Final Instructions
No sooner had the door closed behind us as we were leaving the funeral home after the visitation for the father of my son’s close friend, than the conversation began as we walked towards the car.
My son looked at me in all seriousness and nodding his head backwards towards that cold, white building, said “So, would you want something like that when the time comes?” “That” meaning an open casket, people sitting in contemplation and then making small talk in a lounge, offering words of comfort, recalling the life of the deceased as well as the awkwardness of people who might not know the words to say.
The conversation continued in the car as we drove home just as have so many of the best, deepest, conversations he and I have shared over the years while driving to one sports commitment or another. Enclosed spaces, like the confessional, offer the opportunity for privacy, intimacy, and openness. Those conversations formed a bond that lasts and has deepened all these years later.
Talking about death was the kind of conversation we had not had years ago when he was too young to contemplate death or what happens afterward. This son was a young child when my mother and then my sister died within 2 years of one another. 5 years after that I was diagnosed with cancer and once again he saw loss looming on the horizon. Fear of death was a constant companion for many years of that young life. We did our best to work through that by talking about life and death in terms he could understand. As the years have passed, death and dying has come up in casual conversation, remembering funerals of family members, or a reference made that would prompt a comment from me like “do not when writing my obituary say I lost my battle with cancer or I will haunt you to the ends of the earth” followed by teasing and laughter.
I have written five obituary notices and I have written six eulogies. None of them easy to do and in most cases the deaths were so sudden that there was no time to have ever had any discourse with the person who died as to what they would like as their time on this earth reached the last page in their book of a life. To write someone’s obituary and their eulogy is a privilege. Summing up a life in a condensed essay is a challenge as you strive to do justice to what the person’s presence has meant to you in your own life, to the lives of others and to the world. How we wish others to remember us depends in large part on how we behave towards others and how we conduct ourselves in the world. The sad fact of any eulogy is that the person being honoured does not hear the words of praise, love, affection, and remembrance. We too often save our highest praise and our fondest memories about someone for others to bear witness. Sadly, we rarely share those thoughts with the individual to whom it would have such meaning. Why do we resist telling someone how we feel about them, how they make us feel, how they have inspired us or encouraged us? We need to do that and do it often.
I told my son that I really don’t want “all of that.” I would prefer no funeral. I hope to have my ashes spread in a body of water where I can gently float away, or in any location my sons select that brings them comfort and tranquility. If they feel better having a funeral, then so be it. If they would rather throw a party, surrounding themselves with the people who mean the most to them they could do that. I hope my children will tell stories about me that will make them laugh. I have done my best to provide plenty of those moments.
It was an important conversation to have – acknowledging that this will be a reality my son will at some point face. He may recall all of the things we discussed or, as can happen with grief, he may forget. We both hope this information won’t be necessary for some time to come, but as we have experienced far too often, life has its own agenda. Recalling that October afternoon conversation, I’m attaching a note with all the other important papers that will be needed when the time comes, with a reminder of my only important directive. To remember that this badass warrior did not lose any battles to cancer or otherwise, and that she lived fully the life she was given in the time she was blessed to be granted.