Death

Drowning in the Waves of Grief

Waves crash over you, throwing body and mind

In chaotic directions of darkness and pain.

You were made for the land and so you hold your breath

As you claw your feet into the ground.

The currents pull you out deeper and deeper

Each gasp is met by another wave of details and emotions.

What do we do now?

“Gasp”

When should we have the funeral?

“Gasp”

Should I go back to work this week?

“Gasp”

How can I raise the kids on my own?

“Gasp”

Death and grief plunge you again into a foreign terrain

Where every breath is struggle.

You weren’t meant for this

Separation

Grief

Death.

You will never see them again

Except in the recesses of your mind where

Memories will be replaying

Scenes that become distorted by time and erosion.

The sleepless nights

“Gasp”

The disingenuous platitudes

“Gasp”

The religious cliches

“Gasp”

The loneliness

“Gasp”

Wave after wave.

You will not accept this.

You will never reach “acceptance”

Of the new normal that threatens the foundations of being

Foundations broken by the waves that rippled

When he/she fell into the depths of the oceans

Leaving you in the wake of the waves.

If you give yourself, you won’t be forgotten: a reflection on Alzheimer’s disease

Alois Alzheimer's patient Auguste Deter in 1902. Hers was the first described case of what became known as Alzheimer's disease. "Auguste D aus Marktbreit" by Unknown - Unknown. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia

Alois Alzheimer’s patient Auguste Deter in 1902. Hers was the first described case of what became known as Alzheimer’s disease.
“Auguste D aus Marktbreit” by Unknown – Unknown. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia

The Promethium advances of medical science

Watch from the sidelines as deteriorating minds

Are rendered to a nascent infancy where

Memory

Words

And person

Fade backwards into nothing.

 

If you give something away you don’t lose it.

 

“Nothing can be done” your doctor sheepishly admits

“Your time is slowly fading”

Your questions like,

How long?

When will I lose my license?

Will I be violent? What will I become?

Are met with a simple, “I don’t know.”

The anticipatory grief begins.

 

If you give something away you can’t lose it.

 

Time is now a precious commodity

Time is now your worst enemy

Time will fade you

Time will take your memories

Now and only now is your best time

Now is the time to get the house in order

 

When you give your memories away you can’t lose them

 

Active management for such a passive disease

Write it down

Record it.

Share “that one time . . .”

Use that time to give, give and give.

Give yourself away.  Quickly.

Time is running out.

Because . . .

 

If you give yourself, you won’t be forgotten

 

Good Irish Funeral Music: “Danny Boy” Revisited

Today’s guest post is written by NYC Funeral Director Amy Cunningham:

It seems fitting to reveal on Saint Patrick’s Day that the most common Google query that reliably draws readers to “The Inspired Funeral” day after day, week after week, is “Irish Funeral Music.” The last Irish funeral music post I wrote, garnered me tens-of-thousands of page views. Either the Irish are needing to know what is traditional or new to their own funerals, or those who aren’t Irish want to convey an Irish vibe to the festivities.

So lately, in my effort to be of sound funeral planning assistance, I’ve been fixated on how to make “Danny Boy,” the most famous of all Irish funeral ballads, new again. Can the beloved, seasoned, ever-so-classic-you-can’t-believe-they’re-trotting-it-out-again ballad be even more heart warming than it already is? Yes, it’s terrific–a total knock-out, in fact– sung in the classic mode by a male tenor, but here are some ideas you might consider when confronted with a funeral where “Danny Boy” is requested.

1. READ THE LYRICS AS STRAIGHT TEXT. DON’T HAVE IT SUNG AT ALL . Just read all four stanzas aloud from a podium, and grope for your handkerchief. Read it as a poem, aloud right now, and realize that by the time most singers get to the best, most moving lines, we listeners have been lulled into a sad, sweet snooze. (Take note, in stanza three: an “Ave” means “a prayer.”)

th-23Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer’s gone, and all the flowers are dying
‘Tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow
Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow
‘Tis I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You’ll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an “Ave” there for me.

