cellio | funeral practices

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christianity,
shiva

funeral practices

Today while we were studying we ended up talking about funeral practices. My rabbi recently did a funeral for a member of an interfaith family, so there was also a priest or minister there and this led to some things my rabbi isn't used to, most notably the open casket and the things said to comfort the mourners. So he asked me how I feel about all that, given that my background is different from his.

I think I've always felt weird about seeing bodies at funerals and viewings. I certainly feel weird about it now. But I did as a kid, too; I was raised to never go into someone else's bedroom when that person was sleeping, and this seemed even more an invasion than that. (The analogy for death was sleep.)

The first two funerals in my life were when I was 5 (in one case) and either 5 or 6 (in the other case). One was my aunt Mary, and her death was not unexpected. (Well, it came as a surprise to me, because no one had told me the reason she kept giving things away when we visited, but it was expected by the adults.) The other was my grandfather, who died without any warning at the age of 50. (Heart attack. No prior problems. Died in his sleep.)

Now, especially in the case of my grandfather, we heard a lot of things like "he's in a better place now" (with Jesus, with the angels, etc). Christianity has a lot of focus on the afterlife, so it makes sense that these ideas would be comforting, especially when someone dies young. The religion of my childhood taught me to look forward to the afterlife -- that this time on earth is just a passing thing, vastly inferior to what awaits if we're good. (Yes, I asked the obvious question early on: if you try to hurry things along to reach that goal sooner, you won't reach it at all.)

This sort of thing never comforted me, though. I guess I was, and am, too much of a here-and-now person; especially in the case of my grandfather, I was a greedy child who wanted him back now. I didn't believe he was in a better place, and even if he was, I wanted him to wait. Five-year-olds aren't very sophisticated, but there you have it.

As an adult, I find the theology foreign. We should live good lives, of course, but because doing so makes this world a better place. God gave us this world to care for and live in, after all. An afterlife, if it exists, is a bonus; this world is certain and that one is not. So when someone dies young it's not a comfort to think about the afterlife; rather, I think about all the things that person was doing or might have done in this world and how we're the lesser for his absence.

I don't believe that death is a punishment; people don't die because they were bad and God zapped them. (Well, I suppose it can happen, but it's not the usual case.) But death is not a reward, either; it just is.

Someday, I hope a long time from now, I'm going to have to face the funerals of my parents. I'll be told lots of things by well-meaning religious people that are supposed to comfort me and that won't; fortunately, I'll also have a community that has a different approach, one that seems to resonate more for me. I'm not sure there's anything else that will produce such a sharp division between what my relatives do and what I do.

I'm not sure all this babbling has a point, really, but I found myself thinking about it after our conversation, and I wanted to write something about it.

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I haven't been to many funerals in my life, and all of them were as an adult. Both were Roman Catholic. I had a hard time with the open casket at the one (the other one was a double funeral from a plane crash) and the whole "these sinners are going to Jesus" thing.
Then this May the wonderful woman who was going to be my mother-in-law passed away. It was expected, and we were there by her bedside. So I got to experience the Jewish mourning experience first-hand. It was amazingly different and wonderful to see how the community rallies around to support the family. The funeral is simple and tasteful and a true tribute to the person's life. And the support during the shivah was amazing. Since I was not an "official" mourner, I had the ability to help out, but everything was done for us. Meals, errands, cleaning... one woman came every morning to set out the coffee stuff before prayers. No matter how early I got up, she was there. And you know, even though we were praying twice a day, there didn't seem to be that air of well-meaning religious comforting. Everyone was more of the feeling that it was horribly sad that this life had to end, but we are all better people for having been touched by it... must get off this topic now or I'll start crying, sorry.

Everyone was more of the feeling that it was horribly sad that this life had to end, but we are all better people for having been touched by it.

Yes. Thank you. I have never (thank God) had to sit shiva, but I've visited/helped friends sitting shiva and that's what I've seen, too. As

mizmoose said in a comment below, when it's expected it's more like celebrating the person's life. (Not like a wake, though. Or so I infer; never been to a wake.)

I wouldn't know about the difference between expected and unexpected deaths (thank G-d), but I would have to say that for a lot of people who came to the funeral and shiva, it wasn't expected.
Many people were aware that she was battling breast cancer, but not too many people knew how sick she was in the last few months and how quickly she went downhill.
I think death is always a shock, expected or unexpected... I know I was right in the room and it was still hard to accept.

