One of my Dad's uncles had died, I hardly remembered him. His mother had had 4 brothers, I think. My Dad, Mother, and I went to the "wake". Why it was called that, hovered in my mind. About 8 or 9, I was "green", but not stupid. Turned out to be an almost un-real looking well-dressed dummy in a casket, in a place smelling of flowery odors evidently designed to mask the odors of death. I've pondered this many times over the years. When I had to fly to Chicago suddenly to attend my own Mother's funeral, I stood outside the room housing her in her casket, talking to my two nephews. I hadn't seen her yet in death. I went in, fully stoic and certain it was just another "wake". Upon seeing her the first moment, something rent within me, I turned away, left the room, feeling as though I had faced the absolutely most horrible moment of my life. Dan & Mike awaited, and Mike, the more aware of psychological digression, asked me if I was OK. I almost "lost it". Never before in my life, then 44, had I felt more helpless and alone, than during that moment I first viewed my mother dead in a box. 1986. Like yesterday. Frank
Your post made me think of my grandfather's funeral. My grandmother had him laid out at home for the traditional calling hours. I remember the quiet times with the coffin and the sickeningly sweet smell of all the floral displays mounted on metal racks, supplied by the undertaker, along the walls. Also, the mountains of food provided by the neighbors, church ladies, etc... I also remember that my grandmother hired a photographer to document the calling hours and church service with a complete photo album. I was young at the time but I remember the concerns over bracing the floors due to the tremendous live weight of all the people that were coming to pay their respects. My father and uncles added jackposts and beams to supplement the original supports in the cellar. The funeral was in January and I remember that my father and uncles had to use our old John Deere B tractor to plow the backyard and transform it into a sort of valet parking lot. Today it is much simpler in my family, direct cremation and private family burial services have become the norm.
I can totally relate to your feeling when you saw your mother lying there dead, @Frank Sanoica . My mother and father died within a month of each other in 1988, both of them lived into their 80’s. My mom had heart failure, and then kidney failure, and even though she didn’t want to go, we sent her by ambulance to the hospital, and 3 days later, she died. The hospital called to let me know that she had passed away during the night, and I went up the next morning, along with my oldest son, who was in his mid-20’s at that time. When I saw my mother lying there dead, I DID lose it, and I am forever grateful that my son was there with me , and he held me and comforted me. My mother was a very religious person, and she believed all of her life that she would live to see Jesus return, so I grew up thinking that my mother would never die. Even when she was actually dying, she didn’t think that she would die, and she had never made any kind of preparations for such an event, so it was a struggle for me to try and take care of their finances and other concerns after my parents died. Thankfully, my dad lived long enough afterward to put me on their checking account before he had his stroke and passed away also. I think that losing my parents was probably the hardest thing in my life, and as an only child, I didn’t have any other family , except for my children.
Will never understand why people want to 'see' their departed in this way I would never do it, not even with my husband, there's something undignified about it
The whole affair of what happens to our loved ones after their death is the only thing that disturbs me. On the second morning after my dad passed, a representative from the Lion’s Club called me and asked permission to harvest his eyes. I asked, “Did he sign an organ donation document like on his driver’s license”? “Yes” was the answer given. “Then why are you asking me?” said I. She answered, “We still have to ask for permission”. Of course I did give my consent and even having the knowledge of why the harvest had to occur so quickly, it did bother me and all I saw in my mind’s eye was a bunch of vultures steadily picking my dad apart. It would seem to me that some kind of decorum should be observed because if I had been a person with any degree of less strength, the call would have probably sent me over the edge. If a concent form has already been given, the body pickers should go along their way as quietly as possible leaving the bereaved with a more pieceful thought of their loved ones rather than one of dissection.
I hate funerals ..for one it is just another money maker for others. I want to remember how they lived and looked alive ...not visually see them once their soul had left them.Cremation is my choice.
Bless your heart... Mine died a year a part snd I thought that was bad. However my parents were much younger.