Death
So … Are You an Organ Donor?!?
The sad fact of organ donation is this: If you are an organ donor, and you ever donate your organs, it’s probably because you died suddenly and tragically.
And yet, organ donation is the one thing that can provide a ray of hope for those that survive you. It’s a gift that is given to the recipients of your organs, and a gift to those you’ve left behind as they know your death had some, small aspect of redemption.
Organ donation redeems your deceased body, it redeems others’ lives and it can even provide some redemption for your survivors. It’s simply one of the most beautiful things to arise out of tragedy.
Here’s an example.
So … are you an organ donor?!?
It All Comes Down to Choice
Today’s guest post is written by Alece Ronzino and was originally hosted by A Deeper Story.
Alece is a New Yorker changed by Africa. She is the founder of One Word 365 and a communications coach for non-profits. She blogs candidly about searching for God in the question marks of life and faith.
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Someone asked me the other day where I’m at in my journey. She was talking about the traumatic loss and transition I’ve endured in just about every single area of my life over the past few years. “Do you feel like you’re on the other side of it?”
I didn’t really know how to answer that question because I don’t think she fully understood what she was asking (though I know she certainly meant well.)
I’m in a much better place than I’ve been in a long time. Although I’m painfully aware of how fragile it all is, life feels good right now. And I haven’t been able to say that truthfully in years.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve gotten over—or even through—my loss.
I think the idea of “recovery” from loss is a harmful and misleading mirage. It’s unrealistic to expect that life could ever go back to normal after catastrophic loss of any kind. In a way, life will be forever divided by before and after. And to strive to go back to normal—to return to how things were and how you felt before your loss—is like trying to get somewhere on a treadmill: exhausting and impossible.
I don’t know if I’m meant to come out on the other side of my heartache. At least not in the usual sense.
I’m discovering what it’s like to live in the delicate tension of sorrow and joy. What we deem to be opposites are not actually mutually exclusive. They can be—and maybe they should be—embraced together. We don’t move out of sorrow into joy, as if we’ve recovered from our heartache. Instead we learn to choose joy even when that seed of sorrow remains ever present.
Jerry Sittser, in A Grace Disguised, said it so beautifully:
“I did not go through pain and come out the other side; instead, I lived in it and found within that pain the grace to survive and eventually grow. I did not get over the loss of my loved ones; rather, I absorbed the loss into my life, like soil receives decaying matter, until it became a part of who I am.”
What happens in me matters far more than what happens to me. It’s not my experiences that define me, but my responses to them.
So instead of making it my aim to get through what’s happened to me, I am learning to focus on my response to what’s happened to me. As with most things, it all comes down to choice.
That’s the reason “choose” is my One Word for this year. Because I need constant reminding that even when I have nothing else, I always have the power to choose.
While I can’t control what’s going on in this world or in my life, I do have control over my responses to those things. So today—same as yesterday and the day before—it’s entirely up to me to choose how I will respond to pain and sorrow and loss. I need to continue to choose to face, feel, and work through it, rather than to avoid it. And I need to continue to choose joy and trust right here, right now.
So if you’re wondering where I’m at in my journey, know this: You can always find me right here, in the middle of the tension between joy and sorrow, grief and gratitude, weakness and strength, questions and faith.
Join me here, won’t you?
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Connect with Alece via the following:
Visit Alece’s blog | Follow her on Twitter | Join One Word 365
This is Hard for You to Understand
Yesterday, the lovely Jessica Jensen gave me my 1,000th “Like” on my Confessions of a Funeral Director Facebook page. In honor of the 1,000th “Like”, here’s my first article that I posted on the Facebook page back in December of 2011.
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I picked up the phone with my rehearsed, “Hello. This is the Wilde Funeral Home. Caleb speaking.” The voice on the other end says abruptly, “I have a problem … my son-in-law was killed in a motorcycle accident yesterday.”
Now that I know the nature of her call, the next five or six sentences are as rehearsed as the first.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you” she says.
I pause … waiting to see if the silence elicits any farther response; and, at the same time I’m contemplating if I should deviate from the script and ask her about details of the death.
Keeping with the script, I continue on, inquiring about the hospital he’s at, the name of her daughter, her daughter’s phone number and then the hardest question of them all:
“Do you know if you want embalming or cremation?” I say with hesitation.
And what proceeded was her only scripted response.
“It depends on the condition of his body. The coroner told us he slammed into a tree without his helmet on, but they wouldn’t tell us anymore. If he’s bad … cremation. If he’s okay … embalming.”