Thanks for your thoughts, I'm glad to have read them (having dealt with too much death myself recently).

I just wanted to point something out.

An afterlife, if it exists, is a bonus; this world is certain and that one is not.

To those people who truly believe in those faiths that have an afterlife (I'm guessing Judism isn't one of them), that world is certain.

I think what you said about 'resonating' is the essential point. Some people find that the "well-meaning religious people" resonate with them, and it does comfort them.

I'm really just rambling now . . .

I am not a Rabbi, nor an authority on Judiasm as a whole, but why should that stop me?

While Judiasm has the concept of an afterlife, it's not the focus of our religion. Since Judiasm is more interested in what you do than what you believe, you can be a good jew and say Yigdal every week without believing in the bit that says that the soul is eternal. It helps if you're using a prayer book which doesn't exactly translate that bit.

I think that comforting a mourner is always very difficult, but it's an important thing for a community to do. I'm glad that I, personally, find the Jewish customs around mourning to work (although I have not, thank God, had to sit shiva myself yet).

To those people who truly believe in those faiths that have an afterlife (I'm guessing Judism isn't one of them), that world is certain.

Yes. Wasn't trying to knock them or anything; it's just that since I don't share that belief, I can't see an afterlife as being on par with this world. They can, so that can comfort them. It didn't comfort me even as a child raised in that religion.

Just seemed like you were making a blanket statement, my fault if I misread it.

BTW, it isn't a certainity for me either.

Oh, whoops. No, you should treat that paragraph as having a great big "in my opinion" wrapped around it. I try not to assert things globally that I can't prove. :-) Sorry for the confusion.

No problem. :-)

FWIW, I thought you were pretty clear that you were talking just about and from your own perspective.

A.

I've never been to a funeral with an open casket. When I was seven my Grandma Gus, my Mother's mother died. I thought it was stupid to sit around for a week mourning.

When I was fifteen my Grandma Belle died. I remember the shiva clearly. My mom had these ideas of what everyone should do, even though it was Dad's mom who passed. Grandpa went to the basement often to smoke his cigars, and mom said he shouldn't be smoking during the shiva. Dad told her that if she wanted to go to a man who had just lost his wife of 65 years and tell him how to act, then she should go ahead. Mom stayed where she was. I on the other hand went to the basement to sit with him.

I learned more about my Grandmother in that week than I knew in fifteen years. I just sat and listened to Grandpa talk about the day they met, the day they met my mother. What my father was like as a child. There were times that I wondered if grandpa was even aware that I was there...and later I realized that that was the point of shiva. To give people a chance to talk about their departed loved one.

I've always found that shiva is different depending on who died and why.

When a younger person dies and/or the death is sudden and tragic, it's a week of pure mourning. When an older person dies and it's not unexpected, the shiva can sometimes be like a party to celebrate the person's life.

It's weird to say, but I remember the shiva week of older, sick relatives being pretty much a family reunion, tinted with a lot of rememberances of the dead person's life.

To give people a chance to talk about their departed loved one.

... or not talk, if that's what they want. There's a custom not to speak to a mourner until they address you first. (Although I only found this out after several times when I went to comfort mourners...)

I think that the Jewish mourning rituals work on a very human level. First there's the funeral, as quickly as possible, and seven days of intense mourning (shiva) where the community feeds and comforts the mourners. The fact that there are several times a day when there must be 10 jews for the prayers means the mourners are not isolated. After this period, there's almost a year where the mourners go back into their life, but say the mourner's kaddish during the daily and shabbat services. Then the unveiling. After the first year, the mourning doesn't go away - it never goes away - but the mourner's kaddish is only said on the anniversary of the death, and during the Yiskor prayer, which happens 3 times a year. I think this encourages people to move on, while acknowledging that the death leaves a wound in their lives which can never be healed, only bandaged.

Oh, and I haven't even mentioned the practice of Shmira (sp?) - watching over the body before the burial. No, not watching, guarding. Keeping it company. Not necessarily in the same room, but to symbolize the fact that even though the person is dead, the body is still worthy of respect.

Thank you for sharing that.

I've never been to a funeral that didn't have an open casket. (No Jewish funerals yet.) The customs around shiva strike me as very comforting. I'm glad that the community will be there for me when the time comes.

Thank you for writing this. I'd love to make more comments, but I need to go out and do some shopping before things get wet and windy here...

