Death In America

Death, and especially the way that it is treated, is a truly strange thing. The fact that so many different cultures have so many radically different views of death shows me more than perhaps any other single thing that there is no higher order to the Universe; we simply are here, and we should enjoy it. In many instances the Japanese seem to embrace death, while we Americans have an almost fetishized fear of it. There are indigenous tribes in Africa who don't give a shit about it, and there are the Irish who use it as a reason for a great party. These distinctions seem to be drawn largely among religious lines. Granted, I have not travelled outside of the U.S., but from my seat it seems the the Protestant countries have the worst view of death, America in particular.

Every funeral that I have ever attended has been an interesting mix of lies and hypocrisy. Perhaps it is just because I live in South Alabama, but I have never been to, or heard of, a funeral that has not been driven by religion. I always find it curious how preachers suddenly become ok with blatantly lying if it comforts the family.

The most egregious example I can think of is of my grandmother, who died a few years back of breast cancer. The cancer had spread all over her body, and in her last days she couldn't speak because of all the fluid that had built up in her throat. In spite of this the preacher, who I had tremendous respect for, decided to tell all in attendance that she had been singing hymns right up until the very end. As I sat in the front row as a pallbearer, fighting the urge to stand up and give a proper, bullshit free eulogy, I began to first realize that there is something dreadfully wrong with the way that we treat and remember our dead.

In general, I don't really have a problem with the viewing or wake, and it is in fact the only part of the traditional American funeral that I want a part of, more on that later. Ideally the viewing is a time to see old family and friends, and swap a nice story or two about the deceased. Naturally some women will cry, and more than a few husbands will spend the hour rolling their eyes and tapping their foot impatiently, wondering how they got suckered into coming. This is generally an inoffensive evening that culminates with overeating a bunch of food that other people cooked.

Where the American funeral becomes truly grotesque is at the actual funeral service. This is where regardless of your past behavior you are expunged of all evil and become a true and never-wavering Christian. This is where the preacher, the man who should represent everything that is good about Christianity, stands up and lies to your face. This is what sickens me about the way we observe death in this country. We have collectively said that we want to be told some farcical tale about how faithful the deceased was, and he is now in a better place (a phrase which makes me want to murder a litter of newborn puppies). In death we refuse to confront who the person actually was. This is not to say that we should talk about all of their faults and shortcomings, but we shouldn't gloss over their life either. It is a sensitive time, but that does not give you license to lie about their final days. That does a disservice to the deceased and their family, and it sickens me every time.

What so many funerals claim to do, and fail miserably at, is to celebrate the life of the dead. I have never known anyone who would want a multi-day event of moaning and wailing over how much they are going to be missed. It is incredibly depressing, and wholly unnecessary. It is very sad that someone close to you has died, but you should spend that time reflecting on the good times together instead of weeping because you'll only see them in heaven again, which is the tack that most funerals take. They are all geared to make you cry and depressed, but mine will be different. Oh yes, there will be drinks.

Although it may be a naïve misunderstanding of the Irish culture, I have always been interested in the idea of a wake. Having only stereotypes and movies to rely on, it seems to me that it is more a celebration of life with a hint of sadness at the passing, whereas American funerals are polar opposite. Morbid as it may be, this has caused me to spend some time considering how I want my own funeral/wake to be conducted.

To start, my casket has been converted to some sort of icebox, replete with good beer. I have been embalmed with my hand in the exact shape to hold a bottle of Wild Turkey, which everyone in attendance should drink from. I do not wish for any single eulogy, and I'm not even sure if I want anybody to give any sort of eulogy at all. If you do speak you should be warned that if you say I'm in a better place now the bouncer will throw you out. I want my wake to be a literal celebration of my life. Those who know me will know that I have loved drink and music, and would want neither disturbed with hogwash about how I was a kind and generous man with a heart of gold. I know I'm a straight bastard, and I don't think that it's anything to be ashamed of.

The music should be a mix of everything that should not be played at a funeral service, from Tom Waits to Led Zeppelin; Miles Davis to Franks both Zappa and Sinatra. I have loved music, in almost all of its forms for as long as I care to remember. I see no reason for an incessant drone of depressing hymns played on piano. At every funeral they claim to be celebrating the life of the dead, but the constant dirges, both played and sung, suggest otherwise.

After everyone comes to the next morning, they eat a grand and greasy hangover-killing breakfast and go home. That's it. No more funeral. My family will take me to be cremated, and there will be no weeping and gnashing of teeth as I'm lowered into the ground. There will be no perverse unspoken contest for who can mourn the hardest.

As the great Don Draper said, “Mourning is just extended self-pity.” Americans excel at this, and have built an entire industry around it. While there is nothing inherently wrong with feeling sadness at someone's passing, we have taken it above and beyond. The fact of the matter is that the Universe does not care; the Universe is indifferent. A person's passing should be marked with the respect of not feeling sorry for yourself and instead getting slobbering drunk and swapping stories.

 

Written by Frank Nichols

He's put away enough Wild Turkey to kill all of Kentucky