Saying Goodbye – Page 52 – The Amateur's Guide To Death & Dying

Death and mourning were largely considered private matters in the 20^th century, with the public remembrances common in previous eras replaced by intimate gatherings behind closed doors in funeral parlors and family homes.

But social media is redefining how people grieve, and Twitter in particular — with its ephemeral mix of rapid-fire broadcast and personal expression — is widening the conversation around death and mourning, two University of Washington sociologists say.

In a paper presented Aug. 20 at the annual meeting of the American Sociological Association in Seattle, UW doctoral students Nina Cesare and Jennifer Branstad analyzed the feeds of deceased Twitter users and found that people use the site to acknowledge death in a blend of public and private behavior that differs from how it is addressed on other social media sites.

While posts about death on Facebook, for example, tend to be more personal and involve people who knew the deceased, Cesare and Branstad say, Twitter users may not know the dead person, tend to tweet both personal and general comments about the deceased, and sometimes tie the death to broader social issues — for example, mental illness or suicide.

“It’s bringing strangers together in this space to share common concerns and open up conversations about death in a way that is really unique, ” Cesare said.

The researchers used mydeathspace.com, a website that links social media pages of dead people to their online obituaries, to find deceased Twitter users. They sorted through almost 21,000 obituaries and identified 39 dead people with Twitter accounts (the vast majority of entries are linked to or MySpace profiles). The most common known causes of death among people in the sample were, in order, suicides, automobile accidents and shootings.

Cesare and Branstad pored over the 39 feeds to see how users tweeted about the deceased, and concluded that Twitter was used “to discuss, debate and even canonize or condemn” them.

Among their findings:

Some users maintained bonds with the dead person by sharing memories and life updates (“I miss cheering you on the field”)
Some posted intimate messages (“I love and miss you so much”) while others commented on the nature of the death (“So sad reading the tweets of the girl who was killed”)
Others expressed thoughts on life and mortality (“Goes to show you can be here one moment and gone the next”)
Some users made judgmental comments about the deceased (“Being a responsible gun owner requires some common sense — something that this dude didn’t have!”)

The expansive nature of the comments, the researchers say, reflects how death is addressed more broadly on Twitter than on Facebook, the world’s largest social networking site. Facebook users frequently know each other offline, often post personal photos and can choose who sees their profiles. By contrast, Twitter users can tweet at anybody, profiles are short and most accounts are public. Given the 140-character tweet limit, users are more likely to post pithy thoughts than soul-baring sentiments.

Those characteristics, the researchers say, create a less personal atmosphere that emboldens users to engage when someone has died, even if they didn’t know the person.

“A Facebook memorial post about someone who died is more like sitting in that person’s house and talking with their family, sharing your grief in that inner circle,” Branstad said.

“What we think is happening on Twitter is people who wouldn’t be in that house, who wouldn’t be in that inner circle, getting to comment and talk about that person. That space didn’t really exist before, at least not publicly.”

Traditions around death and dying have existed for centuries, the researchers note. But increased secularization and medical advances in the 20^th century made death an uncomfortable topic for public conversation, they write, relegating grief to an intimate circle of family and close friends.

Social media has changed that, they say, bringing death back into the public realm and broadening notions about who may engage when someone dies.

“Ten, twenty years ago, death was much more private and bound within a community,” Branstad said. “Now, with social media, we’re seeing some of those hierarchies break down in terms of who feels comfortable commenting about the deceased.”

Twitter use is still evolving, the researchers point out, making the site fertile ground for studying how social media is used for mourning in the future.

“New norms will have to be established for what is and isn’t appropriate to share within this space,” Cesare said. “But I think the ability of Twitter to open the mourning community outside of the intimate sphere is a big contribution, and creating this space where people can come together and talk about death is something new.”

Complete Article HERE!

August 16, 2016August 15, 2016

Burials, cremations, dissolving: the new ways to die well

BY STEPHANIE BOLAND

Life after death is changing – thanks to scientific innovation. The best time to plan is now.