I understand completely where you're coming from. I was raised a Methodist (whatever that means...truly, I have no idea...), and converted to Judaism a little over a year ago. I never understood the whole "viewing" thing, and when I had to attend my grandfather's funeral (I was in college), I stayed back from the casket, and only went up to it once because my mother wanted me to. All of the "Doesn't he look like himself?" and "He looks so peaceful" meant nothing to me. He was dead. No matter how much makeup you put on a person, or nice clothes you dress them in, it ain't gonna change that fact.

My first Jewish funeral was before my conversion, but during my course of study with the rabbi. It was Cary's grandmother. Of course no one WANTS to attend a funeral, but I was always put off by it because I didn't want to see the person lying in a casket, looking fake. That part really prevented me from remembering the person as he or she really was, and I dreaded going. For Bubbi's funeral, I didn't have that feeling. Had we been in Philadelphia (we live in DC), we would have been able to see her before she was prepared for burial (forgive me for not knowing the correct terms...I'm still kinda new at this. :-), but I saw that as more of a choice (and it was only for immediate family), and not something that was forced upon you (like, you walk into a funeral parlor, and BOOM, there's the dead person in a casket).

My husband likes to say that Judaism is a very practical religion. I'm beginning to agree with him. ;-)

My husband likes to say that Judaism is a very practical religion. I'm beginning to agree with him. ;-)

I would agree with that. On this point in particular, it's kind of remarkable that this system of mourning was set up centuries before there was a widespread understanding of the psychology of mourning. I'm not a psychologist, but everything I've heard points to how well this works for the mourners.

I came to appreciate the quick-burial aspect after my grandfather died (five years ago) and the funeral wasn't for three or four days. There was this odd limbo state where he was gone but he wasn't really gone yet, y'know, because we hadn't had the funeral yet. So I didn't know what I should be doing to help my parents out, for example.

Had we been in Philadelphia (we live in DC), we would have been able to see her before she was prepared for burial (forgive me for not knowing the correct terms...I'm still kinda new at this. :-), but I saw that as more of a choice (and it was only for immediate family), and not something that was forced upon you

Hmm... I'm not sure what you're referring to, exactly. I'll tell you what I know of traditional Jewish funeral practices, and then maybe you'll see the part you were thinking of. I'm Conservative, and not a Rabbi, so take this with about 3.022 E23 molecules of NaCl.[1]

OK, first a Jew dies. An autopsy is not encouraged, although if one is required by law then it is, of course, performed. Organ donation is, however, acceptable, because it can save a life. As soon as possible the body is taken to a funeral home. There a Chevra Kadisha (made up of people of the same gender as the deceased) washes the body and puts it into a kittel (white garmet also worn at weddings and on Yom Kippur). The funeral is as soon as possible; if for logistical reasons there's a wait of several days, the corpse is kept in a cold room. After the Chevra Kadisha is done, someone does "Shmira" until the funeral. Shmira is a practice of guarding the body. It's traditional to read psalms while doing this. I said "watching" in an earlier comment, but that wasn't right. Guarding isn't really right, either. It's more like keeping the body company. Unadorned wooden caskets are traditional, and the funeral is done with a closed casket. After the funeral, the family goes to the graveyard. Part of the ceremony involves the family throwing the first bits of dirt on the coffin. (This part was the most difficult for me when my Grandfather died 5 years ago.)

I think that the Chevra Kadisha group is supposed to be made up of non-family members, although I'm not sure: I've never done it. There's a tradition that it's a very good thing to do, because if you do a good deed for someone alive, there's always the thought that they might do something for you in return. When one does something for the deceased, there's no possibility of that happening. However, I think it's also supposed to have an aspect of anonymity about it - it's not supposed to be something that one brags about.

Anyhow, I'm not sure when you would've seen the body, although I guess you could've seen it before the Chevra Kadisha did their thing. I haven't heard of the family doing this, although I haven't had any close family die since my Grandfather.

[1] about 1.4 grams of salt - more than a grain, but not a whole lot of salt.

Shmira is a practice of guarding the body. It's traditional to read psalms while doing this. I said "watching" in an earlier comment, but that wasn't right. Guarding isn't really right, either. It's more like keeping the body company.

In the South, there is a practice much like this. In the very deep South, where my Dad's family comes from, I should say. His sisters and others were extremely upset when my mother died that no family members could stay with the body while it was at the funeral home. (The funeral director assured them someone would be in the cold room with it all the time. Ummm.)

