Death
A Beeping Day in the Funeral Business
I had worked a 70 hour week, capped off with a Saturday funeral that lasted (viewing to burial) 7 hours (most last 3 hours).
I got home at five, settled in by watching Penn State football and then my cell phone rang.
“Caleb,” it was my grandfather’s voice, “we have a call at Such and Such Nursing Home.”
I grabbed my suit, put it back on, drove to the funeral home, loaded the collapsible stretcher into the hearse and off I went to Such and Such.
I’m tired.
Bleeping grumpy.
I pull up to the front door of the nursing home. A new nurse greets me and tells me she doesn’t want me “dragging the body through her wing.”
Too tired to persuade her with a smile, I jump back into the hearse, drive around to the other wing, and as I pull up there’s a younger man wearing a Phillies shirt, maybe a little older than me sitting in his electric wheel chair. As I get out, I try to cut the I’m-a-funeral-director-here-to-pick-up-a-dead-person awkwardness by striking up a conversation. I can tell rather quickly that he’s not a visitor. He – the not so older than me person of the wheel chair – is a patient.
His speech is slurred and slowed, but his mind’s still working as he jokes with me about the choking Phillies. And as we converse, I try to open the door to the nursing home but it’s locked, which kinda upsets me cause as I peer through the door I notice there’s no one around. No one.
The anger that starts rushing through my arteries is slowly abated by a “I dot da toad for da door.” He gives me the passcode and I give him a “See ya later” as I expect him to be gone when I come back.
But 45 minutes later he’s still there.
Sitting.
Alone. He’s a little older than me.
I open the door and park the collapsible stretcher on the porch as I open the door on the hearse and he says, “So, you dedided to go intu da bisiness, Caleb?”
A question with an obvious answer, but it wasn’t meant to be answered … it was meant for awareness.
There was only one person I knew who was wheelchair bound that was my age.
In high school one of my good friends got drunk with one of his buddies, drove his sports car, wrecked it, flipped it, but not before throwing his buddy/passanger out of the vehicle, paralyzing this guy.
“Jackson,” I said. “I remember you.” Which was the answer he was looking for.
And then I continued with some bitching and moaning about working 80 hours this past week, which comes so naturally at times that I was able to hold my own private conversation inside my head, thinking, “How ungrateful am I complaining about working when this guy sits all day, mostly paralyzed.”
I can sometimes do two things at once. Rarely can I do three.
But here I tried: I was talking to him, trying to think about what his life’s like and then, for honor’s sake, I started to load the body into the hearse. And it wouldn’t go.
The collapsible stretcher wouldn’t collapse.
I tried to put the body laden stretcher into the hearse once, twice and on the third time I pushed extra hard and … BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP ….
Somehow when I had pushed the third time I must have squeezed the panic button on the keyless entry device in my hand and had begun to ruin the quit peace of the Such and Such Nursing Home.
It was so loud!
I hit the panic button again thinking that would stop it. Nope. Tried the “unlock” button. Nope. And it was here I tried the fourth time to get the stretcher into the van to no avail. Dilemma. I thought, “If I start the car, it will probably stop … but if I start the car, I have to leave the stretcher hanging out the back of the hearse.” But I had no choice.
We were sitting on the top of a hill and the worst case scenario was running through my head … a scenario that – if it had happened – I wouldn’t be telling it here, on my blog. But the fear of losing a stretcher down a forty foot hill with a decent sloop scared me enough to try and secure it. I then ran to the driver seat, turned the key … nope.
So I quick get out and go back to attending the stretcher all the while I’m expecting a nurse or supervisor to come out and rip into me.
For some reason I hit the panic button again and while the alarm goes off, in place of it I hear this loud, almost barking kind of a noise coming from the wheelchair: “Arf! Arf! Arf!”
Jackson’s barely able to suck in air as he lets out his massive belly laughs one loud yelp at a time. He finally gets his breath, I finally get the body in the hearse and he starts yelling, “I wish (gasps for air) I tad a camera (sucks in another deep breath) I’d put dat on (deeeeep breath) dootube!”
I had made his day … maybe his week.
The beeping crescendo of my awful week was the laughing pinnacle of his.
And his laughter somehow made all the problems of my week fade away.
Mourning and Social Media
Today’s guest post comes from Leigh Kramer, who is a certified thanatologist and former hospice worker, which easily makes her a candidate for a “Top 10 Coolest People in the World” award.
In May 2010, Leigh intentionally uprooted her life in the Chicago suburbs by moving to Nashville in an effort to live more dependently on God. She writes about life in the South, what God has been teaching her, and her ongoing quest for the perfect fried pickle. A former medical social worker, she is currently writing her first novel. You can follow her adventures on Twitter and her blog HopefulLeigh.
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We know that grief is a stranger to no one. At any time, we could lose a person that is a part of our lives. Now in the age of social media, we’re facing loss on a virtual level.
Since blog friends can be real friends, what do we do when a blog/Twitter friend dies?
