Aggregate Death
Man Standing for His Funeral Dressed in Green Lantern Costume
Renato Garcia, 55, of Puerto Rico, recently died and was embalmed in such a way that he could be stood up. He was then dressed in a Green Lantern costume. This isn’t the first time the Marin Funeral Home has done some exotic embalming jobs. They’re responsible for an embalmed boxer in a boxing ring, the embalmed motorcyclist on a motorcycle, embalming a grandma in her rocking chair and now the Green Lantern:
Via The Daily Mail (the news source with the utmost journalistic integrity)
The man’s corpse was not only upright but was surrounded by flowers as he stood in the suit complete with the Green Lantern power ring.
She said: ‘He did have really bad asthma and was regularly getting oxygen in the local hospital. He used to turn up there as well with his Green Lantern costume.
‘When he died it was the thing everybody was talking about, and so we thought it was obviously so much a part of him that we decided to bury him with it.’
She added: ‘In keeping with the Puerto Rican tradition of embalming bodies for funerals, there was no point in burying him in the suit if nobody saw that he was wearing it, and therefore he was put on display in the funeral hall.’
Here’s a video that has bit more detail:
WHEN FUNERALS TURN UGLY
Today’s guest post is written by Pastor Dieter Reda:
Grief sometimes brings out the worst in people. Add to that the fact that funerals sometimes bring families together even when they don’t want to be together, and you have a recipe for disaster. I have witnessed several family conflicts at funerals but one remains indelibly fixed in memory, as if it were yesterday.
It involved a large family that had been feuding for decades. As with most family feuds, many did not even remember what started the feud, only that there is an “us” and a “they” and never the twain shall speak nor meet. Now the matriarch of the family had died, and two siblings, who hadn’t spoken to one another in decades both arrived at the funeral home expecting that they would be in charge of the arrangements.
The arrangements conference turned ugly as the old bitterness surfaced with everyone’s defenses down It became a shouting match. The funeral director tried in vain to mediate, and without taking sides of course, he pleaded with all to call a truce until their mother had been buried. No dice. Soon it became physical and the funeral director threatened to call the police. Before he could do so, the big brother, all 300 pounds of him landed at the bottom of a stairway. The director called 911 which brought police, ambulance, and fire department to the funeral home. The big brother was taken to the hospital with multiple fractures to spine and hip. He was in the hospital for his own mother’s funeral. The person who had done the shoving was charged with assault.
It was my task to officiate at the funeral, as the deceased was a member of my congregation. I did what I always do, and called a family meeting to plan the service. There needed to be two meetings, because hardly anyone was on speaking terms. There were two separate viewings on two separate evenings so that the warring factions did not have to interact with one another. That was ackward for friends – which visitation do you attend, without offending the other side? The service itself was held at the funeral home, which was configured in such a way that each family group could sit in separate rooms and still see and hear me, without having to look at each other. They rode to the cemetery in separate limousines. Around the grave, they stood as far away as possible. The post-service reception was at the church, with the principal mourners at opposite ends of the room of course. I made sure to spend an equal amount of time with each. As I started to go over to the other group, someone from the first group asked, “why do you have to go and speak to them?” My answer was simply, “because they too have lost their mother.”
Afterwards one of the siblings asked to speak to me privately outside. He took out a wad of cash and began to peel off some big bills to give me. I explained that my honorarium had already been taken care of with a check from the funeral home, the amount of which would be added to the family’s bill. (It’s called a disbursement in the industry). At which point he hollered at me, “so my money isn’t good enough for you?” and stuffed the bills into my suit jacket. I took them out and counted them and said that I would treat them as a donation to the church, and make sure that he received a tax-deductible receipt. I knew that if I accepted the money, there would be all sorts of innuendo about double dipping for openers.
How can families avoid this kind of thing?
- Keep lines of communication open. If there are differences, resolve them as sooner rather than later. Life is too short.
- Be sure you know who legally has the final say about whatever your wishes are for your final arrangements. In some jurisdictions the next of kin (and the law spells out who that is and in what order they have the power to act) and in others the executor of the estate has the final say. Make sure it is someone whom you trust to carry out your wishes.
- Pre-arrangements help the survivors understand what your wishes are, rather than having to guess “what she would have wanted”. Make these arrangements when you are not under any pressure. Pre-pay if you can.
- If you are a surviving adult, then behave like an adult. Don’t act like an idiot, because if you do, what people will remember and talk about you for a long time, instead of your loved one.
- Respect is a currency that must be earned, and if lost cannot always be recovered. Perhaps your actions will be forgotten by some, but not by those closest to you, like your children who pick up more than you think! Don’t forfeit this currency, just to make a point!
- Remember, the funeral is not about you.
****
Dieter Reda has been an ordained Minister for the past 34 years and served various churches in central and western Canada. Since 2003 he is senior pastor at Mission Baptist Church in Hamilton, Ontario (Canada). His blog of pastoral musings on various issues is at www.dieterreda.com and you can follow him on Twitter @Dieterreda.
93 Year Old Widower Writes Poem to Late Wife
Bob Lowe, 92, wrote, “My wife died 3 months ago after 65 years of marriage but more to the point 72 years since we first kissed ….” He wrote this poem in her honor:
I am alone, now I know it’s true
There was a time when we were two
Those were the days when we would chat
Doing little jobs of this and that
We’d go to the shops and select our meals
But now I’m one I know how it feels
To try and cook or have meals on wheels
The rooms are empty there’s not a sound
Sometimes I’m lost and wander round
To look for jobs that I can do
To bring back the days when we were two
When darkness falls and curtains drawn
That’s when I feel most forlorn
But I must be honest and tell the truth
I’m not quite alone and here’s the proof
Because beside me in her chair
She quietly waits our time to share
Kath said to me some time ago
Darling when the time comes for us to go
Let’s mix our ashes and be together
So we can snuggle up for ever and ever.
