The F Word

 No, not that one...although if you need to scream that one several times throughout the grieving process, you have my full support. The F word I am speaking of is funerals. I dare say, especially today, this F word is avoided much more than the other one. It shouldn't be, though. I am speaking in broad generalizations here, but, I know people don't talk about dying and death. They don't talk about it because it is uncomfortable and awkward. Outside of funeral directors, the vast majority of people do not engage in regular conversation about death. There is also the reality that most people do not like to entertain the though of mortality and death, not simply our own, but those we love. However, the reality is this: some of us will die long before anyone is ready to say goodbye, and others of us will be fortunate and have the opportunity to settle all our affairs and say all our proper goodbyes. The rest of us will fall somewhere in-between. 

One purpose of this sub-section called "Tales from the Trenches" is to share hyper-practical things I learned as a result of my own loss. Another purpose is to open up the dialogue about death, dying, and loss. Speaking about death and dying doesn't manifest it into your life; I don't believe that. I believe that every single one of the days of my life has already been ordained by God, and, as such, when it is my time to transition to my Heavenly home, it is my time. Andrew's time on this earth was only 38 years and 3 months. It was way too short for my liking, for his father's liking, and for our children's liking. I pray that the conversations that may occur as a result of my "Tales" will be stored away in a memory bank for decades and decades, however, they are conversations that should be had. And so, let's move on to the F word...

If you have specific wishes regarding your body, services, burial, or final resting place, you MUST make them known. Write them down on a piece of paper, put them in a Word document, record them in a video; the format is not important. If it is important enough for you to have specific wishes, then it is important enough for you to make them known. Tell your loved ones what your wishes are. If they do not want to listen, out of fear or discomfort, then make sure they are written down and you let someone know the location of those wishes. One place to put these wishes is in a Health Care Directive. I talk about the Health Care Directive and other important first steps here. If you have no specific wishes, let your loved ones know this, too. Until you are in that position, you can't begin to understand the amount of time spent wondering if you are truly planning and executing final wishes correctly. Save your loved ones the mental anguish of wondering if they are doing right by you. In an earlier entry, I discussed four big decisions that must be made when someone has died or is dying. These decisions can be made now, and your wishes recorded for your loved ones. 

One of the things I hear from a lot of people is some version of, "I don't want a funeral. Just spread my ashes somewhere and call it a day." I am going to be very blunt: the funeral isn't for you. You're dead. Your earthly concerns and worries no longer hold sway in your life; you don't have a life. I repeat, you're dead.

When Andrew died, I was faced with the task of planning a funeral for my husband. My dad, being a retired pastor, had an outline of service that we used. I picked three of Andrew's favorite songs: "What a Beautiful Name", "Grace to Grace", and "100 Million Reasons". I chose a scripture passage that was meaningful for him: John 14:6. I asked my dad to write and deliver the eulogy, and I asked the pastor of our church to officiate. It was a simple service that I felt truly honored who Andrew was.

Oh, I am aware of the many objections to funerals: they're too expensive, it's a racket to get your money, I don't want a religious person "sending" me off to the afterlife, I don't know any pastors/priests who I could even ask, I want to spare my family the anguish of a funeral, I don't know where to have one, I don't know what would be said, funerals don't matter to me, so they shouldn't matter to my family, no one would come anyway, I don't want my passing to inconvenience people, funerals are just...so...awkward...I'll stop my list there. I do want to address some of these common objections, though.

First, a terminology lesson. When I speak about a funeral, I am talking about a formal service where the body of the deceased is present during the service. Whether it be in a casket or an urn, the guest of honor is present. A memorial service is one where the deceased may not actually be there, or, more likely, they have been cremated and their cremains are present. Funerals generally take place within a week of death. Memorial services take place at a different time. Andrew technically had a memorial service. I chose to have the service three weeks after he died. Yes, it's semantics, but sometimes it helps to clarify. Moving on...

Question/Objection #1: I don't know how to plan a funeral/What happens at a funeral/I've never done this before.
Growing up in the family I did, I have just about seen it all when it comes to funerals. I have been to funerals where the entire service is planned out to the minute and has been for the last 25 years. I have been to services where the guests were laughing so hard, they cried. I have been to incredibly sad funerals where the loved ones of the deceased were wailing and crying so loudly you couldn't hear what was going on. My grandmother, Eunice, passed when she was nearly 96 years old. Eunice had her funeral planned out since she was about 75. I kid you not. For her service, her children just went to the folder, grabbed the papers, and voila, funeral planned. Funeral homes and mortuaries have sample funeral service plans for families to consider. Most clergy also have different funeral service plans they have used. If you prefer to script out your own funeral service, knock yourself out. If there are elements you do not want at your funeral, write that down. Your funeral is your send-off, in a sense. If you want your best friend from high school to play the guitar solo from "Sweet Child of Mine", write it down. If you do not want your Aunt Marge to get up and share family stories, write that down. If there are family members you wish to be seated in front, write it down. If there are family members you do not want sitting in the front, write that down, too. You are entitled to your wishes, however, your loved ones still living have to deal with the fall-out. If you write things down, you at least give them a person to blame- someone who isn't still living. If there is a specific clergy you wish to perform your funeral, ask them now. Morbid as it sounds, there have been about 4-5 people who asked my dad before he retired seven years ago to perform their funerals. A couple of them have passed away since, and my dad honored their requests. 