But, in the south (I now know, having been told about 5 years ago by a 102 year old woman who came from Mississippi), the "watching" is more guarding in the literal sense -- so that no one can steal it to do bad magic with it, or put a curse on it to keep the person from going to Heaven, and so on. It must be a blood relative (in-laws won't do).

I'm also told that in some areas they wait three days for the funeral to be sure the person is really dead.

Oh, and she said the open casket comes from the practice of kissing the dead person on the lips to prove you a) really cared and b) didn't kill them. Yeuucch.

(When my dad died, his 91-year-old sister pitched a fit because we didn't force all the little children [all under 8] to kiss the body. Later on I took them all up and we talked about how he didn't smell like granddaddy any more [no tobacco or bourbon], that his skin looked like a frozen turkey, sort of blue-ish [boy, did I have to bite my tongue not to laugh], and why did he have lipstick on. Eventually all the kids touched his hand, and decided it felt like meat in the supermarket -- cold and weird. and when I asked them how they felt about that, all of them told me that it wasn't him, anyway, just his leftovers. I don't know why our family runs to food metaphors!!!!)

(The funeral director assured them someone would be in the cold room with it all the time. Ummm.)

When I did Shmira, I was in the corridor outside the cold room. I'm not sure how close one has to be (it would be easier to do it from my apartment 5 blocks away, but probably not as meaningful).

As for the reason, the practice might originally have had a more literal guarding aspect to it, but as it's been explained to me now, it's more of a spiritual thing. I'm going to retell one thing I was told in my own particularly quirky way. OK. A live person is body + soul. A dead person is just the body. So it doesn't quite know what to do with itself. It's not quite gotten into the swing of returning to the earth, because the burial hasn't happened yet. So the Shmira person is there to keep it company, so it doesn't feel bad before the funeral. (I also like the idea of covering the challah on Friday night so it doesn't get embarrased.)

It must be a blood relative (in-laws won't do).
As far as I know, I was no relation to the people that I did Shmira for. In one case, the deceased was the relative of someone I knew in my synegogue; in the other, I didn't know the deceased or the family of the deceased.

his 91-year-old sister pitched a fit because we didn't force all the little children [all under 8] to kiss the body

What, was she going to pay for the years of psychotherapy? Or maybe she suspected them of doing him in. Ugh. I'm glad that I don't have that tradition. I miss my grandfather very much - I still have dreams where I'm talking to him, and just as I realize that it must be a dream, because he's really dead, and I try to tell him how much I miss him and love him I wake up. I didn't see him right before he died - I was about 2 hours away, and we thought it wasn't that serious. He saw pictures of his 5th great-grandchild who was born a few days earlier, and died in his sleep that night. I didn't need to see his body at the funeral - I felt the weight of it as I helped carry the casket.

OK, it's late and I think I'm rambling. One more thought:

As far as food metaphors, they are a bit disturbing when talking about departed loved ones.

Thanks for sharing that. I'm enjoying this exchange of ideas and customs a lot, actually...

As far as food metaphors, they are a bit disturbing when talking about departed loved ones.

As I've thought about it some more, I think the littlest ones (4 and 5) could only deal with the idea of "dead bodies" by comparing it to the only things they were familiar with which were once alive and are now dead -- chickens and what not in the grocery store. As something to help them cope with the idea, I've got no problem with it. ;-)

But, interesting enough, in the gnostic philosophy I now "practice", we have a "feast" to celebrate the passing of our friends. There's more about it in this comment from thinking about 9/11....

g'night, all.

I think the littlest ones (4 and 5) could only deal with the idea of "dead bodies" by comparing it to the only things they were familiar with which were once alive and are now dead -- chickens and what not in the grocery store.

That makes sense. After all, what other examples would they have? Road kill? A pet that died?

in the gnostic philosophy I now "practice", we have a "feast" to celebrate the passing of our friends.

Interesting. There's food involved in Jewish mourning rituals, but then again, this is Judiasm we're talking about: food is involved with everything. As far as mourning goes, it's mostly that the community provides meals for the family during the seven day Shiva period, usually to the point that they've been given so much food they feed visitors too. This lets the family feel like they're being good hosts to the guests who visit, while not forcing people in mourning to deal with cooking.

This lets the family feel like they're being good hosts to the guests who visit, while not forcing people in mourning to deal with cooking.

