A GOOD FUNERAL IS AN HONEST FUNERAL
In 2009 my dad died. In 2016, my mom. They were good parents. They did minimal damage to me, but certainly, they did some. Every parent does. It’s unavoidable as human beings. The bulk of all things of course – was good! I recognized the wounds that came from them and I moved out of my young adulthood relatively unscathed. I ended up turning them around, learning from them and (this is key), admitting that it was I who’d accepted those wounds into my teenage years as truth. Certainly, one truth about the “damage” I’d received is that they weren’t even aware of giving me wounds. I just took them in as a child, as if they defined me. Some examples: “Stuart is shy,” “Stuart isn’t good with his hands,” “Stuart is a dreamer.” These were observations heard as definitions of who I am. I might have held onto them, but today, none of them are true. Well... maybe the dreamer one.
There were other damages though. Divorce for example – a portion of dad’s life where he was unavailable, a part of mom’s where she felt victimized. These things were things that happened, that needed to be confronted for what they were.
As a funeral celebrant, one who creates personalized eulogies and speaks at funerals to honour the deceased, I envision many a life that people want to pay tribute to. I sit down with families and talk about them. Some of these people have died from old age, alcoholism, suicide, mental illness, accidents, medical issues. They’ve lived through war, joys, family dynamics, friendships, businesses, babies, trips, hardships, creative work and their own life’s ponderings. All in all – every life has a lot of things to talk about, but a lot of that stuff, doesn’t define who they are.
Thankfully, I’m usually honoured with two things (and so is the deceased) – a life that was colourful and the family's permission to be honest.
I think back to one funeral in particular, one of mental illness that culminated in suicide. There were such exquisite memories and so many touching moments in that person’s life that were spoken about. So much joy. So much giving. So much sorrow. People laughed heartily and people cried deeply. And why was that? Because it was honest. The whole gambit of their life was up for discussion. What a tribute that was! Not everything rose-coloured, not everything straightforward – because life isn’t so. There’s no shame or disrespect in that. The outcome was such an outpouring of understanding, gratefulness and sharing that healing began two sentences in. One of the heads of CAMH (Centre for Addiction & Mental Health) asked me for a copy of the eulogy and thanked me for speaking the truth of what mental illness is. What a privilege it was – for everyone.
Point being that not every life needs to be tragic, but every funeral deserves to be personal and revealing, with the hardship and the triumph spoken about equally. After all, this is a life we are talking about, someone those attending a funeral feel they know. The person had the wherewithal to live it and so the person honouring them should have the wherewithal to honour it. All of it. And that heals.
Flashback to dad. Standing in his room in the LTC home speaking with me: he said, “I don’t know how I ended up raising two such wonderful sons as you and Greg.” I responded: “Well dad, we had a great teacher. We learned from you many of the things we wanted to be, and many of the things we didn’t.” He had tears in his eyes. I asked him “Dad, do you have any regrets?” He nodded. Then we hugged – a long, raw, tearful and redemptive hug, where the silence revealed to us all those regrets, and voiced a multitude about forgiveness. I spoke about all of that when he died. It was a good funeral.
UNTIL SOON. LIVE WELL.
