I recently took part in a program led by Kathryn Koromilas, a Stoic leader living in Scotland. The 28 Days of Joyful Death Writing was centered on selected writings from Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations and creatively guided by Kathryn. The four-weeks of daily reflection on death and the sharing with others was very helpful in looking at the biggest bug-a-boo we all face in life — death.
My experiences as a long term care and hospice chaplain, of personal loss, and lots of reading have helped me see many reactions to dying. Outright horror, longed for relief, deep sadness, resignation, loneliness, doubt — you can add more.
Now don’t get me wrong, don’t think that I have a handle on dying and death. I am with Woody Allen when he wrote or said, “I am not afraid of dying, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” So I am working on it. Sure, I would rather be sitting here in this coffee shop clearing my mind writing this post. While doing this important work, contemplating death, several little snippets about death that include sadness, humor and anger come to me.
No One There
While serving as chaplain I was asked to do a funeral for a woman with no family or friends. As was my custom for funerals, I wrote a poem trying to capture this lonely soul. My wife and I travelled a short distance to a funeral home where after a brief service, we followed the funeral vehicle to an indigent cemetery for the burial. Alice, my wife, two grave diggers and I had a graveyard service and she was buried with her people — the lonely, poor souls of that community.
Eulogy for My Father
I was living in Sarasota, Florida, when my dad died in Kimmel, Indiana. He was 49 years old. His cardiologist said the walls of his heart were paper thin from smoking. Dad was a character, a person of caring and generosity, a person of hardness and temper. I was invited by the minister handling his funeral to talk about dad, and I did. I told of his goodness and his badness, the reality of never knowing if he would be angry or pleasant when he came home from work. I described my attempts to work with him and his blowing up if I brought him the wrong wrench. He was always on edge. Love him, hate him. My mom, my brother, and I lived in a home of uncertain emotions. All four of us were fortunate that dad was not a drinker or physically violent. The truth I shared was very offensive to his brothers who thought he is dead, don’t dishonor him. You know, like when a dead scoundrel suddenly becomes a saint. The only example I can think of is Richard Nixon.
Silent Ones
My father had five brothers. At family gatherings they would sit in the living room and over the course of several hours only a few words were said. I may be overstating here but you get the point. They didn’t talk much. In the kitchen or the dining room the wives were normally talkative. When the eldest died, and during the visiting hours at the funeral home, one of the brothers and his wife were standing by the open casket and she said, “Just like Ward, he never said a word.” The brother got pissed at her truth telling. I still find this hilarious.
Jingle Bells
My aunt Vedas died, and her funeral was in a house that had once served as a family dwelling. You entered the front door and to the right in the former living room was the open casket and seating. To the left was a dining room with more seating. Off the dining room is the kitchen and pantry, where a small Wurlitzer organ was placed. The service began. After a period of quiet, waiting for those gathering to be seated, I was in the room with the casket twelve feet or so in front of me. Beside me were two cousins. At some point we heard a song coming from the pantry — Jingle Bells! I think I know why traditional hymns were not being played, but that is only conjecture. Anyway, it was December and it was Jingle Bells. At some point I turned to my cousins and asked, “Have you ever heard Jingle Bells at a funeral?” They had not.
I want you to know that if you have the grand opportunity to attend my funeral, you may laugh, you may dance, you have to be truthful, you should have fun. Don’t go dour and weep with great lamentation. Remember this is the way it is. That’s what I learned from Kathryn’s 28 Days of Joyful Death Writing. O yes, one thing though, do not be critical of my Substack!
I would be pleasant to be face-to-face to discuss your great responses to Death Snippets. Very thoughtful stuff from you.
Thanks, Howard, so good.