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<i>This lets the family feel like they're being good hosts to the guests who visit, while not forcing people in mourning to deal with cooking.</i>

<font="maroon">THat's really the southern tradition, too. Everyone brings a casserole or something to freeze so that you can give food to the visitors.

It's so ingrained in me that when I hear of someone's death too far away for me to get there, I almost automatically head for my favorite food site and send some deli meats and fruit and what not.</font>

I'm enjoying this exchange of ideas and customs a lot, actually...

So am I. Thanks for sharing!

About keeping the body + soul company -- that's very much what I had heard from friends who keep a wake -- that the body and the soul are confused and need someone to keep them company until they figure out where they are supposed to be going.

As far as I know, I was no relation to the people that I did Shmira for.

I am very unhappy to say that I got a phone call from my friend Mendel on Saturday night - his grandfather died and Mendel was in the morgue. So I guess relatives can do Shmira. Damn, this is not the way I wanted to find out this information.

My condolences to your friend. This was an unfortunate way to find out, yes.

I'm also told that in some areas they wait three days for the funeral to be sure the person is really dead.

I've heard that too -- with parallels drawn to Jesus' death. (I don't know more details, sorry.)

Oh, and she said the open casket comes from the practice of kissing the dead person on the lips to prove you a) really cared and b) didn't kill them. Yeuucch.

Ewww. I have never even touched a corpse, let alone kissed one.

Five years ago, at my (maternal) grandfather's (Greek Orthodox Christian) funeral the family was lined up and we were each sent up individually to stand in front of the open coffin, right there in the front of the church, with the strong expectation that we would say a prayer or touch it or something. Doing this at all creeped me out a little; doing it in front of the entire freaking congregation really bothered me. I considered just standing, looking, and then moving on without doing anything, but that would have come off to that crowd as unloving or something. So I quietly said a short blessing in Hebrew [1]; I think only the parents and maybe the priest heard exactly what I said. (No idea if the priest was Hebrew-literate; my parents weren't.)

When my (paternal) grandfather died when I was a child, I remember having a conversation with someone -- an aunt, I think, not a parent -- about why he looked like plastic. It must not have struck me as particularly natural-looking.

[1] "Dayan ha-emet", for those who are curious. I didn't have all of kaddish memorized at that point; I had a copy in my pocket to read privately at the cemetery.

I have touched dead bodies -- even before my parents died. I worked in the hospital as a candy-striper, and because I've always been one of those "dependable" sort, I ended up taking bodies to the morgue when transport was slow. The older people were easier, somehow... but the most touching was a baby who died, about 11 months. Her mom didn't want her to go "alone" to the morgue, so I wrapped her (the baby) up and carried her down. It was decidedly peculiar, as she was still warmish, but her mom had been holding her for a while to say good-bye. I remember that I held out until I got to the morgue, and then I cried. Her name was Stephanie.

When my mom died, I was in the room with her. My sisters Peggy and Linda and I started giggling, because her head just sort of slipped to one side and her mouth fell open -- just like she looked every night when she fell asleep in front of the TV. I had spent all day sitting with her, even though she was mostly under morphine. When she died, I remember the three of us all walked up and rubbed her feet, just like we did when we'd come in at night and she was asleep in front of the TV. It was.... closure, in a very personal way. My sister Barbara thought it was really inappropriate, but the nurses smiled at us and hugged us. They had come to love her, too, and their care of her was very tender.

Gosh. All these memories. I think I'll go take a shower and cry for a while.

Hmm, I should clarify: I don't think the idea of touching a just-dead body would bother me. Both of my parents are (or were) EMTs and my mother was a nursing student, so death was not something I was ever taught to be squicked by. If, for example, one of my parents were to take ill, I'd want to be there at the end, holding hands. But the idea of handling a body that's been chemically preserved and made up seems very different to me. I don't know if I could be part of a chevra kadisha (it would be a kind thing to do), but I don't think I could prepare an embalmed body for display.

Thanks for all your comments!

I think that the Chevra Kadisha group is supposed to be made up of non-family members, although I'm not sure: I've never done it.

In the case I'm aware of, it's a standing group associated with the shul, not relatives. I suppose if a relative wanted to participate he'd be permitted to, but I don't think it's the usual practice here.