We then went over the plan of action, which consists of me calling the hospital to see if her son-in-law’s released, calling the coroner to inquire about the condition of the body and then calling her back to let her know a time she could come in to the funeral home and make arrangements.
I called the coroners.
Got the release from the hospital.
And an hour later I was standing in the morgue unzipping the body bag to see if the body of this 40 year old man was viewable. It was the back of the head that hit the tree … something we could fix for his wife and four young children (ages 5 to 13), so they could see their husband and daddy one last time.
15 hours of restoration. He still didn’t look right. Dead people never look right. We’re so used to seeing them alive that dead is never accurate … but this was different. This was a motorcycle accident that threw a man into a tree.
We gave the wife the choice to continue on with the public viewing or close the lid and she chose to keep it open, sharing the reality and source of her pain in all its distortion … sharing it even with her four young children and all their schoolmates that came out in support, many of whom saw unperfected death for the very first time.
The scheduled end of the viewing came and went but people kept coming to view.
Finally the last person filed past the casket and the family knew the time to say their last good-bye had approached.
The viewing was held in a church, with the casket positioned at the front of a totally full sanctuary. As a way to provide privacy to the family, we turned the open casket around so that the lid blocked the view from the pews … creating a private space where tears could be shed in all their honest shock.
The sanctuary echoed with the cries of four children and their mother.
And the sanctuary echoed with the cries of four weeping children and their mother … making time stand silent.
Until the grandfather came up to the casket, wrapped his arms around the children and said, “This is hard for you to understand.” The tear soaked porcelain skin cheeks. The last look of their father’s physical body save the memories their young minds have stored.
In those moments as the sanctuary resounded with the cries produced by an inexplicable death, there wasn’t a person in the room who understood.
In these moments — as we watched these young children — we all became like them. With all the well intended cliches emptied of meaning, we allowed our minds to reconcile with what our hearts were telling us: we simply can’t understand something that doesn’t make sense.
The Top 5 Things You Should Know about Funeral Directors
Today’s guest post comes from Lauren Polanski. Lauren is just like any other twenty-two year old girl besides for the small fact that she’s a licensed funeral director in New York State. Lauren is currently employed at the Lakeside Memorial Funeral Home, Inc. located in Hamburg, NY. When not working she enjoys reading, taking photographs and of course, writing about the funeral industry as seen through her eyes.
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Last week was really busy. This week hasn’t been really busy. I’ve very thankful because it’s nice to have a break every once in a while. I was even able to get a haircut this week. I don’t remember the last time I got a haircut. And it made me think, you know average people can go and get a haircut whenever they want. Average people have schedules. Average people have normal days off. I’m not average. Not many funeral directors are. I like to think we’re above average people, but maybe I’m being biased. But I did come up with a new list. So, here we go.
The Top Five Things You Should Know About Funeral Directors.
5. Funeral Directors are a little crazy.
You must have seen this coming, right? I mean, what average person wants to work with dead people? I find myself pondering this question more and more. I mean, “normal” people view death as a bad thing. We fight to live. Everyday. And here is a select group of people, who in fact have devoted their lives to taking care of the dead. Maybe one day I’ll find time to run some tests. See if funeral directors drank from the same water source. Or maybe all of our mothers ate oranges when they were pregnant. I mean, is there some kind of common connection that unites us all? Maybe I’m thinking too much into this. Because, I mean, yeah. We’re all just crazy. Simple as that.
4. Your funeral director can party harder than you.
Besides for me. I’m an exception. I can’t even party harder than your eighty-six year old grandmother. Maybe I could beat your eighty-seven year old grandfather but even that would be pushing it. But please, don’t judge us for this. Funeral directors work in a very stressful, very emotional environment. If I want to have one drink at the end of the day to wind down then sue me. And if there is a funeral director convention somewhere with a bar I am willing to bet money on the fact that the funeral directors will close the bar at the end of the night. We like to have fun, too.
3. There is no such thing as the “end of the day” for a funeral director.
You might work a nice little job in a nice little office. Maybe you come in at eight in the morning, have a lunch break around one, and clock out at 4:00 pm. When that phone rings at 3:55 pm you probably let the machine get it and think, “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.” I wish. Funeral directors are on call twenty-four/seven. Imagine it. Because, I mean, if dad dies at 4:05 pm I can’t “wait till tomorrow”. I have to take care of dad now. We get tired fast. So please, even though you’re grieving, be nice to us. We just want to help. And we may be acting on little sleep.
