Caleb Wilde
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Posts by Caleb Wilde
Should You Talk to Your Children about Death?
This from “Death and Dying, Life and Living” (Page 346):
In our society, adults often wonder if they should talk to children about death, what they should say, and how they should act with children in death-related situations.
These questions arise in many ways:
Should we discuss death with children or teach them about loss and grief even before a death takes place?
What should we say to children after a death occurs?
Should we take children to funeral services?
Perhaps the most difficult of all questions of this type arise in situations in which adults (parents, family members, or care providers) are challenged by a child who has a life-threatening illness and who is facing his or her imminent death.
One recent contribution to the discussion (Kreicbergs et al., 2004) described a study of Swedish parents whose child had died from cancer between 1992 and 1997. Among the 561 eligible parents, 429 reported on whether they had talked about death with their child. Results showed that more than a quarter of those who did not talk with their child about death regretted that they had not done so. Similar regrets were reported by nearly half of the parents who had sensed that their child was aware of his or her imminent death. By contrast, among the parents who had talked with their children about death, “No parent in this cohort later regretted having talked with his or her child about death (p. 1175).
The implications of this study suggest that, despite all of the challenges involved in talking to a child about death and even in the very demanding circumstances of a child facing his or her imminent death, it is most often better to go ahead with such conversations. The main reason for this is that, as Rabbi Earl Grollman has often said, “Anything that is mentionable is manageable.” Opening a line of communication with children is preferable to allowing them to try to cope on their own with incomplete or improperly understood information and the demons of their own imaginations. In addition, a child who is able to have his or her concerns addressed in a thoughtful and loving way is a child who has someone he or she can trust when there is a need to look for a source of support.
10 Stupid Death Jokes
1.
It got crowded in heaven so, for one day and one day only, it was decided to only accept people who had really bad day on the day they died.
St. Peter was standing at the pearly gates and said to the first man, “Tell me about the day you died.” The man said, “Oh, it was awful. I was sure my wife was having an affair, so I came home early to catch her with him. I searched all over the apartment but couldn’t find him anywhere. So I went out onto the balcony, we live on the 25th floor, and found this man hanging over the edge by his fingertips. I went inside, got a hammer, and started hitting his hands. He fell, but landed in some bushes. So, I got the refrigerator and pushed it over the balcony and it crushed him. The strain of the act gave me a heart attack, of which I died from.”
St. Peter couldn’t deny that this was a pretty bad day, and since it was a crime of passion, he let the man in. He then asked the next man in line about the day he died. “Well, sir, it was awful,” said the second man. “I was doing aerobics on the balcony of my 26th floor apartment when I twisted my ankle and slipped over the edge. I managed to grab the balcony of the apartment below, but some maniac came out and started pounding on my fingers with a hammer. Luckily I landed in some bushes. But, then the guy dropped a refrigerator on me!”
St. Peter chuckled, let him into heaven and decided he could really start to enjoy this job. “Tell me about the day you died?” he said to the third man in line. “OK, picture this; I’m naked, hiding inside a refrigerator….”
2.
When Bob found out he was going to inherit a fortune after his sickly father died, he decided he needed a woman to enjoy it with. So one evening he went to a singles’ bar where he spotted the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Her natural beauty took his breath away. “I may look like just an ordinary guy,” he said as he walked up to her, “but in just a week or two my father will die, and I’ll inherit twenty million dollars.”
Impressed, the woman went home with him that evening. Three days later, she became his stepmother.
From the book, “Heidegger and a Hippo Walk Through Those Pearly Gates”.
3.
Millie accompanied her husband Maurice to the doctor’s office. After he had given Maurice a full checkup, the doctor called Millie into his office alone. The doctor said, “Maurice is suffering from a serious disease brought on by extreme stress. If you don’t do the following, your husband will die:
Each morning, wake him up gently with a big kiss, then fix him a healthy breakfast. Be pleasant at all time and make sure he is always in a good mood. Cook him only his favorite meals and allow him to relax after eating. Don’t burden him with any chores, and don’t discuss your problems with him; it will only make his stress worse. Don’t argue with him, even if he criticizes you or makes fun of you. Try to relax him in the evening by giving him massages. Encourage him to watch all the sports he can on TV, even if it means missing your favorite programs. and most important, every evening after dinner do whatever it takes to satisfy his every whim.”
“If you can do all of this, every day, for the next six months, I think Maurice will regain his health completely.”
On the way home, Maurice asked Millie: “What did the doctor say?”
“He said you’re going to die.”
4.