My sister died of breast cancer a little over two years ago and her funeral, like every one I've ever been to, was open-casket and Christian (I believe this one was Presbyterian; all others have been Roman Catholic). I was with her when she died so seeing the open casket for the entire viewing and during te funeral was incredibly hard. Because I don't care what everyone was saying- she didn't look natural, she didn't look at peace. To me it was torture seeing her and not seeing her alive. It hurt so much. My best friend (who is Jewish) told me that when her grandfather died (she was in high school, maybe 16 or 17, I think) and she flew to Florida for his funeral she wanted to see his body because she hadn't had a chance to say goodbye to him. I can understand that. I might've felt differently about seeing Kami if I hadn't been with her when she died.

My family has a tendency to drink heavily at get-togethers after the funeral and get somewhat loud and raucous- you wouldn't guess that we'd all come from a funeral at some points. I remember very clearly my house after my Grandma Blanche (mom's mom) died when I was 13. There were a ton of people there, tons of food and alcohol and people were laughing and joking and enjoying each other's company. We told a lot of stories about her, some of them less than flattering, some of them quite fond. I wasn't sure what to make of this when I was younger; now I realize this was my family's way of dealing. The get-together after my sister died was similar, but more somber because she had died so young and had only been married 4 months before. But, it was very much about celebrating her life.

However, it's the after that has never worked for me. After everyone leaves, after you've cleaned up the house or headed back to your own house, how do you mourn? Because that wasn't really mourning, what we were doing. It was a start, but that's it. I was never told how I could or should mourn anyone. I was never given a model within Christianity and Catholocism to deal with my grief. I don't know that I've ever mourned properly for Kami. I go to her grave twice a year on the anniversary and on her birthday, but those crucial months after she died I had nothing. It was horrible. I was back up on campus at my summer job 3 days after the funeral and back to work.

What I'm trying to say in this very long-winded reply is that I'm just now beginning to find ways to mourn.

Wow. I am so sorry -- about your sister, and about the fact that you haven't been able to mourn properly.

I was never told how I could or should mourn anyone. I was never given a model within Christianity and Catholocism to deal with my grief. I don't know that I've ever mourned properly for Kami. I go to her grave twice a year on the anniversary and on her birthday, but those crucial months after she died I had nothing. It was horrible. I was back up on campus at my summer job 3 days after the funeral and back to work.

I was raised Baptist, and didn't attend any funerals until that of my friend Michele, who some say committed suicide and others say was on too much Darvocette and wandered out into a snowstorm in her PJ's. It was a closed casket. After that, I went to seven more before my own mother's. I did not go to my best friend Susan's grandmother, even tho I wanted to, because my mother didn't know what happened at Jewish funerals and so was unwilling to let me go. I did go to her house immediately afterwards, and the two of us sat at the top of the stairs and listened to what all the older people were saying to her parents. I stayed over the night and for 2 or 3 nights after, because she asked me to. It was a completely new experience for me, because this was the only mourning family I had ever been around, and so I'm afraid my impression of what one should do during and after a death were completely warped by that ;-).

When Mom died it was completely expected; she had, after all, been battling breast cancer for almost 11 years and wanted urgently to die before the cancer got to her brain. What I wasn't prepared for was that even tho mom had talked to the minister and so on, my Dad completely broke down after she died. My Dad never lost his ability to deal with anything, no matter how horrible. So, I, as the eldest daughter, had to do everything. And I was so stunned I didn't do things like arrange for the traditional Baptist potluck afterwards or anything like that. My aunts and uncles and so on flooded the house (and, yes, they all were stinking drunk all the time) and I just didn't know what to do. It felt very incomplete to me. Because I had known it was coming for a very long time, I felt numb instead of weepy.

About 3 weeks after she died, I was sitting on the floor of my kitchen with two of the guys from our local group during a post-revel (my first husband had left the event at about 9 PM -- yes, he took our 16-month-old daughter home, but he didn't tell me he was leaving...) and suddenly burst into tears. These two guys just held me until I got better (actually, I fell asleep, and they moved me to the couch, covered me up, and shooed everyone else out to someone else's house).

(continued in next post...)

(continued from previous...)

All of this is to say, no, I didn't know how to mourn my mother, either. In fact, it's still coming out in dribs and drabs (and she died in 1982, when I was just barely 25). I find I miss her deeply, with a strong wave of grief, at times like my son's graduation from Middle School (it's a big deal out here...), or when my daughter got her first job, or when she shaved her head and followed Jack Kerouac's example.... It's one of the reasons I'm so grateful that my daughter and I are still friends, and growing closer. She's 23, and still talks to me.

