds of miles apart from, so pretty unemotional gatherings from my perspective.

Decades passed. Funerals gradually became personal, the loss of somebody I actually knew something about: in-laws, parents, friends. The next one to strike hard was the death of the teenage daughter of a friend. It was particularly ugly, evidence showing she was trapped in a fire that also killed others. It started with a cigarette, presumably where she had been sleeping, but she roused enough to try to get up the stairway to waken the rest of the family. That's where she died, fully aware of what was happening. No peaceful smoke inhalation in her sleep. I wrapped myself in the horror of that for months.

Most deaths after that were more prosaic, old age or illness such as cancer, where one could tell oneself it was the relief after a long painful road. One didn't have to believe in any particular religious theology to find a modicum of comfort in that kind of ending.

The style of funerals was changing. There was more personal information on the deceased's life, including picture collages and slide shows. In one family, where nobody had financial resources, a cremation was followed by a small family potluck, after which everybody went around the circle and shared a favorite memory. A few remaining "treasures" were passed on to those attending as reminders of her life. It was as loving as any big showy display could try to be.

I found out more about people I thought I'd known than I realized had been part of their lives, especially when the person had the chance to plan the rituals themselves. Having family and friends invited to stand up and share memories brought the deceased back to life for a while. More formal funerals tended to erase the humanity of the departed, at least from my non-religious perspective.

The most recent one I attended was a case in point of both ends of that spectrum. Realize that I hadn't known the deceased. I was there to support his widow. On the "this was a real, unique human being" side, there was a slide show with scenes throughout his life, showing family, friends, travels, and his great sense of humor. My favorite of all time - heck, my favorite wedding photo of all time - was the formal shot of bride and groom with him kicking up his heels in the air. That's celebrating your marriage!

Well, that's youth too.

The other end of the spectrum, same funeral, was the minister spending 20 minutes offering to lead any of us nonbelievers into the true faith so we'd have the comfort of knowing (properly) exactly how death wasn't death. It wasn't a statement of his faith. It was the offer of conversion of us to it.

But hey, the food was OK. And what I gave was the comfort to the widow that I cared about her loss. And somehow I think that was the important thing. It's why we gather. Believe however you do or don't. There is a loss for the people left behind. And they can still feel our hugs.