There is a growing trend not to miss your own wake but to make arrangements to be so positioned at your funeral it appears you are alive and ready for action. One man was buried astride his Harley Davidson motorcycle, propped up inside a see-through casket for a final road trip. Another made it known he wanted to attend his own wake dressed like Che Guevara, cigar in hand, sitting cross legged. Such is the fad to hit the American undertaker circuit. It’s all about putting fun back into funerals. But, how do you put fun back into funerals, or why should one put fun back, and was there ever any fun in funerals? Most of the ones I’ve attended over many years have been solemn and sad; some however have had an underlying joy but certainly not merriment.
The most recent send-off was that of Miriam Burbank, a 53-year old woman from New Orleans who decided she wanted to be seen at her wake in a posture familiar in her life. So her family arranged for her to be posed sitting at a table with a can of Busch beer at one hand, a menthol cigarette in the other, a bottle of whiskey within easy reach and a disco ball flashing overhead. Two months earlier Mickey Easterling, an 83-year old New Orleans socialite, had bid adieu in similar fashion. Her embalmed body was displayed at one final soiree, where she sat on a wrought iron bench, a large pink feather boa around her neck, a champagne glass in one hand, a cigarette holder in the other. A thousand people came to see. The funeral director, Louis Charbonnet, has also had other requests; one for a women to be seen in her kitchen, standing over her stove.
However, in Puerto Rico a deceased ambulance driver wanted to be seen behind the wheel of his vehicle and in January a boxer, who had been murdered in a shooting, was propped up in a boxing ring for his wake, how bizarre? All this so that mourners can see their loved one in familiar surroundings. I think even an open coffin is rather macabre. I can understand why people do it, but once gone nobody can be brought back, and no one can recapture real life. I think people should not be concerned too much to capture current lifestyle but anticipate new lifestyle in future glory.
The first dead body I saw was my father who died whilst I was in London and he in Birmingham, I went to see him in his coffin and hardly recognised him, but knew life had unmistakably gone – it was just a carcass. Empty flesh. The soul and spirit were with God – he made a profession of faith, his future was secure. Why foist upon him a past memory of days gone by? Why not let him now rest after a lifetime of service, in the arms of God, far better than to be surrounded by memories of hard work and unremitting labour just to keep us in necessities.
The second body was my wife who I had loved for 64 years and now her body, extremely diseased, ravaged by cancer and Myasthenia, was at rest. I was preparing her for cremation with a nurse who had unexpectedly called to see how she was and walked in on her death. Together we laid her out; washed her body and clothed it. Combed her hair and saw she was settled for the doctor to come and officially pronounce her death. I did not want to see her in any other way, for I knew she was with God where roses never fade, and she could now walk without effort and sing His praise again – the Myasthenia had robbed her of her voice.
We cannot put the clocks back: time marches on unremittingly. We change imperceptibly and the human frame sags, hair is lost, sight diminishes, strength fails and it is best covered and hidden and let our memories soar in yesteryear where there is our reality. You cannot put fun back into death, and anyone who just laughs at the death of a loved one must be warped. Why must people be amused in sorrow, why not let pain work its fruitful work. My last funeral was for a women of 98 and she was unmistakably born again, and it was joyful and solemn, solemn because we grieved for we mourned our loss and she no doubt was joyful because she was free to be heaven’s guest. That’s how it should be. We should not make charades to help our grief. It’s an empty work.
