Everyone came away talking about what a lovely funeral we had just experienced. Jim died far too young and after far too many battles with far too many cancers. He was a wonderfully talented young man. A poet a humorist, a lover of words, he had gone to great lengths to structure his own funeral. Like most creative people, Jim liked, no he demanded, control so one would expect that he would want to control his funeral. I am surprised that he did not have it before he died so he could be sure it all went well. That was delightful Jim.
And the funeral went well. A harp and violin played prelude music as a large crowd gathered. Five of his friends told some delightful stories about his life. It was all very personal and I love personalized funerals. Even the minister told personal stories instead of doing the normal preaching we hear at funeral after funeral. A bag piper played the required Amazing Grace at the end and we all felt like we had honored Jim and his life.
The only thing missing were the tears. It seemed like everyone was determined to not shed one tear. They called the event a celebration of life and it was, but can’t we celebrate a life and still shed a tear? I love the new concept of a funeral being a celebration of life, but we need to be careful not to sanitize the experience so much it becomes totally inappropriate for anyone to cry. We can get so caught up in the life celebration that we forget to even mention the death, the loss, the sadness and the pain. The grief of the family is ignored right at the time when they most need someone to legitimize their pain. They need a safe place to mourn without fear of being rejected or corrected.
I watched this family become spectators in an event they had little to do with and that had little to do with them. I was sitting close enough to observe them as they stoically sat there never coming close to shedding a tear. It was as if they were zombies performing their way through an event. Then it was over and they moved to a fellowship hall for a reception.
The first thing I want to discover from a new person I am going to companion through their grief is what kind of funeral they had. If they did not have one or had a carefully sanitized one I know my work is going to be much harder. They have entered into their grief journey determined to walk with as little sharing and open grieving as possible. They are closed off from friends and help and it is usually very hard to break through that shell and help them find permission to grieve. The best thing to do with grief is grieve. A funeral that does not allow for that is a rather cold affair no matter what stories are told or songs are sung. A healthy and healing funeral needs both celebration and mourning.
Why am I writing about that here? Well for several reasons. First, as the end nears, many people want to plan their funerals. It is a great way for them to prepare for the journey and it opens the door for us to have honest conversations with them about death and dying. It strips away the game playing of both sides acting like they don’t know, which leaves the loved one feeling alone and lonely.
Second, as we plan we need to recognize that celebrating a life is what a funeral should be. It is not a time for sermonizing nor evangelizing the poor souls who happen to be there. It is a time for establishing the significance of a life lived among us. But it is also a time for acknowledging the pain and the long journey of grief the family must face. Both of these elements need to be in our plans and surprisingly they do not contradict nor eliminate each other in any way. Tears are memories in motion. Be sure they flow.
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