The Business of Dying

Yesterday, I attended the funeral visitation for the mother of a friend. It was one of those visitations where you don’t know the deceased at all, but you’re there to support your friend. It was in a more rural setting, and, as is often the case the further away from the city you go, people do things differently in the country. Although appropriately sad for my friend, I was afforded a great opportunity for people watching and observing how we – here in America, and definitely in the South, and outside of the ‘burbs – handle the whole business of death.

Observation #1:  The attendance was high, resulting in a receiving line of sorts. It formed from the family standing at the head of the casket, through the funeral home and out onto the sidewalk. I arrived approximately 10 minutes before the stated visiting hours, expecting to reverently wait until the appointed time to make my way inside. After watching a steady stream of visitors enter, I decided to go on in myself and wound up waiting 15-20 minutes to get to the front of the line. When I left, the line was three to four times as long.

Observation #2:  Funerals and especially visitations become a social gathering. Children will run around. That’s OK as that’s what children do and it provides a certain “circle of life” levity. However, I’ve always found it odd to overhear boisterous laughter, telling of jokes, and just generally hearing people, well, living. They’re saying things like “it’s great to see you!” and “how have you been?” and showing pictures of growing children and sharing details of recent trips. Robert Frost has one of my favorite quotes:  “In three words, I can sum up everything I know about life:  it goes on.” I just never understood why it must go on (and be flaunted) in front of the grieving family.

Observation #3:  Now, this particular function was seriously lacking in the food area. It’s been my experience, though, that well wishers (or funeral home busy bodies) seem to correlate the amount of love and sympathy bestowed upon a family to the amount of cold fried chicken and various pies you can squeeze into a funeral home’s kitchen. I never understood why people wanted food at a funeral home. As someone who’s been on both sides of the casket, I can honestly, as a family member of the deceased, say eating, especially some food with questionable freshness and temperatures, was the last thing on my mind. Now, I’ve been so thirsty, I actually pondered taking a sip from the drip pan of a potted plant, but hungry I was not. The most curious thing is the people who partake the most of this food offering are often times the least related or touched by the loss.

Observation #4:  People say amazingly dumb things. “He looks peaceful.” “Oh, they did such a good job on her.” Uh-uh. They look dead. They look pasty and gray and cold and stiff.  “I wish you’d look at all these flowers. Isn’t that wonderful?” Nope, it’s a waste. It’s an insane waste of money and the immediate family will be forced to deal with them immediately after saying good-bye to their loved one. They’ll have to take all those plants home and transform their living room into a weird, little Peace Lily jungle. When the plants die, because the person is too tired or too busy from post-funeral obligations, it will be a sad reminder. And they’ll stink.

Observation #5:  I’m a believer. Because of this, I whole-heartedly believe that our life on this blue ball is short, that we each have a plan masterfully scribed for our lives, and when the last page of our book has unfolded, we will have the opportunity to reunite with our Creator and our loved ones who have gone before us in Heaven. So saying, “he was too young to die” or “I’m sorry” just doesn’t do it for me. I know you have to say something. I think an “I’m sorry for your loss” or maybe an umbrella “I’m thinking about you” just about says it all. More often than not, I’m happy for the deceased at a funeral, certainly if I know their faith was in Jesus. When I see an elderly person who lost their spouse many years ago make their departure, I rejoice in thinking their body is whole and they’re reunited with their husband or wife, past pets, people from the Bible, people from history books, and Christ Himself. How joyous! Who am I to second guess the Author?

“There is a time for everything,
and a season for very activity under heaven:
 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.”

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8