#2: The C word
I'm talking about church. For a myriad of reasons, people who don't normally attend church still wish to have a funeral in a church. I know in the Catholic faith, having a Mass of Christian Burial is part of the sacraments. If there is a specific church you want to have your funeral at, do some investigation. Some churches have a fee system based on church membership; others may only host the funerals of their partitioners. You may find that a church you really want for your funeral isn't an option. Disappointing, yes, but there is still an opportunity to find another location. When you pass, your loved ones have so many decisions coming their way from all angles at breakneck pace. Settling in on the location you desire ahead of time is one less thing your loved ones have to do. If a church (or synagogue, mosque, Kingdom Hall, ward) is the last place you want your funeral to be held, make that known. There are other options. Funeral homes and mortuaries have spaces to host funerals. Services can be held at the gravesite (but weather is always a factor with that one). Banquet rooms at a restaurant, ballrooms in a hotel, the local VFW, alongside a lake; all of these are options. As far as officiating the funeral, most every funeral home as a list of clergy willing to perform funerals. My dad was the "Rent-A-Rev" for the local funeral home. He would perform services for individuals who did not have specific clergy in mind. 

My parents served for 23 years in the same church at the end of their ministry career. When Andrew passed away, my dad had already retired from ministry. The new pastor of the church, just a few months into his tenure there, opened the church for us to use. It was the same church where Andrew's mother, Cheryl, had her funeral five years earlier. It was the same church we were married in. It was the church I attended when I was a teenager and young adult. I was so incredibly touched at the gesture. I was even more blown away when members of the church volunteered to be ushers, to make the luncheon, serve the luncheon, and clean up afterward. My point is this: if you have a location that is meaningful to you, tell someone. Explore what options there might be at that location. Do some advanced planning. Your loved ones will be grateful.

#3: I hate attending funerals/I don't want to be a bother/What if no one comes/Just toss my ashes somewhere and have a beer
Earlier I said that the funeral isn't for you. I mean, yes, technically it is for you, but it isn't for you. Funerals provide a space for people to gather and grieve. They offer the opportunity to connect with your loved ones, and to say their goodbyes. For me, those early days and weeks had grieving benchmarks. These were events or times when I could anticipate and prepare myself for the flood of grief that was going to come, and after it was over, I could "check off" yet another moment I didn't have to go through again. Andrew died a week before Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving was my first grieving benchmark. My next was his memorial service. I'll be honest, I don't remember much from the actual service itself. It's all a blur. But I remember the people. I remember one of my former youth group leaders who had volunteered to usher at the funeral. He walked over to me, and I thanked him for volunteering. He gave me a hug and said he would be checking on my periodically to see if I needed anything. I remember friends of mine from high school, some of them traveling hours to be there. I remember my college roommate flying in, driving there with me, and having a safe word if I got too overwhelmed. I remember coworkers of mine, both former and current. I remember Andrew's friends from high school who came, as well as a former teacher of his. I remember co-workers of Andrew's, and his spiritual mentor. I remember walking into a little room prior to the service, and our pastor asking if we were ready to start. I remember telling him no, I wasn't ready, but I didn't have much of a choice. I remember walking down the center aisle, trying to hold my head high, but not too high, and wishing I could wake up and this would be a terrible dream. I remember looking around that sanctuary, completely filled with people. I remember wishing that Andrew could have seen that. For someone who often felt alone and like no one truly cared, this was proof of how incredibly wrong he was. That is why funerals are so important. They give the opportunity for people to come together and grieve. What has seemed so surreal and unimaginable receives substance and form at a funeral. It doesn't matter if there are 2, 22, or 222 people there. Funerals give your loved ones a space to come together, grieve, process, and sit in the suck. That day in December 2019, a few hundred people sat in the suck with me for a time. And I am eternally grateful that they did.

I'm not out here trying to convince you to do anything. I'm just sharing what I know: funerals are for the ones you leave behind. You may think you're sparing them the sadness and burden. Newsflash: they're already sad and overwhelmed. Consider making space for them to sit in the suck of your passing with other people who are also sad and overwhelmed. Rituals for saying goodbye exist for a reason. 

I'll end this on a humorous note. Andrew was cremated, and his ashes returned to me. I knew that I would be burying him in the spring, so I didn't need a proper urn to keep the cremains. But, we did still have the urn from Andrew's mom, Cheryl's funeral. A good bit of her cremains had already been scattered in various places she loved around the country. I was so overwhelmed with everything, and the cremains were in a closet at my parents' house. I asked Jim to bring the urn to the memorial service, but I never got around to getting the cremains from my parents. But some of Cheryl was in there still. Technically, Andrew was never at his memorial service. The urn in the front of the church held his mom, not him. Also, when we got married, Andrew's mom gave us this picture frame. It was frosted glass, thick and heavy, and REALLY not my style. But Andrew insisted we display it with our wedding picture inside in our bedroom. For over five years I daily had to look at this frame I really disliked. When it came time for his funeral, I put a picture of Andrew in that heavy (ugly) frame, and displayed it in the church. When the service was done, my family asked me what I wanted done with the display on the front table. I said that Andrew's dad, Jim, needed to get the urn back, and I never wanted to see anything from that table ever again in my life. As far as I know, that awful picture frame went into a dumpster somewhere in North St. Paul, never to be seen again. I don't miss it. 

Thank you for joining me for another installment of "Tales from the Trenches". Stay tuned for the next topic: all things official. It is riveting.