The way we deal with death
Jan. 26th, 2011 11:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wendyzskiYeah, I know - srs post is srs. But obviously this subject has been on my mind a lot lately so here goes.
Our society is really screwed up when it comes to dealing with death. We do our damnedest to ignore it as much as possible and tell people to forget about it as soon as it's over with. (The actual dead people themselves are presumably excused from this last provision). People die neatly in hospitals or are whisked away immediately after accidents - all neat and tidy. Funerals are held in churches or chapels, and people don't go unless they can't possibly avoid it. We use euphemisms like "passed away" - because gods forbid you actually say the "D" word! Eulogies are spoken by preachers or speakers who may have never even known the deceased, or who have their own agenda to push. Some people even dispense with any kind of funeral or memorial altogether. And while rituals exist to help people deal with them, they may not apply to your particular chosen family situation.
But you know what? Eventually, sooner or later, someone you love is going to die. You're going to have to deal with it. And the way things are done nowadays, you may not know how to deal with it.
I sure didn't.
I come from a small family, so I hadn't had any experience with elderly relatives dying when I was young. My maternal grandfather died when I was 8 and I was judged "too young" to go to the funeral. When my maternal grandmother finally died after a decade-long struggle against Alzheimers, honestly we didn't' even HAVE a funeral because the woman we knew had been "dead" for years already.
I attended my first funeral when I was in my 20s. Derek was a fellow member of Moebius Theatre, and while I didn't know him well I was President of the company at the time and I felt obliged to go and stand in for that part of his life. The service itself was terrible - all hellfire and brimstone and whitewashing of many aspects of his life (He had died of AIDS and that "just wasn't talked about" back then.) His body was so made up as to be unrecognizable - he had really awful acne his entire life, and the figure in the casket didn't even LOOK like him! His glasses were even on straight, for likely the first time ever. I wasn't familiar with that church's traditions, so when the preacher said something and everyone shouted "AMEN!" I leaned over to
Our society is really screwed up when it comes to dealing with death. We do our damnedest to ignore it as much as possible and tell people to forget about it as soon as it's over with. (The actual dead people themselves are presumably excused from this last provision). People die neatly in hospitals or are whisked away immediately after accidents - all neat and tidy. Funerals are held in churches or chapels, and people don't go unless they can't possibly avoid it. We use euphemisms like "passed away" - because gods forbid you actually say the "D" word! Eulogies are spoken by preachers or speakers who may have never even known the deceased, or who have their own agenda to push. Some people even dispense with any kind of funeral or memorial altogether. And while rituals exist to help people deal with them, they may not apply to your particular chosen family situation.
But you know what? Eventually, sooner or later, someone you love is going to die. You're going to have to deal with it. And the way things are done nowadays, you may not know how to deal with it.
I sure didn't.
I come from a small family, so I hadn't had any experience with elderly relatives dying when I was young. My maternal grandfather died when I was 8 and I was judged "too young" to go to the funeral. When my maternal grandmother finally died after a decade-long struggle against Alzheimers, honestly we didn't' even HAVE a funeral because the woman we knew had been "dead" for years already.
I attended my first funeral when I was in my 20s. Derek was a fellow member of Moebius Theatre, and while I didn't know him well I was President of the company at the time and I felt obliged to go and stand in for that part of his life. The service itself was terrible - all hellfire and brimstone and whitewashing of many aspects of his life (He had died of AIDS and that "just wasn't talked about" back then.) His body was so made up as to be unrecognizable - he had really awful acne his entire life, and the figure in the casket didn't even LOOK like him! His glasses were even on straight, for likely the first time ever. I wasn't familiar with that church's traditions, so when the preacher said something and everyone shouted "AMEN!" I leaned over to
[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<ljuser="jce_da_dmg">') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]
Yeah, I know - srs post is srs. But obviously this subject has been on my mind a lot lately so here goes.
<lj-cut text="Our society is really screwed up when it comes to dealing with death">
Our society is really screwed up when it comes to dealing with death. We do our damnedest to ignore it as much as possible and tell people to forget about it as soon as it's over with. (The actual dead people themselves are presumably excused from this last provision). People die neatly in hospitals or are whisked away immediately after accidents - all neat and tidy. Funerals are held in churches or chapels, and people don't go unless they can't possibly avoid it. We use euphemisms like "passed away" - because gods forbid you actually say the "D" word! Eulogies are spoken by preachers or speakers who may have never even known the deceased, or who have their own agenda to push. Some people even dispense with any kind of funeral or memorial altogether. And while rituals exist to help people deal with them, they may not apply to your particular chosen family situation.
