Obits and Eulogies
My friend, Ed, just attended his mom's 90th birthday party. In her sunset years, Lil (his mom) has made it very clear that when she dies she doesn't want one of those obituaries that says, "She played bridge and enjoyed crossword puzzles." Ed jokes, "If we follow her guidelines we're pretty much down to: She was born, lived, and died." That got a laugh out of me!
In the early 1990's I was an apprentice funeral director. Yes, I did all of those things you're wondering about... the late night pick-ups, embalming, greeting mourners at visiting hours, and helping folks pre-plan their own funerals. Due to the nature of my work, I witnessed thousands of survivors honoring the deceased they loved. I learned the best visiting hours sounded like a rockin' party to an outsider. And while I never knew the departed, a profoundly personalized funeral or memorial service always touched me deeply.
In my years away from the industry, I often attended visiting hours, rather than a funeral, simply because the timing was more convenient. A couple of years ago, a good friend's father died. There was no visitation; by default, I went to the funeral. As I listened to the nephew of the deceased share memories of the man he had known, I remembered the importance of our loved ones stories - it's what makes the service beautiful and personal. Since then, I've made it a point to attend funerals rather than visiting hours. While visiting hours provide a venue to support survivors, a funeral provides an intimate experience of the person being honored. For me, listening to those memories is the very best part; these stories live on beyond the corporal being.
At the end of October, my dad died unexpectedly. I have to tell you, I was really looking forward to listening to someone else's perspective of him...someone who knew him differently than I did. In my life, I never lived with my father, so I didn't know him well. And the notion of learning about him and his stories in this unique venue appealed to me.
Ironically, the priest who offered the eulogy never met my dad at all, so the intimacy I genuinely appreciate wasn't a part of his service. It was, however, a part of my daily shower ritual from the day I learned he'd died right through to the funeral. Unintentionally, I found myself creating a eulogy for him every day in the shower. So, in my way, I got exactly what I wanted and needed from the process.
All of this death activity reminded me of an exercise I tried at an African Dance class several years ago. At the start of one session, we were given an assignment: "Write three lines about yourself, as though you were already dead and honoring your memory. What would you say about yourself if you had to write three lines of your own eulogy?" Remember, a typical obituary will tell you the facts...education, career, survivors...but the eulogy gives insight into how a person entered the world. For me, this exercise touched upon the essence I would like remembered, and how I've manifested that in action.
As 2011 comes to a close, I encourage you to create pockets of reflective time amid the hustle and bustle of the holidays. And, if you're willing to stretch a bit, take a few moments to write a eulogy for yourself...the truth of how you enter the world, what genuinely matters to you, and if you died tomorrow, what might you be remembered for? As always, there is no right or wrong, this is simply an opportunity to remember what you value, and notice how you enact your passions in your life. If you discover, upon completing your personal prose, that you want to redirect your life's attention to things that reflect more accurately who you truly be, there's still time. Just like the ghost of Christmas present...you may offer this gift to yourself.
With love and memories,
Joanne Lutz