2. Funeral directors have a “funny” sense of humor.
I mean, this kind of ties in with us being crazy, but it’s still different. Let me go into detail. My boss bought a wine bottle holder because it looked like a casket. He also has a golf club in the shape of a coffin. So yeah, we take our job to the extreme. Oh, and we’re not above dumb jokes. We’ll be the first to tell you that “we’ll be the last to let you down” or to “party like a mortician and grab a cold one”. Some jokes can be in better tastes than others, but working in the field that we do we learn to appreciate the little jokes and funeral gadgets in life.
1. We are human.
I am a girlfriend. I am a daughter. I’m a sister, a cousin, a granddaughter, a niece. I am apart of a family. Although my career is a huge aspect of my life, it is not my whole life. I like to go to the movies. I like to go shopping. I also enjoy embalming, but I guess we all have our flaws. I guess the point I’m trying to make is this; please, remember that we’re just like you. The only difference is that I work with dead people. And contrary to popular belief, I try to go home at the end of the day. So I’m not always at the funeral home. So please, if at all possible don’t make that call at eight at night to ask about what color flowers would be best for moms wake. All the floral shops are closed by this time anyways so I can’t do anything about it. I’m probably trying to enjoy a few quiet hours by myself. Although we want to help and we love helping, being considerate when at all possible is a great thing. We bend over backwards to make a hard time easier for you. All I ask if for a little piece and quiet at night to rest up. I hope that’s not too much to ask.
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The other thing you should know about funeral directors … we love it when you read our blogs. Lauren’s blog — which is well worthy of your subscription — is at http://littlemissfuneral.wordpress.com/.
And the another thing … we like it when you follow us on twitter. You can follow Lauren’s personal account and her blog’s account.
“Real” Men and Mourning
I’m a big fan of the NFL’s Philadelphia Eagles. I read their website every day, watch all their games and follow the off-season stories.
Exactly two years ago the Eagles’ former Head Coach (current Head Coach of the Kansas City Chiefs), Andy Reid, lost his 29 year old son Garrett to a battle with drug addiction. Garrett died on a Monday. Garrett’s funeral was the following Tuesday. And Andy Reid — Garrett’s father — was back to coaching the Eagles THE DAY AFTER the funeral for their first preseason game.
I don’t comment on a person’s grief work, so if Andy Reid thinks that going to his job the day after his son’s funeral is the right thing for him and his family, then so be it.
Men will often attempt to use work as a way to process their grief. We will also attempt to care for others as a means to process our grief and may neglect our own needs for the sake of one’s family, or — in Andy’s case — his team. So, as I said, I’m not judging Andy’s grief work.
But I do want to comment on HOW Reid’s quick return to work is being interpreted by his players.
Jason Kelce, the Eagles starting center, had this to say:
“I think this is just Andy. We’ve got guys who lose relatives all the time on the team, and they’re gone for a significant amount of time, and Andy’s talking about being back already. That just goes to show his level of professionalism — his level of manhood really. There’s no question it’s eating at him inside. To be able to not show it, to be able to hold it down just so the team doesn’t see him like that, that’s impressive.“
To be able to not show his grief over the tragic death of his son … to be able to hold it down so the team doesn’t see him “like that”, that’s impressive? What?
What is Kelce implying? Is he implying that Reid’s “level of manhood” would be in question if the team saw him grieve … if the team saw him cry? Is Kelce implying that manhood equals emotional repression? Yup, I think that’s what Kelce means. And Kelce is implying that showing one’s emotions IS NOT manly and would not be good for other men to see.
Seriously? Are our young boys still being taught this crap by their male role models?
Let me clear a few things up for Mr. Kelce.
1. While it may be true that men are generally less emotional, manhood is not increased (or decreased) by one’s ability to repress emotion.
2. You may want to be strong when a death occurs, but strength — like manhood — isn’t determined by one’s ability to repress emotion.
3. There is no “manly” way to grieve, so don’t let someone (especially another man) tell you how you should feel or shouldn’t feel.
4. Mourning IS manly IF it’s performed by a man.
5. If you show grief in front of other men, and they judge you or attempt to diminish your mourning, find other company so that you can work through your grief in a more healthy environment.
Whether by nature or nurture, men and emotions have a difficult relationship that is farther complicated by a highly complex and uncontrollable experience like death. The bottom line is this: there isn’t a RIGHT or WRONG way for men (or woman or children) to grieve and mourn. But, it is healthy if you can find a place, space and group that can allow you to work through your grief on your own pace. Ideally, look for a group of people who can walk with you through the valley, and if you find that place and those people who can allow you to work through your grief, you are on a healthy path.
