Dealing with Death...Sorta

photo by christina ritz / flickr

Years ago I remember the day someone knocked on our door at home. My father opened it. A man stood on the other side. “I have come to see you because I thought you would like a funeral policy. I can come in right now and sign you up for a policy so that after you are gone your family won’t have to deal with all of this…” The door slammed. My father turned and stalked away. He did not want to talk about dying and funeral arrangements. He shoved it back into he corner and turned to something else.

I can understand now what I did not know then. Wayne Oates, Pastoral counselor used to call this finitude anxiety. This was a fancy title for people whose blood pressure goes up when they think of their own deaths. Most days, I think most of us would like to do what my father did that day years ago. We would like to slam the door on this death talk and forget it. 

Some of us who have lost someone say that they can’t wait to leave here and be united with their loved ones. Some, weary of suffering wish it would all end. Others in desperation end it all for many reasons. 

Yet none of us can really slam that hard door. It won’t go away because one of these days sooner or later we will have to walk through what the Psalmist called:  “the valley of the shadows.” Often it isn’t our death that we fear was much as the loss of a loved one. A mate, a child—a friend. It was unthinkable to think that one day they are here and the next their chair is empty and the loss is incalculable. When Mark Twain lost his little daughter he said it was like the burning down of your house. It would years and years to deal with reckon with all you lost. 

Last week my wife and I sat down at the funeral home and talked about funeral planning. It is much worse than any trip to the dentist. To sit around a table with someone you love deeply and begin to think about their death—your death really is a frightening thing. The director gently led us through the process. What kind of service?Where would it be? Casket—what kind. Visitation? What about the obituary? 

Outside the leaves were turning. The colors were spectacular. And the wind blew quietly. It was a beautiful day filled with life and beauty and wonder. I remember someone saying: “in the kingdom of God it is always October.” Who knows? I hope so—this is my favorite month.

But around that table we were forced to think of all the practicalities of what happens when we are not here. We listened to the man reeling out the possibilities. We finally took a deep breath, looked at each other and decided to choose cremation and as simple as the arrangements could be.

We left there mostly in silence. October was all around us. And life was everywhere we looked. College kids jogged down the road. The grocery store lot was full of cars. The radio played softly. And my flowers are still blooming. And there are hummingbirds and fat bumble bees and even some butterflies. And I know now what I did not know when my father slammed that door years ago. Who wants to stare death for ourselves and for those we love?

Once Arthur Godfrey, TV star of another day was in a plane one night as it passed over New York City. Down below the lights of the city were spectacular. It looked like Christmas. And Arthur Godfrey turned to a friend and said, “You know it makes me so damn mad. That one day all that will still be there and I won’t be around to enjoy it.”

I could end these words about life and how we ought to squeeze every last drop we have while we are here. And I will try to do that. And I hope you will too. Yet like Arthur Godfrey I understand how he felt that darkened night in that plane looking down on the glittering lights. 

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com