But you know what? Eventually, sooner or later, someone you love is going to die. You're going to have to deal with it. And the way things are done nowadays, you may not know how to deal with it.
I sure didn't.
I come from a small family, so I hadn't had any experience with elderly relatives dying when I was young. My maternal grandfather died when I was 8 and I was judged "too young" to go to the funeral. When my maternal grandmother finally died after a decade-long struggle against Alzheimers, honestly we didn't' even HAVE a funeral because the woman we knew had been "dead" for years already.
I attended my first funeral when I was in my 20s. Derek was a fellow member of Moebius Theatre, and while I didn't know him well I was President of the company at the time and I felt obliged to go and stand in for that part of his life. The service itself was terrible - all hellfire and brimstone and whitewashing of many aspects of his life (He had died of AIDS and that "just wasn't talked about" back then.) His body was so made up as to be unrecognizable - he had really awful acne his entire life, and the figure in the casket didn't even LOOK like him! His glasses were even on straight, for likely the first time ever. I wasn't familiar with that church's traditions, so when the preacher said something and everyone shouted "AMEN!" I leaned over to <ljuser="jce_da_dmg"> and whispered <i>"I didn't know we had LINES?"</i> It was a horror show and didn't say a single thing about the man who was supposed to be the focus of the event.
But after the show we all went back to someone's house, ordered in a couple of pizzas, put in some show tapes, and watched them while we told funny or silly or just every day Derek stories. It was waaay more moving and healing than anything that had taken place in that funeral chapel.
I didn't attend my maternal grandmother's funeral, but I did attend her deathbed. I was holding her hand and my Uncle (her son) and Aunt were with her when she died. This was really my first encounter with death close up and personal. This is also where I developed an annoyance for euphemisms, because there wasn't anything vague about it. She was alive and then she was dead - there wasn't anything vague about it. I remember looking blankly at the nurse when she offered to let me "spend some time with her alone" - by which she meant her body - before they had her taken away. I thought <i>"why on earth would I want to do THAT?"<i> because it was VERY clear that my grandmother wasn't there any more, so what would be the point? Of course, then I had to call my mother and tell her that her mother was dead - that wasn't a fun phone call. Being there was a terrible and painful experience, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
One thing about my mother's reaction puzzled me. Years beforehand I had given my grandmother one of those "Grandparent's Books" in which they are supposed to write down things about their lives. I found it in her house. My mother refused to even look at it. She didn't want to read it, or even know that it existed. I could understand that at first, but as time went on it made me sad, because she was missing out on some really great stories. After a couple of years, I photocopied the parts that had to do with my mom, bound them up, and gave them to my mother as a Mother's Day present. I still don't know if she's ever looked at them. I still have that book, and lately I've been pondering giving it to my brother to pass on to his daughter - I'm sure not going to have any kids so it should go to someone in the family.
But a death in the family, while tragic, is at least understood. There are things you do "for the family" - you send flowers, condolence cards, ask if they are OK, make casseroles, that sort of thing. When <ljuser="jfc013"> died, I was devastated - she was closer to me than any member of my blood family, and that was ignored. This was complicated by the fact that she expressly told me that she did NOT want people to know how ill she really was - so as I sat in the Hospice with her those last few days I had a very limited circle of people i could tell about it. My job had no provision for bereavement leave for non-related persons, and even using personal time I was sharply criticized for taking the time I needed to be by her side. When it became clear that it was a matter of hours and not days, I told her that I was going to start telling people because they needed time to prepare - I know it was the right decision, and I told her that she was welcome to come back and haunt my ass if she wanted but i was going to do it anyway - so there was also a measure of guilt over it as well. I only received one single condolence card. Society had no place for my pain of grief because it didn't fit into a box. And because I'd not experienced this sort of thing growing up I didn't have any tools to handle or express how I was feeling or to process my loss.
Thank goodness <lj user-"ashtalet"> got me added to the list of people eligible to receive "Grief Counseling" through some benefit or other. I didn't really know what to expect but I knew I wasn't handling things well. I only went to a couple of sessions - mostly to get referrals for books or coping strategies that I could use to work through things on my own. But most importantly, I learned that what I was feeling had a name. It's called 'Disenfranchised Grief' (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disenfranchised_grief) and it's "a term describing grief that is not acknowledged by society." Just knowing that what I was going through had a name and was acknowledged to be "real" and professionals at least KNEW that it was hard and it sucked - that helped me a lot.