What happens to us after we die? It is one of the most profound spiritual questions, but also a practical puzzle. After all, whatever you believe happens to the soul after death – if you believe in a soul at all – there is irrefutably a body for someone to deal with. While there are many emotions that can make it hard to think about what you want to happen to your body, it need not be traumatic.

At least, that is what the researchers at the Corpse Project want to remind people. Set up last autumn and funded by the Wellcome Trust, this UK research programme has just published its first findings on what we might do with our bodies after we die.

I meet Sophie Churchill, the project’s founder, at a café in Queen Mary University of London. The goal, she tells me, is to help find ways to “lay our bodies to rest, so that they help the living and the Earth”. It’s not a case of being dispassionate but rather a quest to balance the social and cultural aspects of death with the scientific.

Sometimes, aspects of death that people initially baulk at can become more acceptable through conversation. One relatively new process, sold as a greener alternative to cremation, involves dissolving the body in heated alkaline water. “I was with 15-year-old urban teenagers, and you could see them scowling at the thought of being dissolved. But the more we talked about it and considered how odd it would once have seemed to go into machines and be cremated, [the more] they started to reconsider.”

Churchill points out that cremation, too, is a relatively recent phenomenon. The first official cremation in the UK took place in 1885, and it was only in the 1960s that the Catholic Church, for instance, accepted the practice and lifted its ban. Now, over 70 per cent of people who die in Britain are cremated.

Churchill is discovering that people can be open-minded, even if their beliefs are initially strongly held – though she admits that it may “still be a generation or two before new forms are accepted”.

“People will say, ‘Mourners always need a place to return to, to memorialise.’ But there are lots of people who do scatter ashes.” So, part of rethinking death might involve reassessing what we are comfortable with. I wonder if our general reluctance to talk about death makes it less likely that we will encounter different perspectives on how to deal with bodies.

Churchill’s studies with teenagers seem to support this. When asked to think about their own deaths, many of them were quick to engage with the idea, she says – “Being sent out to sea and burned in a boat, Viking-style, seemed to be very popular!” – and it was often their teachers who were more squeamish.

The Corpse Project is just one of a growing number of organisations committed to tackling the discomfort around death and dying. The Order of the Good Death was founded in 2011 by the mortician Caitlin Doughty and aims to “make death part of your life”.

The group of academics, funeral industry professionals and artists encourages people to educate themselves about dying, and even to become “death positive” by learning to accept and engage with their mortality. Its website covers everything from sky burials, in which corpses are left to be eaten by the birds, to how it feels to bury a relative if you’re a funeral director.

So what are the best options for someone wanting an environmentally friendly death? Until new methods such as dissolving become easily available, small tweaks can make a big difference. Doing cremation well, for instance, is important: the Corpse Project’s work partly involves investigating what sort of schedule allows crematoriums to operate at maximum efficiency.

If you want to be buried, it might even be a case of choosing a sustainable wood for your coffin. The Corpse Project is also investigating optimum burial depths and whether burials could be done strategically to enrich the soil where this is needed.

“But science never changes opinion by itself,” Churchill says. Luckily, every death is different, and can be a chance to invent meaningful rituals that incorporate innovative methods. The important thing, she stresses, is to think about it early, as one would with a will or life insurance.

“One day, this hand . . .” – she lays her hand on its back, limply – “. . . will do this. Twelve hours later, it’ll be a bit pale and clammy. And that will be it. The day will go on, with people going on having coffees, and so on.” She looks around her at the students milling in the sunshine. “To me, the last big challenge is to do that well.”

Complete Article HERE!