I stumbled unto Gitzen Girl‘s blog a couple of years ago, amazed by her joyful spirit in spite of her circumstances: a painful chronic illness. I’ve read her blog sporadically the past several months, but was always glad when she’d pop up at (in)courage.
Last summer, she vulnerably explored her grief after the sudden death of her father. Grief is messy. There are no pat answers when your world is ripped apart. Until you’ve experienced the pain of losing a loved one, it’s impossible to know what the bereaved experience.
Sara lifted the veil for those who haven’t walked that road and provided community to those who’ve mourned. In some ways, she prepared us for what we now face.
On Wednesday, news spread through the blogosphere that Sara’s body was shutting down. She started hospice and her loved ones began the process of saying goodbye.
But what about the rest of us? Those of us who had felt encouraged and comforted by her writing but knew Sara by her words alone. We’ve felt the impending loss all the same.
When you don’t have that face-to-face connection, how do you mourn? The intersection of grief and social media adds a new dimension to bereavement. Loss is loss, no matter what.
We simply have to be more creative when it comes to mourning those in our social media circle.
The Twitter hashtag #ChooseJoy sprang up Wednesday as the news spread, a place for everyone to reflect on Sara’s impact on our lives. Sara’s words made real, a testimony to who she is and how we’ll remember her.
Wednesday night we learned that Sara’s family would have a candlelight vigil at 7:45 CST. And so all around the country, people lit candles and said prayers.
People have been writing beautiful posts about what Sara has meant to them. Her dear friend Jessica began a link-up for all the posts. It is amazing- and at times overwhelming- to see how one person affected so many people, many of whom never met her in real life.
There’s talk of Choose Joy jewelry being created. And then there’s this other way to commemorate Gitz’s life: a Choose Joy tattoo in her own handwriting. Tam‘s already taken the plunge and many more, myself included, will follow suit.
Jessica’s husband Matthew reflected on social media’s impact on Sara. Because of her illness, Sara’s been limited to her condo for a couple of years now. She Skyped, she blogged, she Tweeted. Along the way, her life expanded beyond the walls of her condo.
She brought us into her world and we brought her in to ours. This is why so many face the task of mourning someone they’ve never met.
It may be tempting to ignore our sadness, to say we don’t have the right to mourn Sara since we didn’t know her personally. However, we’ll only be doing ourselves a disservice.
No matter the connection, we must give ourselves permission to mourn.
Be sad. Cry. Reflect on what Sara meant to you. Pray. Decide how her legacy will impact your life.
Above all else, choose joy.
How do you choose joy?
Lady Gaga and Taylor Kinney in Lancaster for a Funeral
I went to high school with Taylor, although I doubt he remembers me. We graduated from Lancaster Mennonite High School in the class of 2000 … although I don’t think either of us came from a Mennonite background.
Since high school, he’s been cast in a number of TV roles.
But, recently, his tabloid fame has gone in an upward trajectory since he was cast in Lady Gaga’s “You and I” music video .
And, according to various sources Taylor is dating Lady Gaga … or rather, is dating the person behind Gaga, Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta.
I didn’t know Taylor too well. We had a couple classes together and he beat me more than once in some badminton games (I have a picture of us hanging out somewhere in my storage boxes from high school), but otherwise we hung out in different groups.
So, how does a news tid bit like this make it on a blog about God, death, funerals, etc.?
Well, the two of them were recently in northern Lancaster County (about an hour from where I live) for the funeral of Taylor’s grandmother.
Grief is a complicated thing. And I can only imagine life, and death, are even more complicated when the celebrity factor is in the equation.
What really impresses me is Stefani’s ability to support Taylor by coming to Lancaster without creating any commotion that would have disrupted the funeralization of Taylor’s grandmother. It was a real gracious gesture on Stefani’s part, and one that I think shows a significant respect and character.
I know the funeral director (Chad) that held the service for Taylor’s grandmother. I went to funeral school with Chad, and after talking with Chad on numerous occasions, we found out that he and Taylor often played golf together, and that their families were close, so, being that Chad and his family were close to the Kinney’s, I know Chad did a great job serving that family.
I pray that Taylor’s able to find the peace and silence to think about his late grandmother and grieve her loss.
Death Appreciation Day
(After writing and rereading this post, I thought to myself, “Hopefully nobody reads this and thinks I’m crazy.” I’d hate to come home today and have a shrink waiting to do a “quick eval” on my psychological wellness. So, as a preface, let me say that this post is dark humor … it’s meant to make light of something heavy for the purpose of gaining a different perspective. I could tell you the different perspective I’m intending to communicate, but then I’d be less than a decent writer. So, if you read this and are tempted to call the authorities, I assure you that I am crazy, but not so crazy that I’m outside the ranks of the normal.)
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There’s “Middle Name Pride Day” on February 12th; March 18th is both “Awkward Moments Day” and “Forgive Your Mom and Dad Day”; and August 6th is “Hamburger Day”, so why can’t there be “Death Appreciation Day”?