We build our own communities - online, in fandom, at faires, in our intimate relationships and our "family by choice" - but the fact that many of these families are not acknowledged by "society" at large can make things very difficult for us. However, that is changing. A recent policy change by the Obama administration requires that hospitals which accept Medicare and Medicaid allow patients to designate who they wish to as "family". Media coverage of this has mostly focused on the fact that it will allow gay couples to be considered "family members" in states where they cannot marry or form civil unions. It is true that there have been some terrible injustices in these kinds of cases, the new policy extends beyond those specific cases. If you'd rather have your "family" consist of your two polyamorous partners and your best friend since grade school, then that is now your right. So there at least our society seems to be on the right track.
And having experienced a couple of variations on the Jewish custom of 'sitting shiva', I do have to say that it makes a whole lot of psychological sense. In it's most basic form, it's about making sure that you take the time to grieve. No one expects you to bounce back into your "normal" life after a loss - you need time. And not only do you need taking care of, others who grieve need to take care of you, so they visit and bring food so that you don't have to worry about cooking. You say certain things at certain times because there is comfort in familiar rituals. And after whatever period of time you have decided on, and the end you do something specific to say to yourself and others "OK, I've done my grieving and it's time to go on with my life". At the barest minimum you go outside and walk around the block, and then come back into your home and start to take up the threads of your new "normal" life.
When <user site="livejournal.com" user="alliesutherland"> died last month, I knew that I wanted to go to her memorial. Even though we had only met in the flesh on three occasions we had known each other online for about a decade. I knew how much she valued her faire and online families, and how out-of-place she often felt in her small-town-Kentucky setting. I wanted to go, because the manner of her death was SO sudden and SO unfair that I needed the healing to be found when people gather. But more importantly I *needed* to go because there were things that needed to be said to the people she grew up and lived among and I needed to be the person to say them. I really couldn't afford it, and spending a weekend in January driving across several states with a sick bunny in the backseat to a service in a tiny Methodist church isn't exactly my idea of "fun".
I'm still a bit ticked off that people who always claimed to be her friends and who would drive anywhere on a moment's notice couldn't be arsed to bestir themselves to attend. Yes, there are people who had reasons - family issues, physical disabilities, new babies or pregnancies, money problems. But there are a bunch of people that this didn't apply to - who didn't come because they were uncomfortable with the idea of going to a "funeral" so they shoved it aside like so many of us do with things we just don't want to do, and ignored it.
And don't even get me started on the people who got all mad because of how they heard about it, because they didn't get a personal phone call from Clay, or even the order they were notified. THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU!! How DARE you place any more of a burden on a man already suffering unimaginable loss on Christmas Eve Day of all times, because you're ticked off that you got a call from 'a friend' rather than him. I wish I couldn't even imagine that kind of selfishness, but now I can. <i>
<i>(Personally, the first thing I ask when I am informed about a death is "who can I notify for you?" - because the point is to get the word out and do whatever you can to make the job easier for everyone. Also, I do best under stress when I have something to DO.)</i>
But as I told Lori's father "This is why we have jobs - so that when we have to we can do the things we needed to do". And I needed to do this. I needed to be there to stand in for people like <user site="livejournal.com" user="capi"> who is too ill to travel, and for James who recently had knee surgery, and for Cyd who is newly pregnant. I needed to be there to show the local people just how many lives Lori touched - that this woman who rarely left her house because of her physical limitations, and who was often mocked and belittled when she did because of her appearance - the she MATTERED. That she was loved and cherished and will be deeply missed. They needed to hear it, and I needed to be one of the ones to say it.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's not a good idea to keep ignoring death = you're going to have to learn to deal with it eventually, so you might as well get the practice. And if you don't know what to say, then say that. "You know, I don't really know what to say, but I'm sorry and I'm here if you need me". If the rituals of a particular faith don't appeal to you, or there are reasons why you can't attend a formal ceremony, then come up with a ritual of your own to mark the time or the occasion - have a video party, say a prayer, or plant a garden, or sign up for a charity walk, or buy a shirt that you know the deceased would really love (or really hate) and wear it, or learn to knit or try to watch that movie that they loved so much and you really can't stand - with a box of tissues by your side. Take out your grief and look at it, and then DO something with it or about it. Because by ignoring it you are robbing yourself of something precious and important. Rage if you must, but don't turn away. Because in the end, you can't ignore Death.
