Category Archives: death

death

Wondering If You Should Attend a Funeral? and what to wear, do, and say if you go?

I find funerals and memorial events very comforting these days, but that was not always the case. I hated my mother’s funeral and those of my grandparents and other older relatives who died when I was a teenager and young adult. They seemed to me to be very uptight affairs, depressing, and overly long.

As I got older and no longer had an adult telling me I had to attend, I would worry about whether I should be attending, was I wearing the right clothes, did I say the right thing, and so much more. My view of funerals changed when I was in my early 30s and attended a very formal Catholic funeral for a colleague. As I was looking around, feeling very uncomfortable amidst the Catholicism, thinking I had dressed all wrong and probably shouldn’t even be there, my colleague’s sister approached me and asked how I had known her sister.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” she said when she found out I was a colleague. After hugging me, she asked me to tell her what her sister was like to work with. After I shared a story, I asked what her sister was like as a sibling, and the sister excitedly told me about some teenaged shenanigans the two had engaged in. When I left, I got another hug and a heartfelt, “Thank you for being here.”

That’s how I learned that funerals serve two important purposes that have nothing at all to do with religion or whether you’re wearing the right thing: they offer comfort to the loved ones of the person who died, and they provide other people who attend an opportunity to learn more about the person who died.

That realization helped me let go of my worries about whether I should attend funerals and memorials—if it fits into my schedule, I go. I figure if I can offer comfort and show interest and curiosity about the person who died, I’ll be welcomed, and that has always been the case.

I used to wonder if I knew the person who died well enough for it to be appropriate for me to attend. Now I understand that knowing the person who died isn’t even a requirement and I have attended many events for people I didn’t know to show my love and support for their loved ones. When a colleague’s child who I had never met died, I went to the funeral. When an acquaintance’s partner who I had never met died, I attended the memorial.

When my husband died, I wanted as many people at the celebration of life as possible. I was eager to hear stories about him that I might not have heard before and hear other versions of the stories I had heard. Several people showed up who had not known my husband but wanted to show their support for me, and I was incredibly grateful for their presence.

There may still be times when it’s best not to attend. If you are concerned that your own well-being will suffer, stay home. If your presence could cause some drama, stay home. If it is simply impossible for you to either offer comfort or show interest in the person who died, stay home.

If you go

What to wear: Events in churches and religious spaces are usually more on the conservative side, so I usually wear something fairly plain, dark, and professional-looking. Events held elsewhere are often more casual. Sometimes the invitation or announcement will mention a theme or dress code. For example, for my husband’s celebration of life, I included in the invitation that folks should wear whatever they thought Tom would most appreciate. This clued people in that the event wasn’t very serious—and folks showed up in wonderful outfits that he very much would have appreciated. I wore a short skirt, a cousin wore a pastel tuxedo jacket, many friends wore camping/rafting clothes or tie-dye.

Food and drink: If the invitation doesn’t mention food being served, assume there won’t be food. If alcohol is served, drink lightly. I did serve alcohol at my husband’s memorial event and needed to arrange rides home for a guest or two, which I would have preferred not to have to do.

What to say: It’s ok to not know what to say; genuine and authentic words of concern are better than platitudes. You don’t have to fix anything; in fact, it may be more important to hold space for people.

If you don’t go

Send a text the day of the event expressing your wishes for an event full of love (or whatever feels appropriate to you). There’s no need to explain why you won’t be there; you can simply say you’re sorry to miss it.

Buddhist life, death, grieving

Celebrating Special Occasions

Almost any time I have a glass of wine or a cocktail with someone else, I say “cheers” and clink my glass with theirs. I love the “cheers” and clinking ritual. It reminds me that I am lucky to be sharing a moment with whoever I am with and it adds a note of celebration. It’s impossible for me to say “cheers” and clink and not smile.

I recently began wondering why I only do that with wine or a cocktail—why not with cups of coffee or glasses of water?

The only answer I can come up with is habit, which means I can replace it with a new habit—“cheers”-ing and clinking with any beverage.

Ever since my stroke in 1997, I’ve tried to celebrate and appreciate every day. My late husband had a similar attitude. One of the first commonalities we found was that we both believed in keeping a bottle of prosecco in the fridge at all times, just in case. When there’s a chilled bottle of something festive on hand, it’s easy to find excuses to celebrate.

I think the death of a loved one is a reminder that our time here on earth is limited, which to me highlights the specialness of every moment. Any moment with a loved one could be the last one, so why not celebrate it? And if it turns out not to be the last one, well, celebrate that there will be more to come.

Another version of this philosophy is to use the good stuff everyday rather than saving it for “a special occasion.” I was raised in a family that saved many things for “a special occasion,” which meant that sometimes something got thrown out because it spoiled or broke before an occasion special enough presented itself.

