I hope this doesn't sound morbid, but I've been thinking about death and funerals lately. Today was Dr. Chapman's memorial service. For those of you who don't know, he was a professor at the university who died quite suddenly and unexpectedly this past weekend after a surgery that had appeared to have gone well.
And as I sat there, a little bit teary-eyed, I couldn't help but think that when I die (which I hope is not for a good long time), I want anything but that kind of a service. See, the people running the show are the sorts who like to put the sunny spin on everything. They're the ones who say, "We're not going to grieve because he wouldn't want us to grieve, so we're just going to smile and be thankful that he's in heaven." I'm not saying that's good or bad, but it often ends up feeling kind of fake.
Maybe this is selfish, but when I go, I want to go out like thunder. I want there to be music--amazing music--and poetry. I don't want my visitors to have to sing in unlawfully high keys when everyone knows that even good singers can't carry much of a tune while they're crying. And I don't want a service indoors in some claustrophobic unatmospheric room where some moron is trying to sing "Amazing Grace" by changing the melody around to be more "worshipful."
Take me out on the lake at sunset, put me on a raft, and let me drift out to sea. Blast some stirring film score music, shoot a fiery arrow out to the raft (yes, reminiscent of the end of First Knight), then watch as I am engulfed in flames, and let there not be a dry eye anywhere in the viscinity. I want people to cry and cry and cry until there is nothing left, only ragged breath and the peaceful catharsis that only comes on the other side of unfettered weeping.
Because if you can't mourn, you can't let go. And if I had the choice, I would choose for my loved ones to be able to let go of me, rather than for them to make it through my memorial service with a smile on their faces and an altar call on their lips.
Maybe that's bad; I don't know. But that's how I feel about it. Like I said, it seems kind of morbid. But oh well.
3 comments:
Don't worry Jai, I think it's good that you know how you want people to grieve for you. You can slip quietly into that good night, but we'll send out a good-bye that the Angels will receive and pass on to you.
Grieving is so hard anyway. Think of hard it is for us to throw away a beloved piece of clothing, much less let someone who adds meaning in our lives slip away. I hate having friendships corrode into nothingness. My condolence, for lack of a better word, when losing someone, whether death or lack of time, is to remember the impressions they made on me, and how they have changed me. It's the whole remembering them keeps their spirit with you.
Good call. My personal preference is Verdi´s Requiem...Dies Irae!! Or, perhaps Rutter´s Requiem, though it´s not quite as powerful. Maybe they could do both...
Don't forget the amazingly tragic Durufle's Ruquiem -- or Brahms! It would be so hard to choose. Though, I'm not sure you can beat the surround-sound trumpets in the Verdi Dies Irae. Oh, to really hear it in person...
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