And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you’ll not fail to tell me that you love me
I’ll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

2. HAVE IT PLAYED WITHOUT THE LYRICS AS AN INSTRUMENTAL ON A SLIGHTLY UNUSUAL INSTRUMENT. Here’s a super great “Danny Boy,” totally right for a funeral, on church pipe organ and solo trumpet. Here’s Eric Clapton playing it on guitar with characteristic emotion, and not singing a word. And if you’re bleary-eyed from too much funeral planning and need a little chuckle, here’s “Danny Boy” played as an instrumental, down in the NYC subway system, on a saw.

3. JETTISON THE MALE IRISH TENOR. Women have been singing “Danny Boy” beautifully since soprano Elsie Griffin belted it out at the turn of the century. My personal favorite female-rendered “Danny Boy” is Sinead O’Connor’s, recorded in such a way that you could quickly improve any “Danny Boy” funeral by cuing it from an iPhone into Bose speakers. Nice save. And don’t neglect the grandchildren! They can sing “Danny Boy” at a grandfather’s funeral, and rock the house (though funeral music should generally not be a performance).

4. FINALLY, CONSIDER EMPLOYING A MORE UPBEAT “DANNY BOY” AFTER THE FUNERAL’S CLOSING.
This idea might not be everyone’s pint of tea (or Guinness), but imagine “Danny Boy” played on sprightly banjo, after all concluding remarks and benedictions, as people are warmly greeting each other, hugging, finding their coats, blowing their noses, and remarking what a good funeral it was (Irish or not). Moral: it’s okay for a funeral to leave people uplifted in the vast majority of instances, grateful that the deceased were with us for as long as they were, and happier themselves–goddamnit– to still be alive, resolved to make good use of whatever time is left.

*****

About the author: Amy Cunningham is a New York City funeral director and funeral celebrant especially passionate about getting families back involved in more personalized planning. She lectures on back-to-basics funeral planning and the greening of the industry. In her prior life she was a magazine journalist who wrote for Parenting, More, Glamour, and the Washington Post magazine. She is an active member of the National Home Funeral Association and ICCFA. 

She writes a blog called TheInspiredFuneral.com

10 MUSTS for EVERY Ethical Funeral Professional

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1.  Strict adherence to The Funeral Rule.  Obv. 

2. Guide families to choose financially responsible funerals that won’t make them “funeral poor”.

3. Educate families in alternative options even if those options are detrimental to the bottom line.

4. Always choose transparency and disclosure over secrecy and intention omission.

5. Make sure every choice the family makes is completely theirs sans sales pressure.

6. Integrity is doing what’s right when nobody is looking.  Ethical funeral directors always practice integrity.

7.  Never encourage families to purchase out of guilt, or equate love of the deceased with a high priced funeral.

8. Never put yourself or the business in a financially strenuously situation where you might be tempted to overprice your service and merchandise.

9. Practice responsible self-care to avoid burnout and compassion fatigue.   

10.  Know your knowledge boundaries.  Direct those questions outside our professional knowledge to the people who are qualified to answer.  We aren’t lawyers, doctors, grief counselors or theologians.

When death is a friend

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They say, “She’s at rest.”

Their bald mother lays with distorted breast.

Breasts that fed

Removed.

Arms that held

Motionless.

Her warm smile

Her voice

Her love

Locked in the vault of the soul.

Her children’s liminality has ended.

Today, they are only parents

They can throw away the adult diapers

The myriad of pills and medical terms.

The night watch.

Both relief and grief

As they say “she’s at peace.”

Ten years she battled.

Vomiting.

Fatigue.

Incontinence.

Tears and more tears mingled with fear.

Doctors, doctors and — as it spread — more doctors.

“She battled for us” they said.

“For her grandchildren and children”

The end wasn’t met with a fight

But embraced

Because death was the savior.

Death the midwife of peace and freedom

From the pains of a broken body.

“We are at peace”, they say

After a last look, they walk away.

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