When I was in  grad school, I read Alice Walker’s short story “Everyday Use,” in which two adult sisters present arguments to their mother about which one of them deserves the family heirloom quilts. One sister argues that she should get them because she’ll hang them on the wall where they’ll stay pristine and be admired. The other sister would put the quilts to “everyday use” as bed covers. The mother gives the quilts to the sister who would use them, noting that actually using them is the most authentic appreciation for them one can offer.

I was intrigued by the idea of using something as a sign of respect and it shifted my thinking about my own habit of writing in my books. I had grad school colleagues who sometimes bought two copies of a book so they could keep one clean and write in the other. They were appalled that I wrote all over my books, “ruining” them. But after reading Walker’s story, I realized that for me, a book that looks like it’s never been read is the ruined one. A book covered with scribbles has been loved and considered.

My favorite things of my late husband’s are the ones that bare evidence of his love for them—the sweatshirt that’s a little grungy around the sleeve edges, the flannel shirt that’s missing a button, the life jacket that looks like it had a few close calls.

The idea of using the good stuff everyday aligns with the concept of being choosy about how you spend your time and spending your money while you’re alive instead of aiming to leave a large inheritance.

For me, the point is to be intentional about appreciating the moments that make up a life and acknowledging that what makes an occasion “special” is my recognition of the specialness. If an occasion isn’t special, well, that’s on me for not noticing the specialness.

What, truly, could be more special than this moment?

Cheers.

death, grieving

It’s OK to Keep Talking about Your Dead Loved Ones

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One of my favorite TED Talks on grief is Nora McInerny’s “We Don’t ‘Move On’ from Grief. We Move Forward with It.” I’ve recommended it to everyone I know because McInerny does a brilliant job of articulating the idea that grieving people don’t ever “get over” their grief.

I recently watched it again—for maybe my sixth or seventh time—and found a gem near the end that I can’t stop turning over in my mind. She says, “We don’t look at the people around us experiencing life’s joys and wonders and tell them to move on.” She mentions as an example that when a baby is born, we send a congratulations card, and then five years later when the parents invite us to a 5th birthday party for the child, we don’t say, “Another birthday party? Get over it.” Instead, we expect that people will continue acknowledging that child who was born and who changed the lives of their parents.

Perhaps this resonated with me because I’m coming up on three years since my husband died and I’m not at all done talking about my grief for him or remembering the life we had together. No one has directly said to me that I should stop talking about him or my grief, but I have had a few people make indirect comments about it to me lately.

“I work with someone whose wife died over two years ago and he still talks about her all the time. Don’t you think that’s weird?” a friend asked me recently. No, I said, I think that’s totally normal, and as I was about to remind my friend that I still talk about my husband all the time I realized, oh—my friend is talking about me. We had been discussing remodeling projects and mentioning all the improvements my husband had made to my house seemed totally relevant to me, but I had noticed that my friend’s expression had changed when I started talking about my husband.

Someone else messaged me in response to a post about my dead husband on Facebook. “I hope you’ll move on soon,” this friend said. I think she meant it in a concerned way.

Someone else asked me if it was normal for people as far out from the loss as I am to still be attending grief support groups. Again, I assume this person was asking out of concern.

In light of these comments and expressions of concern, I think of McInerney’s point that we don’t think it’s concerning when a parent keeps talking about their child, year after year, but we do want people to stop talking about their losses. I suppose we expect parents to talk about their living children year after year, but not their dead ones. We think it’s normal to talk about accomplishments and things we deem worthy of celebrating but we think death and other losses should generally be kept quiet.

If my husband were alive, I doubt my friend would have questioned my mentioning him in relation to my home remodels. Would anyone ask me to “move on” from posting to Facebook about my husband if he were alive? I suspect participating in a cooking club for three years wouldn’t prompt any concern about what’s normal the way attending grief support groups apparently does.

On a practical note, I don’t let these indirect comments get to me. I figure if someone doesn’t want to hear about my dead husband, they can stop reading what I post on my blog or Facebook and they can stop spending time with me. They can make choices. Frankly, I don’t really want to be around someone who doesn’t want to know about the grieving part of me. I don’t take it personally—I just know they are not someone who needs to be in my inner circle.

I also see these kinds of comments as further evidence that we need to learn how to talk about grief. This means building up our tolerance for listening to others share their dark thoughts and experiences, holding space for that stuff rather than trying to wrap it up quickly with a piece of advice or a pithy quote.

Over time, people who are less tolerant of me continuing to talk about my dead husband have faded out of my life, either because they don’t enjoy spending time with me anymore or because I have intentionally spent less time with them. Similarly, I find myself spending more time with people who don’t seem bothered by me talking about my dead husband, either because I have a better time with them or they appreciate my death-talk.

Some people lament that their circle of friends gets smaller after a death, but I see it as part of a natural sorting process. I don’t want people around me who are only going to show up for the happy stuff. And by seeking out grief support groups and blogging about grief, I’ve actually expanded my circle of friends in beautiful and surprising ways.