Caskets and Baskets...
12:17 AM
Little Ollie was watching the funeral procession and asked his Mom -- "Hey where's the basket Mom? Where's the basket?" She wasn't sure what he meant and so when the casket came rolling by he stood up and pointed -- there's the basket Mom!
It broke the tension and we all laughed fleetingly -- and the word basket was in my head the rest of the day.
Why do we have funerals I ask myself over and over. The dead don't care -- they aren't here. The funerals I suppose are for the living. They tell me that through the process of a funeral specific emotional needs are met for those left behind who are grieving and that the funeral is like any other important ceremony that we all go through -- weddings, birthdays, graduations, bar mitzvahs etc... It's to remember, honor, and commemorate someones life and honor their death -- so I guess those who knew the deceased and the family have an opportunity to pay a tribute. I am also told that funerals help those who are in denial about losing someone they love, if they see them dead they accept they are dead.
I am like my Great Grandmother I guess -- I have this fear of funerals. I hate them -- hate hate hate them. She didn't have one. Her daughter, my Grandmother didn't have one. My Grandfather didn't have one. I don't think my parents will either.
Many years ago I lost two babies at birth and the Chaplain at the Navy base helped me with their very small funeral. It wasn't even really a funeral, it was a lovely prayer, a few short words and I chose to have them cremated, and I spread their ashes in the ocean so they would always be with me. I couldn't bare the thought of putting them in the cold hard ground and knowing that I'd never be able to visit a grave. I dreamed for months of their little faces, frozen in time, in forever sleep.
And perhaps it was then began my aversion to funerals and baskets.
It broke the tension and we all laughed fleetingly -- and the word basket was in my head the rest of the day.
Why do we have funerals I ask myself over and over. The dead don't care -- they aren't here. The funerals I suppose are for the living. They tell me that through the process of a funeral specific emotional needs are met for those left behind who are grieving and that the funeral is like any other important ceremony that we all go through -- weddings, birthdays, graduations, bar mitzvahs etc... It's to remember, honor, and commemorate someones life and honor their death -- so I guess those who knew the deceased and the family have an opportunity to pay a tribute. I am also told that funerals help those who are in denial about losing someone they love, if they see them dead they accept they are dead.
I am like my Great Grandmother I guess -- I have this fear of funerals. I hate them -- hate hate hate them. She didn't have one. Her daughter, my Grandmother didn't have one. My Grandfather didn't have one. I don't think my parents will either.
Many years ago I lost two babies at birth and the Chaplain at the Navy base helped me with their very small funeral. It wasn't even really a funeral, it was a lovely prayer, a few short words and I chose to have them cremated, and I spread their ashes in the ocean so they would always be with me. I couldn't bare the thought of putting them in the cold hard ground and knowing that I'd never be able to visit a grave. I dreamed for months of their little faces, frozen in time, in forever sleep.
And perhaps it was then began my aversion to funerals and baskets.