<lj-cut text="Our society is really screwed up when it comes to dealing with death">
Our society is really screwed up when it comes to dealing with death. We do our damnedest to ignore it as much as possible and tell people to forget about it as soon as it's over with. (The actual dead people themselves are presumably excused from this last provision). People die neatly in hospitals or are whisked away immediately after accidents - all neat and tidy. Funerals are held in churches or chapels, and people don't go unless they can't possibly avoid it. We use euphemisms like "passed away" - because gods forbid you actually say the "D" word! Eulogies are spoken by preachers or speakers who may have never even known the deceased, or who have their own agenda to push. Some people even dispense with any kind of funeral or memorial altogether. And while rituals exist to help people deal with them, they may not apply to your particular chosen family situation.
But you know what? Eventually, sooner or later, someone you love is going to die. You're going to have to deal with it. And the way things are done nowadays, you may not know how to deal with it.
I sure didn't.
I come from a small family, so I hadn't had any experience with elderly relatives dying when I was young. My maternal grandfather died when I was 8 and I was judged "too young" to go to the funeral. When my maternal grandmother finally died after a decade-long struggle against Alzheimers, honestly we didn't' even HAVE a funeral because the woman we knew had been "dead" for years already.
I attended my first funeral when I was in my 20s. Derek was a fellow member of Moebius Theatre, and while I didn't know him well I was President of the company at the time and I felt obliged to go and stand in for that part of his life. The service itself was terrible - all hellfire and brimstone and whitewashing of many aspects of his life (He had died of AIDS and that "just wasn't talked about" back then.) His body was so made up as to be unrecognizable - he had really awful acne his entire life, and the figure in the casket didn't even LOOK like him! His glasses were even on straight, for likely the first time ever. I wasn't familiar with that church's traditions, so when the preacher said something and everyone shouted "AMEN!" I leaned over to <ljuser="jce_da_dmg"> and whispered <i>"I didn't know we had LINES?"</i> It was a horror show and didn't say a single thing about the man who was supposed to be the focus of the event.
But after the show we all went back to someone's house, ordered in a couple of pizzas, put in some show tapes, and watched them while we told funny or silly or just every day Derek stories. It was waaay more moving and healing than anything that had taken place in that funeral chapel.
I didn't attend my maternal grandmother's funeral, but I did attend her deathbed. I was holding her hand and my Uncle (her son) and Aunt were with her when she died. This was really my first encounter with death close up and personal. This is also where I developed an annoyance for euphemisms, because there wasn't anything vague about it. She was alive and then she was dead - there wasn't anything vague about it. I remember looking blankly at the nurse when she offered to let me "spend some time with her alone" - by which she meant her body - before they had her taken away. I thought <i>"why on earth would I want to do THAT?"<i> because it was VERY clear that my grandmother wasn't there any more, so what would be the point? Of course, then I had to call my mother and tell her that her mother was dead - that wasn't a fun phone call. Being there was a terrible and painful experience, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
One thing about my mother's reaction puzzled me. Years beforehand I had given my grandmother one of those "Grandparent's Books" in which they are supposed to write down things about their lives. I found it in her house. My mother refused to even look at it. She didn't want to read it, or even know that it existed. I could understand that at first, but as time went on it made me sad, because she was missing out on some really great stories. After a couple of years, I photocopied the parts that had to do with my mom, bound them up, and gave them to my mother as a Mother's Day present. I still don't know if she's ever looked at them. I still have that book, and lately I've been pondering giving it to my brother to pass on to his daughter - I'm sure not going to have any kids so it should go to someone in the family.
But a death in the family, while tragic, is at least understood. There are things you do "for the family" - you send flowers, condolence cards, ask if they are OK, make casseroles, that sort of thing. When <ljuser="jfc013"> died, I was devastated - she was closer to me than any member of my blood family, and that was ignored. This was complicated by the fact that she expressly told me that she did NOT want people to know how ill she really was - so as I sat in the Hospice with her those last few days I had a very limited circle of people i could tell about it. My job had no provision for bereavement leave for non-related persons, and even using personal time I was sharply criticized for taking the time I needed to be by her side. When it became clear that it was a matter of hours and not days, I told her that I was going to start telling people because they needed time to prepare - I know it was the right decision, and I told her that she was welcome to come back and haunt my ass if she wanted but i was going to do it anyway - so there was also a measure of guilt over it as well. I only received one single condolence card. Society had no place for my pain of grief because it didn't fit into a box. And because I'd not experienced this sort of thing growing up I didn't have any tools to handle or express how I was feeling or to process my loss.
Thank goodness <lj user-"ashtalet"> got me added to the list of people eligible to receive "Grief Counseling" through some benefit or other. I didn't really know what to expect but I knew I wasn't handling things well. I only went to a couple of sessions - mostly to get referrals for books or coping strategies that I could use to work through things on my own. But most importantly, I learned that what I was feeling had a name. It's called 'Disenfranchised Grief' (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disenfranchised_grief) and it's "a term describing grief that is not acknowledged by society." Just knowing that what I was going through had a name and was acknowledged to be "real" and professionals at least KNEW that it was hard and it sucked - that helped me a lot.