Sure, most countries celebrate a “Festival of the Dead” in which they remember those who have passed away, but why not have a day solely devoted to Death?
I know, you have some questions, such as:
What would we celebrate?
1.) We’d celebrate all of the motivation that death gives the world.
I mean, would you really work so hard for that retirement if you knew you’d live forever? Would you change your bad habits right now if you knew you had an eternity to attempt to rectify yourself? Death makes responsible citizens out of most of us.
2.) We’d enjoy and celebrate other great things that Death has given us … like inheritance money.
3.) We’d also take time to be thankful for all the space our forefather’s have left us. How crowded would this globe be if it wasn’t for the Grimm Reaper? I love my relatives, but living shoulder to shoulder with them for an eternity might get slightly annoying.
4.) And then there’s the great art that Death has given us. We’d never have Edgar Allen Poe, nor could we imagine the joys of heaven with Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. And who wouldn’t miss the incredible casket haulers we call “hearses”? Hearses are moving creativity that never would have been created had Death never moved us.
5.) And chicken … steak … sushi. Seriously, why would you want to live if not for sushi? But, guess what, no death, no sushi.
6.) We’d celebrate the world economy. No death, no economy.
If you wouldn’t die, would you buy safety features on the car you probably wouldn’t own and that you definitely wouldn’t have insured?
Heck, would cars or planes even exist if we lived forever? You’d just walk to anywhere you wanted to go cause you’d have all the time in the world.
Doctors, maybe preachers, and certainly funeral directors would all be without jobs. Almost everybody would be affected (although I’m sure lawyers would find a way to get work).
7.) And for all the good people Death has taken, we shouldn’t forget it’s also taken some real jerks. Hitler. Stalin. Who would want to live forever with those guys? Death has stamped a massive “FAIL” on the forehead of most the world’s dictators. And, it’s killed all the billions and billions of stink bugs that have lost their lives.
Can you imagine a world where death never touched a stink bug? If you can’t imagine it, I can and it’s one that’s very, very stinky.
So, thank God for death. We should probably decide to celebrate it.
Once we pick a date, we can all wear black and celebrate the greatness of death by having picnics in cemeteries, listen to Emo music, watch Zombie movies and top off the day by taking a couple minutes off our lives in homage by smoking cigarettes.
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If I’ve missed any of Death’s praises, please lend your voice in the chorus of appreciation.
Not a Time to Politicize or Preach, This is a Time to Remember 9/11/2001
Two weeks ago we had the funeral service for a young man at the funeral home. He died of a form of cancer and left behind not only a young son, but a little tension between his family and his friends.
When there’s tension, as the funeral directors, we usually end up hearing both sides of a story.
Unfortunately, the way we heard both sides of this story was through the public condolence section of our website. When we post an obituary on our website, we allow for respectful condolences to be posted in comment threads. For the most part, people keep the comments gracious and courteous.
But that wasn’t the case with this young man’s comments. They were riddled with hatred, directed towards his father, supposedly using some things he had said recently as evidence of him being a “bad father” who “didn’t love his son.”
Nasty stuff. All of it.
We deleted those comments. And, after speaking to the father, we decided to remove the obituary all together. The father had the final say, as he’s the legal next of kin, and so his story won out.
It’s all immature.
What this type of fighting says is this: “I’m more concerned about being right than I am about remembering life in death.” It says, “I’d rather win than remember the deceased.”
And there’s a time to deal with the tension, there’s a time to expose the wrongs, but now is not the time. Now is the time to remember the deceased. The loss. The life lived. Not pick fights. And while funerals might help you, they’re not about you.
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I’ve been reading a lot of online articles, blogs and editorials in this whole build up to the 10 year anniversary to September 11, 2001.
And I can’t help but draw a comparison to the immaturity I’ve seen displayed this past week at the funeral home to the immaturity I’ve seen in all this commentary.
People just can’t help but make this whole thing about their agenda. They can’t help but politicize 9/11. To take a back door shot at George Bush. To write an “anti-war” blog post. To talk about the misdirected vengeance of America post 9/11. Or, they talk about how glad they are we killed Osama. How they hope we’ll get justice from the all guilty parties.
There’s a time to talk about these things, but it’s not now.
Now is a time to remember the lives lost. Now is the time to remember our momentary unity. Now is the time to remember the prayer vigils, the flags we dusted off and hung on our porches. Now is the time to remember the heroism of the New York Fire Companies and the utter outpouring of charity of the American people. Now is the time to remember where you were at when you heard. To remember what your feelings were.
Now is not the time to stand on our soapbox, but the time to sit in our chairs and share our experiences, and think about the life that flowed from death on that fateful day.
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Let’s start here.
How did you first find out about the attacks? The news? A phone call? A co-worker?
Who was the first person you intentionally talked to after you found out? Did you call your spouse? A good friend?
What was your first reaction? Did you cry? Were you angry? Scared?
What is your clearest memory?