However, when my dad died (in 1996), he and my three sisters and I had all had time to talk about what he wanted. He wanted a miolitary funeral, in Greensboro (where we had grown up, and near to where my step-mother was planning to move), and Masonic stuff, and a party afterward. Since I knew that one of my ex-boyfriend's dad was a Mason, I told my sisters I'd take of that. (Turned out the ex-boyfriend, with whom I'm still very friendly, was himself a Mason, having been sponsored by my Dad. He and his dad took care of all that stuff....

And, as there was no one else, I gave his eulogy. Sitting up and writing that was really hard, and cried then and also during the time I presented it, but the doing of it was very cleansing and helped me get past the shock into the other stages of grief. My favorite moment (if one can be said to have a "favorite" during a eulogy) was when I looked down and saw Dad's brother and sister (of the 4 out of 12 who were still living) with tears running down their faces and laughing at my description of Dad -- in shared happy remembrance -- at the same time.

(It doesn't make the writing any different in my head now to know that he was not always the man I knew, or that he did things I don't approve of. We are all human.)

My daughter reminds me to say that my stepmother (who is only 4 years older than I am, and looks about 20 years older) hated this eulogy. I said things about Dad that weren't all flattering, and I didn't mention G-d anywhere. Clearly I'm just not a good daughter, or a Good Christian. (Laugh!)

Thanks for sharing all of that. For what it's worth, I think it was a good eulogy -- the ones where you only hear about what a superhuman saint the deceased was come off as hype to me. People are people; we have our good sides and our bad. You don't have to dwell on the latter, but you shouldn't pretend they don't exist either.

Your comments about your mother's funeral made me realize that I really have no idea what the organizers are supposed to do in the Roman Catholic tradition. As the older child, I'll be the one responsible for making stuff happen for my parents -- at least for the second one, though of course I'll be helping a lot with the first. I know the "official" stuff -- I know where the paperwork is for the cemetery plots and caskets and stuff they've already bought, and I know what church to call to get a priest, and I assume someone there will direct me in the rest of the funeral logistics. But the family side, I have no clues about. I don't know whether we'll be expected to prepare a spread, or if food will magically appear, or how long/often relatives will show up at the house, or any of that. Hmm.

(When my (paternal) grandmother died 2.5 years ago, it was in the midst of some family strife. The result was that we went to the funeral and a luncheon afterwards at the church, but none of the local relatives invited people home. I don't think that's normal.)

I know that when my parents die I'll be living in two worlds for a few days. I'll have to organize Catholic funerals and do whatever those relatives expect, but that's just the public face for the relatives. That won't be how I mourn; it's foreign to me. I'll mourn as a Jew. My immediate family will be fine with that (and would probably even come to the shiva), and the more distant relatives wouldn't understand or be interested. (Said distant relatives will probably give me flack for not participating in the mass fully like a good Christian should, and my aren't I disrespectful of my parents to refuse to honor them that way? Except that my parents are fully supportive of my religious decisions and they would never ask me to pretend to be something I'm not.)

Talk to them now. The biggest gift my dad gave us was to talk to us about what he wanted, and to even have a notebook with all sorts of things organized in it.

It's not an easy conversation. You've at least got the "official" stuff done -- but make sure that there's at least one easily accessible address book of all the relatives (I ended up hacking someone's email address book for his wife when he died suddenly -- it was awful). Talk about what customs your parents and their community observe, and what they want; ask them who at the church usually organizes such things (usually there's a woman's group or altar committee or some such that tends to do that kind of thing, too).

My friend Glee's husband, who died after a lengthy battle with cancer, wanted balloons and not flowers, and Walt Whitman poetry, and several other things, including an open house afterward. By knowing that in advance, other people than Glee could help arrange things when he did finally go.

Even tho I have no intention of popping off any time soon, life does happen, so I've talked to my kids and one of my sisters and my sweetie about it. I'll probably write it down somewhere, too.

Which reminds me -- if you have any strong feelings about being a vegetable on life support, make sure you have a durable medical power of attorney made out and on file with your hospital, your doctor, your family (sibs and lovers, etc.), etc. I chose Glee -- because she and I have been through several friends' deaths and I trust her to make the right decision, and it's not something I want my next of kin -- my 23 year old daughter -- to have to do. I ended up making that decision for my mother when I was 23, and it isn't something I would put on her if I can prevent it.

hugs to you, M.

p

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