August 13, 2016August 12, 2016

Never Too Old to Feel Orphaned

Mourning Parents in Middle Age

By Jo McGowan

I was nine years old when my father’s mother died. I still remember hearing the phone ring and knowing—instantly—that Grandma was gone. I was already in bed for the night but I ran down to the kitchen where my mother was on the phone with my father, who had been with my grandmother in the Rose Hawthorne Hospice. My older sister had also come running into the kitchen, and we held each other tightly in that tidal wave of grief and disbelief. It was the biggest and the worst thing that had ever happened to us.

In the middle of it all, sitting on the couch with Mom, waiting for Daddy to come home, I suddenly realized that my father was now an orphan. He was forty-five (touchingly young to me now). I remember meeting him at the door when he came home and thinking how brave he was, how strong. Years later, in my twenties, I understood that being “orphaned” at forty-five was not what I thought it was when I was nine. Now that I am fifty-eight and an orphan myself, I realize that it was worse. But also better.

My mother died eight years ago, my father a little less than a year ago. I’m still emerging from those twin losses. I don’t think I will ever be the same. I still wake sometimes, panicky, in the middle of the night wondering where they are. I still think of things I want to tell them. I still wonder what they would make of my life, my dreams, my stories. I still have questions that only they could answer. I miss them. Dreadfully and physically. There is a void in the center of my heart. I ignore it most of the time and carry on, because that’s what we do. But something has been torn out of me. Yet, strangely, I think I’m a better person now.

Does anything ever prepare us for the loss of our parents? When I was a young adult, I believed that when you reached your forties and fifties, you were beyond needing your parents. I was closer to the truth when I was nine. By the time my own parents died, everything had shifted. They were no longer the center of my life, and their new dependence meant that, whenever I was with them, I took on the role of parent myself, guiding them, making their decisions, steering them through life as I saw fit. That fact somehow made me feel I would be ready to let go when the time came.

But something funny happened when the time came. Time sped up or telescoped or folded in on itself—I don’t understand it and I don’t know how to describe it—and I found to my surprise that the immediate past had merged with the distant past to make a coherent present that was whole and entire of itself. Mom and Dad were young when I first met them—in their early thirties. As I grew up, I listened to their stories of times before I was even born, when they were younger still. I lived with them through their middle years and absorbed their lives without even being aware that I was doing so. I got married when they were the age I am now and I remember thinking in my youthful self-absorption that their lives were ending as mine was taking off.

Of course, that wasn’t true: their lives remained as full and as busy as mine is today, and I can see this now. But it took their deaths for me to understand fully the complete human beings they were—to realize that they had once been children, teenagers, college students, young adults, and that all of those selves were contained in the selves I knew as a child and took care of as an adult. They had friends, ambitions, secret fears. They had regrets. They had love. I, who loved them unconditionally my whole life, feel as if I am getting to know them at last. Now that they are gone, the complexity and richness of their lives is so much clearer to me. I wish I could talk with them again. I would ask for their thoughts on some of the things that I am thinking about now. I would go with them for long walks. I would introduce them to podcasts. We would discuss politics.

I find myself constantly calculating their ages in relation to my own, as if they are contained within me, living through me and I through them. They are a part of me now in ways they never were when they were alive and my love for them feels deeper and more complete. St. John Chrysostom is supposed to have said: “Those whom we love and lose are no longer where they were. They are now wherever we are.” It’s a pretty thought, and a comfort. Now I see it is also the plain truth.

Complete Article HERE!

August 8, 2016August 6, 2016

For Vets, Caring For Sick Pets And Grieving Owners Takes A Toll

By Kasia Galazka

Veterinarians say that helping suffering animals and stressed-out owners can become grueling.

When I walked dogs at a Chicago animal shelter, I wondered how each one got there. Whether a stitched-up pup shirked from my touch or happily greeted me tongue-first, my eyes would well up with salt. I wanted to keep them all.

People who work in animal shelters or veterinary clinics try to save the animals that come through their doors. But they’re at high risk of compassion fatigue, a sustained stress that takes a toll on a caregiver’s mind and body — and her heart.

