'till death do us part

It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m thinking about love and funerals. And it’s not because my love life is as good as dead. It’s because love and funerals are entwined. What is a funeral after all but the love and honoring of the deceased.

Speaking of which, I recently attended a community member’s funeral and upon reflection I realized how much I’ve come to enjoy on some level, attending funerals. And not because I’m some psycho or anything. Wait. I’m having to stop writing this column for a moment just to double check and google if there’s some psychotic disorder in the books for people who like funerals. I’ll be right back. 

OMG! Turns out there is. Of course. Well, now that I mentioned it, I’ll fill you in.  “Taphophiles. Derived from Greek, this term refers to those who appreciate the history, art, and culture of death, rather than just morbid curiosity.” At least now I don’t feel that coocoo since it mentions history, art and culture which are all an integral part of who I am in a positive way.  And the definition of taphophiles does not describe a psychopath with suggestions to lock her up. So that’s good.

Let me give you a little clue as to why and when I began to notice my appreciation of a good funeral. Two of my several day jobs are working with the senior population. Lo and behold, work somewhere long enough, 24 years now and counting, not only have I become a senior in the process, but part of my job entails getting to know a lot of elderly people over a long period of time and hey I’m not talking rocket science here, if that population is made up of senior folks, well, you do the math. All I can say is I’ve attended a lot of funerals over the years. 

At some point in time, I noticed I started to enjoy the end-of-life ceremony on some level. And please, don’t get me wrong, I’ve cried at almost every single one of them. Let’s face it, when it’s someone you have known for years and on top of that a family member is bawling their eyes out, it would take a callous heart not to feel the pain and loss.

However, what I’ve noticed about funerals, and I’m going to be very specific here, basically Jewish funerals, it’s like a whole theatrical procession. I mean it’s an event. Let’s face it, it is a meaningful social ceremony and tradition.

Right off the bat, there’s the fashion aspect of it. Funerals require getting dressed up. I found myself going to so many funerals at one point I started calling my little black dress my funeral dress. I’d wear it to work on days when I’d have a funeral to attend and time after time I noticed I actually would get a lot of compliments. My response to a, “Hey, you look good today” comment, was, “Thanks, I’m going to a funeral.” To which there’d be an awkward moment of silence. And maybe an, “Oh, I wasn’t expecting that.”

Then there’s the actual attendance at the funeral to which, in my experience, is quite the social scene. From my experience it’s generally a low key yet somewhat noisy, busy social encounter with all the community members catching up with folks they haven’t seen since the last holiday in shul, or the last funeral, or last week at Shabat services. It includes lots of social hugging, nodding of heads while checking out the room to see who is in attendance and what they’re wearing, (well, that might be just me.) Anyway, it’s a scene until the moment the funeral starts.

The more I think about it, the more I realize there’s so much I love about the funeral itself. It starts right away with the music that is being played, at least in reform services. Usually, music that defines the person that has passed. The funeral I most recently attended, the piano player was playing a song that I actually played from a boom box at my mother’s funeral. My mom’s funeral was a whole thing in itself. She wasn’t very religious and did not have a lot of money, so there was a lot of improvisation going on, however it was nonetheless meaningful and quite a memorable day. I believe I wrote about my mom’s funeral a few years ago. To reiterate, not only was the Gambino family in attendance, my theatrical aunt, may she rest in peace, created quite a wailing disruption, it was a lot. Let’s just leave it at that for now. 

Then, during the service, there are the family members of the deceased who choose to speak in remembrance and the Rabbi, who is somewhat like the conductor of this deeply moving symphony of stories, emotions, and ritual, who in the best-case scenario, has the ability to beautifully tie it all together in a profound way. I always find it so moving and telling what people will say about their loved ones who have just passed. Even the orneriest of characters gets sent off with a lot of love, tears and a few laughs, because let’s face it everyone’s got some quirk that makes them unique and who doesn’t like some Jewish humor and a well thrown in joke.  I always find I learn so much about someone after they died that I never knew about them and quite honestly, about the family member who chooses or who are able to speak at such a moment.

It’s happened more than once where I’ve attended services where a person had passed away not long after their lifelong spouse had died.

And that’s the thing; it serves to remind me how much people love each other so deeply. Then there is the binding thread that ties us all together in life and death as a community and society. 

Which brings me around to love and funerals and how they are entwined in my impossibly single woman mind and may be the reason I am still single. The other day, while attending the forementioned funeral, the thought passed through my mind I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit, though obliviously not really, that maybe I’ll meet someone here. I mean, I’m dressed up, sitting alone, everyone’s looking at each other, in some convoluted way, it’s a social gathering of sorts. Anything’s possible. Right?

I quickly pushed that invasive thought away and brought myself back to the present moment. However, in defense of my twisted mind, if at my funeral, two people were to meet and fall in love, it would make me very happy, even if I weren’t alive to see it. I’d absolutely give them my wholehearted blessing.

Afterall, in the end, we are all heading toward our very own sendoff, however, while we are still here why not make it all about love.