I have two experiences with planning funerals: my dad’s, and my grandfather’s (Mom’s side).
My dad died after a six-week illness: he suddenly contracted brain cancer at age 56, and spent the last several weeks comatose, although there were a few happy times after he was diagnosed. He and Mom had not discussed very much in the way of a funeral, except that Mom doesn’t like the idea of burial and Dad didn’t object to being cremated; so that’s what we went with. Also Dad was very religious and we knew he would want a church funeral. Because of the nature of Dad’s illness we couldn’t discuss it with him any further than that, so we were forced to improvise. The minister at my parents’ church was a big help in arranging everything.
One important thing was the fact that my dad was a very popular person and a well-known journalist, so we had to account for a cast of thousands. (Even during his illness the hospital had moved him to a bigger room to accommodate all his visitors.) The CBC even bussed many of Dad’s co-workers in from Toronto to pay their respects. (They also recorded the funeral for us, and gave Dad a 25-minute obit on The World at Six, which was truly astonishing.) All of this both touched us deeply, and presented its own challenges.
We had visitation at the funeral home followed by a church funeral, followed in turn by a committal ceremony at the cemetery chapel; a few weeks later we buried his ashes. In each step, the number of people dwindled, so the service became more intimate. The visitation lasted two days, for lots of people - including the more tenuous acquaintances - to file through. That was the most trying section of the “rites;” everyone wanted to talk to us. brother_mcl and I ran interference for mom_mcl, getting her away from the more tedious people who just didn’t know how to behave to a new widow.
The funeral was for the large group of people who were not family but who knew him well enough to pay their respects, including the aforementioned CBC people. That was terribly, terribly necessary. It was important for us to know that our grief was shared, and we were supported in it, by a community. It was also important to have the sense that we were respecting his will by honouring him in a way he would have found appropriate. It makes the death seem less disempowering, less like a loss of control on the part of the deceased - especially since it had all been so sudden and traumatic. We needed to let go of him in a more controlled fashion, in a way that we – and he – had some control over. The solid Protestant ceremonial things – the hymn “I Feel the Winds of God,” bearing the pall with my male relatives – were important in that because they were what he would have chosen.
The reception after the funeral was more difficult because the funeral had been so emotionally draining for us that dealing with the cast of thousands was not what I wanted to do right then. I eventually hid out with my family in the kitchen. That was the only way we were going to get any sandwiches, anyway.
The most cathartic moment was the committal ceremony at the cemetery chapel. As Dad was to be cremated, we wouldn’t have been able to do a graveside ceremony for some weeks, but I felt very strongly that we would need the emotional closure that a committal ceremony would provide on that day. So we went with this. It was basically the same deal: releasing the body from our care. (Basically, we put the casket onto a sort of elevator within the chapel, that lowered it into a storage area below, to be cremated later. The minister used the same service he would use for a graveside.) That had only the family, albeit the extended family. As I say, it was the most emotionally cathartic part, where we were in our intimacy and could finally break down and give ourselves over to grief.
The last part was the actual burial of the ashes a few weeks later: that only had my mom, me, my brother, my aunt and uncle, and Dad’s oldest friend and his family. The biggest significance there was what we were actually doing, so it was more subdued.
I think we got the emotional tenor more or less right with this one. The difficult parts were dealing with everyone else, and especially with the funeral home (those bastards railroaded my mom into buying a $5000 coffin to use as kindling). But the way it rolled out was more necessary and responded to our needs – especially the need to make the proper observances, to honour Dad the way he would have wanted.
My grandfather’s funeral presented its own challenges. He had never talked about his death, and he also had a very short illness - only a week - during which he never regained consciousness. Furthermore, he lived far away from us so we were unfamiliar with his opinions on such things. Happily, one of his friends was also a clergywoman at a church he had attended, and another friend (with whom we were staying) helped us get things arranged; also, as he was a veteran, we were able to let the VA take charge of his body and the actual cremation and burial things. The funeral was a little odd, as people were invited to give their remembrances and some of these folks went on and on, but it wasn’t unbearable. As with Dad, we benefitted from knowing that we were honouring Grandpa as he would have wanted.
I certainly do. I have no difficulty at all contemplating my own death, for one thing. Going from my experiences with funeral planning, I’m very preoccupied with making sure everyone knows in advance exactly what my wishes are. This is for a lot of reasons. First, I’m Pagan, and my family isn’t. I have no doubt they would want to observe my traditions, but it’s just that they would have no idea what those are or where to look. Moreover a lot of Pagan rituals are highly improvised, and even if they had experience or were to ask a friend of mine to write it, nobody feels creative when bereaved. Second, I’m very preoccupied with making sure that it correctly reflects my life and my belief – that people can’t ignore parts of my identity. Third, I think that knowing exactly what I wanted will give people a much greater sense of comfort than having to guess and worrying they might be wrong, no matter how irrational that is vis a vis someone who’s already dead. Fourth, I very much want a funeral that reflects my ideas of death and how to deal with it. Finally, I’m concerned for myself with what happens to my body when I die, because of my religious beliefs.
A few weeks after my grandpa died, I wrote out an entire ritual in great detail (down to choices of music, location, liturgy, etc.) and all my wishes concerning my death (turning off the respirator, burial location, nature of burial, etc.) I stayed up all night doing it and it was extremely cathartic. I feel much better knowing that my wishes are all on paper (well, on hard drive) and that my family will be spared being forced to improvise or guess.
In sum, funerals are very important to me – including my own. And I think people owe it to their family to let them know in detail how they would like to be honoured, whether with or without a funeral, etc., etc.