It can morph into many forms: Some feel guilt or apathy, others turn to substance abuse. Little data exists, but research suggests veterinarian suicide rates are some of the highest in the medical field, and a 2014 study of about 10,000 veterinarians found twice as much “severe psychological distress” in them than in the general public. One 1 in 6 veterinary school graduates say they have considered suicide.

People in the animal community know this is a risk, and they have stories of people they’ve known who have taken their lives.

Among the biggest strains for animal shelter employees is euthanasia, according to a 2009 study published in the Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association. Derived from Greek terms that mean “good death,” euthanasia is viewed as a humane way to end an animal’s life by organizations including the American Veterinary Medical Association and PETA.

Though rates of animal euthanasia have sharply dropped in the last few decades, about 3 million cats and dogs are estimated to be put down every year. When faced with alternatives like neglectful owners or living on the street, a peaceful death might be the most merciful option, says Stephany Lawrence, a former shelter intake and adoptions manager in Denver. Shelter life can be scary, even detrimental, especially if the animal is ill or has a behavioral issue.

“Nothing is worse than killing an animal, but it’s a really, really compassionate process,” Lawrence tells Shots. The euthanasia is quick; the employees are tender. But the grief of a life extinguished and the suffering that preceded it can linger. “What I struggled with was how anyone could give up a pet or treat animals as disposable items,” she says. “And I actually think that’s probably something shelter workers have a hard time with, as much, or even more so, than euthanasia.”

Private animal hospitals practice euthanasia, too, but there the patient is often a beloved pet. And veterinarians and staff have to manage both the end of the animal’s life and the humans’ grief.

On some days, the tide of clientele truncates how much time and compassion a doctor can give a dying patient or an owner trying to cope. That’s when the fatigue rears for Krista Magnifico, a veterinarian in Jarrettsville, Md., who writes a behind-the-scenes blog “You feel guilty because you’re not there for them in the capacity that you want to be,” she says.

Veterinarians and rescue workers face another challenge: stressed out and even hostile humans. One reason is cost. Veterinary care can be very expensive, even with insurance, and financial constraints can lead to tense situations. If they escalate, stepping out for a breather or bringing in another staffer can help. Sometimes, conflicts escalate to the point where a clinic has to call the police.

Magnifico won’t turn away clients who love and want to help their pet. But if they’re not empathetic to the animal, or the relationship has fractured and no longer benefits the pet, she’ll suggest alternatives, like seeing another clinic. “I have to be very true to the core of who I am,” she says. “And with that, I know that I’m not a veterinarian for everybody.”

Once someone brought in a dog with a bone tumor in its leg. To relieve the pet’s pain, a staff member at Magnifico’s clinic advised that the limb be amputated. But the owner declined the procedure, tied the dog to a tree in front of the clinic, and left.

Sometimes clients ask for convenience euthanasia. Other times, owners threaten to kill the pet themselves. In those cases, the people at the end of the leash cause the most distress for animal shelter and clinic employees.

“The rhythm of a healthy life is fill up, empty out; fill up, empty out,” says Patricia Smith, founder of the Compassion Fatigue Awareness Project, which aims to help caregivers learn healthy forms of self care. But caregivers tend to spend their empathy on everyone but themselves, and they forget to refuel. “The result of that is we have nothing left to give,” Smith says. “We give from a place of depletion instead of abundance.”

“One of the hallmark signs of [compassion fatigue] is that you cannot undo what you’ve been exposed to, and your worldview is forever changed,” says Elizabeth Strand, founding director of the University of Tennessee’s veterinary social work program. Strand noticed a huge need in the veterinary environment for social work, and Tennessee was the first school in the country to create a specialty in veterinary social work. Michigan and Missouri now offer similar programs.

Veterinary social workers provide support for animal-related professionals who need an extra hand resolving stress or stubborn conflict. They can also gently guide grieving pet owners through heartbreak, or help figure out what to do when an animal is a victim of family violence.

