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Sunny Side Up Jan.9, 2001 �2001, by Kathleen Gibson Never Criticize a Mourner The columnist had her tongue deeply embedded in her cheek. She was writing about the absurdity of some of our funeral customs. �Doesn�t Auntie�s dress go nicely with her flowers?�Just stand beside the casket�smile wide� say cheese.., this one�s for the album cover. So now that the funeral�s over�.let�s eat! She was noting things I�ve also observed, asking why at times of deep grief otherwise sensible people may abandon all sensibility. Why do we take bizarre photos; why do we have funeral lunches? Why do we fuss over the clothes our departed loved ones will wear? Why waste all that money on flowers? Can�t we be reasonable about all this? I�m sure I will be� But when my sister Sandra died I took a photo of her in her coffin�a photo I can't bear to look at today. In another photo our family circle is unbroken, but the sheen of the sun on polished oak and the pile of black earth signify that something is definitely amiss. Looking back�more objectively now�I see shock, sorrow, a desire to hold on to what remains; a damp handkerchief of surrender waved in the dour face of mourning�for a time. I've always told my friends and family not to grieve when I die. Go have a picnic, that's what I'll be doing, I said. Well, I was having no picnic, though I'm certain Sandy was. I was angry, in shock, and God heard all about it. Strangely, my Christian faith was strengthened by my weakness. My sister's church fed us on the funeral day. And we were hungry. After days of buns, cheese, and cold meats, the hot meal seemed like manna from heaven. It was, I think. But the warmth of the crowd who came to say they supported us�loved our loved one�was the more important sustenance. Without food, there would have been no reason for them to stay. In some horrible oversight, there were no flowers on my sister's casket the night of family visitation. They were left at home. I've always thought an overabundance of flowers a waste of money, but when I saw the starkness of death, unadorned by anything that reminded of life and hope and beauty, I understood why people buy flowers. Many of them are the same ones who send cards, bring soup, deliver meat and cheese trays, the ones who stand long hours in church kitchens buttering buns, slicing cheese and fruit bread. The ones who offer to take the photo so you can be in it. Who understand that grief makes human beings, even those of faith, unreasonable for a time. Who do all these things because they've been there too, and know how much we need them. When I was young I learned never to criticize a man till you�ve walked a mile in his moccasins. I now know not to criticize a mourner till you�ve cried with him beside an open coffin. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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