We build our own communities - online, in fandom, at faires, in our intimate relationships and our "family by choice" - but the fact that many of these families are not acknowledged by "society" at large can make things very difficult for us. However, that is changing. A recent policy change by the Obama administration requires that hospitals which accept Medicare and Medicaid allow patients to designate who they wish to as "family". Media coverage of this has mostly focused on the fact that it will allow gay couples to be considered "family members" in states where they cannot marry or form civil unions. It is true that there have been some terrible injustices in these kinds of cases, the new policy extends beyond those specific cases. If you'd rather have your "family" consist of your two polyamorous partners and your best friend since grade school, then that is now your right. So there at least our society seems to be on the right track.
And having experienced a couple of variations on the Jewish custom of 'sitting shiva', I do have to say that it makes a whole lot of psychological sense. In it's most basic form, it's about making sure that you take the time to grieve. No one expects you to bounce back into your "normal" life after a loss - you need time. And not only do you need taking care of, others who grieve need to take care of you, so they visit and bring food so that you don't have to worry about cooking. You say certain things at certain times because there is comfort in familiar rituals. And after whatever period of time you have decided on, and the end you do something specific to say to yourself and others "OK, I've done my grieving and it's time to go on with my life". At the barest minimum you go outside and walk around the block, and then come back into your home and start to take up the threads of your new "normal" life.
When <user site="livejournal.com" user="alliesutherland"> died last month, I knew that I wanted to go to her memorial. Even though we had only met in the flesh on three occasions we had known each other online for about a decade. I knew how much she valued her faire and online families, and how out-of-place she often felt in her small-town-Kentucky setting. I wanted to go, because the manner of her death was SO sudden and SO unfair that I needed the healing to be found when people gather. But more importantly I *needed* to go because there were things that needed to be said to the people she grew up and lived among and I needed to be the person to say them. I really couldn't afford it, and spending a weekend in January driving across several states with a sick bunny in the backseat to a service in a tiny Methodist church isn't exactly my idea of "fun".
I'm still a bit ticked off that people who always claimed to be her friends and who would drive anywhere on a moment's notice couldn't be arsed to bestir themselves to attend. Yes, there are people who had reasons - family issues, physical disabilities, new babies or pregnancies, money problems. But there are a bunch of people that this didn't apply to - who didn't come because they were uncomfortable with the idea of going to a "funeral" so they shoved it aside like so many of us do with things we just don't want to do, and ignored it.
And don't even get me started on the people who got all mad because of how they heard about it, because they didn't get a personal phone call from Clay, or even the order they were notified. THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU!! How DARE you place any more of a burden on a man already suffering unimaginable loss on Christmas Eve Day of all times, because you're ticked off that you got a call from 'a friend' rather than him. I wish I couldn't even imagine that kind of selfishness, but now I can. <i>
<i>(Personally, the first thing I ask when I am informed about a death is "who can I notify for you?" - because the point is to get the word out and do whatever you can to make the job easier for everyone. Also, I do best under stress when I have something to DO.)</i>
But as I told Lori's father "This is why we have jobs - so that when we have to we can do the things we needed to do". And I needed to do this. I needed to be there to stand in for people like <user site="livejournal.com" user="capi"> who is too ill to travel, and for James who recently had knee surgery, and for Cyd who is newly pregnant. I needed to be there to show the local people just how many lives Lori touched - that this woman who rarely left her house because of her physical limitations, and who was often mocked and belittled when she did because of her appearance - the she MATTERED. That she was loved and cherished and will be deeply missed. They needed to hear it, and I needed to be one of the ones to say it.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's not a good idea to keep ignoring death = you're going to have to learn to deal with it eventually, so you might as well get the practice. And if you don't know what to say, then say that. "You know, I don't really know what to say, but I'm sorry and I'm here if you need me". If the rituals of a particular faith don't appeal to you, or there are reasons why you can't attend a formal ceremony, then come up with a ritual of your own to mark the time or the occasion - have a video party, say a prayer, or plant a garden, or sign up for a charity walk, or buy a shirt that you know the deceased would really love (or really hate) and wear it, or learn to knit or try to watch that movie that they loved so much and you really can't stand - with a box of tissues by your side. Take out your grief and look at it, and then DO something with it or about it. Because by ignoring it you are robbing yourself of something precious and important. Rage if you must, but don't turn away. Because in the end, you can't ignore Death.
