Today was my Grandma’s memorial service. Somehow, I wish there had been more time to be with family, to share memories, and to know that none of us is alone in what we are feeling. It seems that when someone dies, a lot of energy is focused on just “getting through” the visitation, the funeral service, the “formalities” of our mourning. The strange thing, though, is that once all that is finished, you feel a little lost. I wonder what I am supposed to do now. I guess you just get on with living a life that is forever altered. Life made more sense when I was preparing for the funeral. Now that it is done, I feel a little aimless…and faced with the sad reality that someone I loved deeply is gone. Still, I do not mourn as one without hope, because I know the God of Resurrection and everlasting life. That gives mourning a different focus. I am sure my Grandma is now whole and living with Jesus, I just wish I could see her face again in this world. What I wouldn’t give for a great, big Grandma hug!
One of the unique parts of today involves my Grandma’s ashes. My Grandma’s ashes are going to be spread, at some future date, in her birthplace of West Virginia. However, my mom wanted a little piece of those ashes to keep as a memory of Grandma. That was my idea, so I ended up with the task of getting those ashes. I took the well-sealed urn into a kitchen and found a spoon…that’s right, I dug through my Grandma’s ashes with a black, plastic spoon. My Aunt Mary—who never ceases to make me laugh—was with me (I’m calling you out on the blog, Aunt Mary!) as I sneakily put part of my Grandma into a small, plastic baggie. I had to keep reminding myself (in my mind, as well as out loud) that “this is not my Grandma”. I truly believe that…that she is not those ashes. But if I think about it too much, I get a little grossed out by the whole process.
The thing that struck me during “Operation Ash Collection” was the need I felt to make jokes during the process. True, I am a jokester at heart…but I do know when (and how) to be appropriate. (It doesn’t help that my Aunt Mary brings out the devilish part of me!!!) Really, though, I think “gallows humor” was at work.
I first heard the term “gallows humor” when I was a chaplain at a hospital for several months. I was somewhat disturbed by the jokes we made about death, dead bodies, substances that came out of dead bodies, etc. It’s true, I was an equal opportunity participant in the joking. Yet, I still felt a little irreverent…thinking that we should be more serious and somber about all the death we encountered. Then someone told me about “gallows humor”: a common phenomenon amongst those who deal with death on a regular basis. The Columbia Guide to Standard American English defines it as such: gallows humor (n.) is a standard term for humor that makes light of life-and-death or other terrifying or very serious matters, as in the old line, “Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?”
Amongst people who deal with death on a regular basis, gallows humor is a coping mechanism. It keeps people from curling up in fetal position and crying themselves into oblivion. I have seen it at work in funeral directors, chaplains, doctors, and pastors—to name just a few. I have even experienced it at a funeral home, in the midst of my own family. I remember a long day of visitation at the funeral home for my Grandma Dietsch, many years ago. By the end of the day, we were cracking jokes. My cousin, Laurie, was doing her fabulous impression of the munchkins. Even my Grandpa was laughing…with Grandma’s body in a casket just a few feet away. It was a long, emotional, overwhelming day…and sometimes the best thing you can do—when your tears have run dry—is to laugh. I read on a random website recently, this quote (by some unknown person named “wolfdaddy”): “The ability to laugh, even in the worst of situations, indicates just how much we value humor. At some deeply ingrained level, our ability to laugh reminds us just how deeply we are alive.”
So, I hold out hope that my Grandma—who always enjoyed a good laugh—was amused, today, as we dug through her ashes…that she was part of the whole process—loving me, just as I am, the way she always did. Somehow, we have come to believe that only serious, somber faces and emotions can be meaningful and holy. I hold onto the fact, however, that laughter is just as holy—and just as necessary—as our tears.
One of the unique parts of today involves my Grandma’s ashes. My Grandma’s ashes are going to be spread, at some future date, in her birthplace of West Virginia. However, my mom wanted a little piece of those ashes to keep as a memory of Grandma. That was my idea, so I ended up with the task of getting those ashes. I took the well-sealed urn into a kitchen and found a spoon…that’s right, I dug through my Grandma’s ashes with a black, plastic spoon. My Aunt Mary—who never ceases to make me laugh—was with me (I’m calling you out on the blog, Aunt Mary!) as I sneakily put part of my Grandma into a small, plastic baggie. I had to keep reminding myself (in my mind, as well as out loud) that “this is not my Grandma”. I truly believe that…that she is not those ashes. But if I think about it too much, I get a little grossed out by the whole process.
The thing that struck me during “Operation Ash Collection” was the need I felt to make jokes during the process. True, I am a jokester at heart…but I do know when (and how) to be appropriate. (It doesn’t help that my Aunt Mary brings out the devilish part of me!!!) Really, though, I think “gallows humor” was at work.
I first heard the term “gallows humor” when I was a chaplain at a hospital for several months. I was somewhat disturbed by the jokes we made about death, dead bodies, substances that came out of dead bodies, etc. It’s true, I was an equal opportunity participant in the joking. Yet, I still felt a little irreverent…thinking that we should be more serious and somber about all the death we encountered. Then someone told me about “gallows humor”: a common phenomenon amongst those who deal with death on a regular basis. The Columbia Guide to Standard American English defines it as such: gallows humor (n.) is a standard term for humor that makes light of life-and-death or other terrifying or very serious matters, as in the old line, “Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?”
Amongst people who deal with death on a regular basis, gallows humor is a coping mechanism. It keeps people from curling up in fetal position and crying themselves into oblivion. I have seen it at work in funeral directors, chaplains, doctors, and pastors—to name just a few. I have even experienced it at a funeral home, in the midst of my own family. I remember a long day of visitation at the funeral home for my Grandma Dietsch, many years ago. By the end of the day, we were cracking jokes. My cousin, Laurie, was doing her fabulous impression of the munchkins. Even my Grandpa was laughing…with Grandma’s body in a casket just a few feet away. It was a long, emotional, overwhelming day…and sometimes the best thing you can do—when your tears have run dry—is to laugh. I read on a random website recently, this quote (by some unknown person named “wolfdaddy”): “The ability to laugh, even in the worst of situations, indicates just how much we value humor. At some deeply ingrained level, our ability to laugh reminds us just how deeply we are alive.”
So, I hold out hope that my Grandma—who always enjoyed a good laugh—was amused, today, as we dug through her ashes…that she was part of the whole process—loving me, just as I am, the way she always did. Somehow, we have come to believe that only serious, somber faces and emotions can be meaningful and holy. I hold onto the fact, however, that laughter is just as holy—and just as necessary—as our tears.
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