This poem was posted at the Silver Line Website. Silver Line is a nonprofit organization in Scotland that provides friendship and advice to the elderly population.
The Thing About Funerals: Most People Never Have One
Today’s guest post is written by Matt and Cheri Appling:
I’ve been to plenty of funerals. I’ve even conducted a couple.
We all eventually wind up at a funeral. Maybe it’s for a long-lived relative. Sometimes it’s a tragically unforeseen death.
We think that a funeral is a mandatory event on the way to the hereafter, if not for the deceased, then at least for the ones they leave behind.
But it turns out that, in reality, most of the people who have ever been born, never had a funeral. They were never mourned. Their pictures and obituaries were never in the paper.
Did you know that?
Because I did not, not until my wife and I started trying to get pregnant.
Pregnant For a Week
After a year of trying on our own to conceive, Cheri and I started pursuing fertility treatment. If you aren’t familiar with this, it’s kind of like an exercise program. You start small and work your way up, and hopefully you see results.
So Cheri had started hormone therapy and we started timing our…activities. And sure enough, within a month, the little stick had a plus sign on it!
Cheri went to the doctor to have it confirmed. Now, of course, that early on, she didn’t feel pregnant. And it’s not like the doctor could see the baby. They just measured the levels of certain hormones in her body, and like a litmus test, the hormones say “pregnant” or “not pregnant.”
A couple of days after the initial test, she went back to the doctor. Her hormone levels were still elevated, but falling. That wasn’t good.
And a couple of days later, her hormone levels were lower still.
A week after we discovered the pregnancy, she was officially not pregnant. We never told made any announcement. The tiny life never got to see the world, have a name, or be mourned by our friends and family. And it would take us three more years of ever-increasing treatment to see another plus sign on the pee stick again.
The Real Odds Against Us
What happened to Cheri is what doctors sometimes call a chemical pregnancy. And it turns out that there are many, many pregnancies that end the way our first one did.
The little fertilized egg doesn’t grow properly. Or it doesn’t find the uterus. Or something just isn’t right, and the woman’s body menstruates and flushes out the tiny little spark, unbeknownst to anyone.
It’s called spontaneous abortion and doctors think that half or maybe even two-thirds of pregnancies end in the first few days. For every one of us living here on Earth, going to jobs, raising our kids, thinking about our hopes and dreams, there are two, three or more little lives who were never even noticed by anyone, not even their mothers and fathers. They never had a birthday, much less a funeral.
Let that sink in. For each of us who get to live, who get to have a name and a family and a job and will get to be mourned when we are gone by the people who love us, there is a crowd of people who never have any of those things. The odds are ridiculously stacked against us before we even get here.
We would never have known Cheri was pregnant if we had not been looking. The little blob of cells passed away, unnoticed and unseen.
Gravestones As Milestones
In the years we spent trying to get another little blob of cells to stick around, we met a lot of hopeful parents. Some lost babies far into their pregnancies. It’s the kind of loss that cuts deeply, because you see the heartbeat and the face and it looks human.
And then we met other friends who could not even get past stage one. There were no lost pregnancies to mourn. They were mourning lost eggs month after month, year after year, because they had nothing else to mourn. There are no funerals for lost eggs.
None of us want particularly want to be at a funeral, because funerals hurt. But perhaps the next time we find ourselves at one, we can remember that a funeral is not just an end, but a rather elite milestone. For each of us who will have a funeral, who will have a cadre of mourners, there have been billions more who were never mourned. They did not have a eulogy or their favorite hymn sung in their honor. They did not get their name in the newspaper, because they never received a name from their parents.
A funeral is not something everyone gets to have. They are for the few of us who have actually lived in the conventional sense of the word. So maybe we take that to heart and be glad for the person who we are mourning.
And pay a moment of memory to all the people who won’t be mourned today.
*****
Matt and Cheri Appling are the authors of “Plus or Minus: Keeping Your Life, Faith and Love Together Through Infertility.” Find the book on Amazon or Matt’s blog at MattAppling.com.
Couples that Died Together: Five Stories
Kenny and Helen Felumlee were introduced when they were teenagers – by Kenny’s ex-girlfried. After dating for two years, the couple decided to get married. Immediately. Even though Kenny was only two days shy of his 21st birthday – the legal age for men in Ohio at the time – the pair drove to Kentucky to elope. They married on February 20, 1944, and spent the next 70 years together.
According to their children Kenny and Helen never spent a night apart even preferring to share a bunk bed rather than sleeping in separate beds on a trip. When Kenny became too ill to sleep in the bedroom, Helen slept on the floor nearby so they could stay together.
Helen Felumlee died on April 12, 2014 at the age of 92. Kenny Felumlee died 15 hours later on April 13, 2014 at the age of 93.
Sources: Zanesville Times Recorder and ABC News
CINCINNATI — When Helen Auer died on Wednesday, she was sitting in her chair. Her husband of 73 years came into the room and knew right away. Joe leaned over, gave her a kiss goodbye, and whispered in her ear: “Helen, call me home.”
Just 28 hours later, Helen did. Joe Auer died at the age of 100. His children figured he could manage one night without her, but not two. Wednesday they will have a funeral mass in front of the same altar where they were married in 1941. Married for 73 years, Joe and Helen Auer, of East Price Hill, died just 28 hours apart(
Said the daughter, “This marriage was a love story, but it was a real-life love story. Joe and Helen’s marriage survived because they loved each other and because they worked at their marriage and they shared a devout faith.”
To read more, click HERE.
