Post by mrlukens on Oct 2, 2016 9:44:38 GMT -8
This is such a rich conversation! I have not been able to see the film, but as soon as there is a screening or it becomes available for streaming or purchase, I will rush to see it.
There is much to say on the topic of end-of-life experiences-- the differences between children burying a parent and parents burying a child, for example. I would just like to comment on one aspect that I find striking, and that is our attempts in modern life to render death convenient.
When my grandparents died, we were pulled out of school and driven to a funeral, which took place within two or three days. The casket was big; it took several adults to carry it. Death intruded. When news came suddenly of my mother-in-law's death in another country, I put down the knife and the cheese I had been cutting and immediately went to the phone to book a flight as soon as possible in order to get there in time to say goodbye to her body, even though we had spoken on the phone just the day before. Death would not wait, and it was not polite about it.
But increasingly it seems that we try to schedule death in where it is convenient for us. We cremate the body and put the remains on a shelf, then poll the family to see which month might be good for a little "celebration of life." During whatever funeral service there is, we can carry the little box of ashes around with us in just one hand. Death has been rendered pocket-sized.
Some years ago I attended the memorial service of a single woman in her late fifties. She had many friends and just one sister, who had attended her at the end as she died of cancer. Many of her closest friends and her sister had not known one another; we were joined only by our love for our dead friend. After the service at her former home, we were invited to help sprinkle some of her ashes in the yard (some ashes were traveling to other former homes). As we walked around the yard, we began tentatively sprinkling little pinches of the cremated remains. As we gained familiarity with the ashes, with our grief, with our connection to one another, we became bolder and bigger until our sprinkles became handfuls, strewn on every plant in the yard. I know it bothered some of the people there -- the yard looked a mess. But I loved the way it expressed the bigness of our loss. The world had turned gray for us. Color would come back, but for today we lived on scorched earth. Death is not convenient. Death is not small. Death, like life, will assert itself. It can still take us by the collar and make us look.
There is much to say on the topic of end-of-life experiences-- the differences between children burying a parent and parents burying a child, for example. I would just like to comment on one aspect that I find striking, and that is our attempts in modern life to render death convenient.
When my grandparents died, we were pulled out of school and driven to a funeral, which took place within two or three days. The casket was big; it took several adults to carry it. Death intruded. When news came suddenly of my mother-in-law's death in another country, I put down the knife and the cheese I had been cutting and immediately went to the phone to book a flight as soon as possible in order to get there in time to say goodbye to her body, even though we had spoken on the phone just the day before. Death would not wait, and it was not polite about it.
But increasingly it seems that we try to schedule death in where it is convenient for us. We cremate the body and put the remains on a shelf, then poll the family to see which month might be good for a little "celebration of life." During whatever funeral service there is, we can carry the little box of ashes around with us in just one hand. Death has been rendered pocket-sized.
Some years ago I attended the memorial service of a single woman in her late fifties. She had many friends and just one sister, who had attended her at the end as she died of cancer. Many of her closest friends and her sister had not known one another; we were joined only by our love for our dead friend. After the service at her former home, we were invited to help sprinkle some of her ashes in the yard (some ashes were traveling to other former homes). As we walked around the yard, we began tentatively sprinkling little pinches of the cremated remains. As we gained familiarity with the ashes, with our grief, with our connection to one another, we became bolder and bigger until our sprinkles became handfuls, strewn on every plant in the yard. I know it bothered some of the people there -- the yard looked a mess. But I loved the way it expressed the bigness of our loss. The world had turned gray for us. Color would come back, but for today we lived on scorched earth. Death is not convenient. Death is not small. Death, like life, will assert itself. It can still take us by the collar and make us look.