Fred and Clyde had had many conversations over the years about the afterlife. They agreed that whoever died first would try to contact the other and tell him what heaven was like.
Fred was the first to pass on. A year went by. One day the phone rang, and when Clyde answered, it was Fred!
“Is that really you, Fred?” he asked.
“You bet, Clyde. It’s really me.”
“Great to hear from you! I thought you’d forgotten. So tell me! What’s it like there?”
“Well, you won’t believe this, Clyde. It’s absolutely wonderful! We’ve got the most delicious veggies from the lushest fields you have ever seen. We get to sleep in every morning, have a fabulous breakfast, and then make love the rest of the morning. After a nutritious lunch, we go out in the fields and make love some more. Then it’s time for a gourmet dinner and some more lovemaking until bedtime.”
“Omigod!” said Clyde. “Heaven sounds fabulous!”
“Heaven?” said Fred. “I’m a rabbit in Arizona.”
5.
A guy finds his dog with the neighbor’s pet rabbit in its mouth. The rabbit is dead and the guy panics. He takes the dirty, chewed up rabbit into the house. He gives it a bath, blow dries its fur, and puts it back into the cage at the neighbor’s house, hoping they will think it died of natural causes.
A few days later, the neighbor asks the guy, “Did you hear that Fluffy died?”
The guy stammers and says, “Um… no… what happened?”
The neighbor replies, “We found him dead in his cage one day, but the weird thing is that the day after we buried him, someone had dug him up, gave him a bath and put him back into the cage. There are some real sick people out there!”
6.
Three nuns die and go to heaven, but all must answer one question to get in.
The first nun is asked, “Who was the first man on Earth?” She says, “Adam.” Lights flash and the pearly gates open.
The second nun is asked, “Who was the first woman on Earth?” She says, “Eve.” Lights flash and the gates open.
The third nun is asked, “What was the first thing Eve said to Adam?” Puzzled, the nun is says, “Hmmm, that’s a hard one.” Lights flash and the pearly gates open.
7.
In a murder trial, the defense attorney was cross-examining the coroner:
“Before you signed the death certificate, did you take the pulse, listen to the heart or check for breathing?”
“No.”
“So, when you signed the death certificate, you weren’t sure the man was dead, were you?”
“Well, the man’s brain was in a jar on my desk, but I suppose he could have still been practicing law for a living.”
8.
A man who just died is taken to the local mortuary. He is wearing an very expensive and high quality tailored blue suit.
The mortician is a blonde female and she asks the wife of the deceased man wife how she would like the body to be dressed.
The motician says that the man does look very distinguished in the blue suit he is already wearing.
His widow, however, says that she always preferred her husband in black, and that she would like him in a black suit.
She gives the Blonde mortician a signed, blank cheque and says, ‘Spend whatever you need no matter what the cost, but please have my husband in a well tailored black suit for the viewing.’
The woman returns the next day for the viewing and to her delight, her husband dressed in a fabulous black suit. The suit fits him as if it were tailor made.
She says to the mortician, ‘You have done a magnificent job and I’m very pleased and grateful. How much did the suit cost?’
To her amazement, the blonde mortician gives her back the blank cheque.
‘There’s no charge,’ she says.
‘No, really, I must repay you for the cost of that exquisite black suit!’ she says.
‘Honestly, ma’am,’ the blonde says, ‘it cost me nothing. You see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband’s size was brought in yesterday shortly after you left, he was dressed in a very attractive black suit. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave wearing a beautifully tailored blue suit instead, and she said it did not make any difference as long as he looked good…
So I just swapped their heads.’
9.
An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite Italian anisette sprinkle cookies wafting up the stairs. Gathering his remaining strength, he lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
With labored breath, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the kitchen. Where if not for death’s agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite anisette sprinkled cookies.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted Italian wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life.
The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife…..”Back off!” she said, they’re for the funeral.”
10.
A mortician was working late one night. It was his job to examine the dead bodies before they were sent off to be buried or cremated. As he examined the body of Mr. Sam, who was about to be cremated, he made an amazing discovery: Sam had the longest private part he had ever seen!
“I’m sorry Mr. Sam,” said the mortician, “but I can’t send you off to be cremated with a tremendously huge private part like this. It has to be saved for posterity.”
And with that the coroner used his tools to remove the dead man’s distinguishing member. The coroner stuffed his prize into a briefcase and took it home. The first person he showed was his wife.
“I have something to show you that you won’t believe,” he said, and opened his briefcase.
“Oh, my God!” she screamed, “Sam is dead!”
When Anger Replaces Grief: “I’m not coming to your funeral, Dad. Here’s why.”
I have a fantastic dad. Just today, he took my shift so I could take some time and spend it with my two year old son. The funeral industry is tough on families. The hours, the stress and the demands make it difficult to maintain promises and invest the time we should invest into our family.
So, to be a good father and a good funeral director is nearly an impossible task that my father has somehow managed to achieve. And I’m thankful. I’m thankful because I’ve seen enough stories at the funeral home, and met with enough families to know that not everyone has good parents.
Some have parents have estranged their family for good reason: Abuse. Neglect. Pride. Drugs. Alcohol. Here’s one of the those stories that comes anonymously from Reddit that’s entitled, “I’m not coming to your funeral, Dad. Here’s why.“: (language warning)
Dear Dad,
I’m not going to your funeral. I’m not going to cry for you like everyone wants and expects me to. Instead, I’m going to go to a lavish date with my amazing boyfriend, who loves me more than you ever did. In case you’re curious, Dad, I’m going to tell you why this is so.
I was your little girl, yes. I loved you like little girls always do. I painted you pictures of the two of us together, holding hands, because I saw it on television and thought that you’d like them. You drank. Oh god, did you drink. Stinking bottles of vodka and rum and whiskey and whatever else would go down your throat that would make it sting and burn. Remember how you made us starve, Dad? Remember when you spent all of our grocery money on booze, Dad? I do.
Do you remember your son, Patrick? He was named after you. God, what an ego you had. When I was younger, I used to call him “Patty”, because I couldn’t pronounce his name fully. He called himself Pat as he got older – I suppose trying to distance himself from “Rick”. He was my protector. He loved me the way you were supposed to.
You never touched me, Dad. You saved it all for him, didn’t you? You screamed at him for not doing well enough in school, for not picking up his room, for his “bad” personality traits, for being himself. You beat him. I don’t remember all of those arguments now. All I know is that one day, Pat left. And he never came home.
Did you feel guilty that he killed himself? Did you feel guilty that he didn’t do it at home, that the top of a building felt safer for him? Did you feel guilty that he jumped to get away from you? Maybe, just maybe, to get away from all of us.
He was sixteen. He liked to read. Obscure fantasy, books with lots of adventure and lots of dragons and heroes with swords. He deserved an adventure more than any of us did. His room was small and bare, because he was forced to pass military inspections from you. I searched his room when you weren’t around. I knew all of his hidey holes. I found his comic books. I found his drawings. I found rubber band balls and school papers and little action figures that you get at those vending machines for a quarter. I never found a suicide note. And God, I wish I had it. I wish I’d known. I wish he’d told me, even though I was too young to understand.
I don’t blame him for this, Dad. I blame you. It’s your fault that he’s not here. It’s your fault he won’t laugh, or get married, or cry. Ever. He’d dead because of you. You screamed at me once that he made a choice to kill himself, to be unhappy. But he never chose. You cried at his funeral and you were such a fantastic actor, weren’t you? Everybody was fooled. They thought you were a loving father and Pat was the tragic teenager that nobody could understand.
And Mom. I can’t blame you for any of this. I can’t even blame you for being sad at his funeral – you were married for 27 years. I think you tried to protect us. You cooked his favorite meals. You slaved in the kitchen. You were submissive and meek and everything that he wanted you to be. Dad got rid of any rebellion in you long ago. I’m sorry I’m not there, Mom. If I were to show up for anyone, it would be for you. I wish I had gotten to meet you before Dad got to you.
There’s not only one death on your conscience, Dad. I remember when you had our 12-month old puppy put down because it was “too noisy”. Maybe, if Pat had had a friend, he would still be alive. Maybe the three of us would show up at the funeral together, an old dog that loved you, and children that loved you. But instead, I have to be haunted by their ghosts. I have to feel responsible. You aren’t allowed to die and get away from this.
Fuck you, Dad. Fuck your miserable existence. Fuck you for every time you hit my brother. Fuck you for every time you insulted me. Fuck you for destroying my mother. Fuck you for everything you put me through, fuck you for all of the family members that think I’m selfish, and fuck you for killing the only two living things that really loved me. Fuck every drink that went down your throat and every drawing I ever made of you. Fuck you for everything you stole from me. And, last of all, fuck your death. I don’t care. You don’t deserve it.
That’s why I’m not coming to your funeral, Dad. Remember those fake tears that you cried at Pat’s funeral? I hope every last family member at your funeral is crying those fake tears for you.
Signed, Your (Ex) Daughter