Strand and others say that veterinary professionals are becoming more willing to talk about the mental health stresses of their work, and veterinary schools are addressing mental health and emphasizing communication skills.

To bolster resilience, students at Cornell University’s College of Veterinary Medicine participate at the teaching hospital as early as their first year, so that they’re accustomed to working with very sick animals and distraught owners. Students can also staff the school’s pet loss support hotline after special training.

The veterinary school at University of California, Davis, has one full-time counselor and one part-time counselor just for veterinary students. “As our counselor started getting busier and busier, we thought that we had a problem, and what we realized is that this was not a problem,” says Dr. Sean Owens, associate dean for admissions and student programs at Davis’ School of Veterinary Medicine. “We’re actually doing a better job of destigmatizing talking to mental health professionals, meaning that our students are now more likely to drop in and say, ‘I just spent four hours grieving with a client … How do I process it?’ ”

The Davis program provides yoga, art projects, massage therapists — even a surfing club. Clinical skills labs that use actors who practice common scenarios, though awkward, can lift confidence later. The school was the second veterinary school after Colorado State University to offer a “healer’s art” course, which embraces the emotional aspects of practicing medicine.

“What has really triggered [change] has been the greater publicity of suicides of veterinary students,” says Owens. “You’re not fully complete in this profession unless you’re able to grieve and be a human.”

Complete Article HERE!

August 7, 2016August 7, 2016

LEROY BLAST BLACK RECEIVES DUEL OBITUARIES FROM WIFE AND GIRLFRIEND

Leroy Blast Black was a loved man, that we can boldly affirm. We did not know Leroy blast Black, dubbed “Blast,” gone too soon at the tender age of 55, but obviously he was well surrounded during his illness.

By Silvio Renne

Mr. Black died Tuesday at his family home in Atlantic City as the result of lung cancer “due to exposure to fiberglass.”

However, the most intriguing fact about the death of Mr Leroy Blast Black is the fact that two obituaries were printed in today’s Press of Atlantic City.

Indeed, it might have looked like a mistake on the obituary page this morning when two identical-looking (at first glance) listings appeared on top of one another, but the two different, but similar, obituaries were placed by his wife and girlfriend, respectively.

The one from the wife reads:

Black, Leroy Bill – 55, of Egg Harbor Township died August 2, 2016, at home surrounded by his family. He was born September 30, 1960 to Ethlyn and Wilfred Black. He is survived by his loving wife, Bearetta Harrison Black and his son, Jazz Black. He was also a father to Malcolm and Josiah Harrison Fitzpatrick…

The one from the girlfriend follows:

Black, Leroy “Blast” – 55 of Egg Harbor Township passed away at home on August 2, 2016 from cancer of the lungs due to fiberglass exposure. He is survived by: Jazz Black; siblings, Donald, Faye “Cherry,” Janet “Vilma,” Lorna “Clover,” Audrey “Marcia,” Sandra “RoseMarie” and a host of other family, friends and neighbors, and his long-tome (sic) girlfriend, Princess Hall…

Our colleagues at Philly Voice called the Greenidge Funeral Home, and the person that answered clarified: “The obituaries were placed separately because “the wife wanted it one way, and the girlfriend wanted it another way.” But he did not anticipate any problems because everybody knew it was happening.”

NBC News tried to reach the wife and the girlfriend but without any success.

Joseph Greenidge Jr., the funeral director at Greenidge Funeral Homes, told KYW Newsradio in Philadelphia it isn’t unheard of for there to be multiple obituaries written from different perspectives. But, he said, they took direction from Leroy’s wife regarding the funeral arrangements.

Complete Article HERE!

August 6, 2016August 3, 2016

I’m a Funeral Director. And Yes, My Stories Are Insane

By Morty Portaro

For something that literally happens to everyone, death is a remarkably taboo subject in American culture. It makes some sense, though. Who wants to think about the lights going off permanently, let alone deal with the actual logistics of dying?

That’s why I’m here. I’m a funeral director. I help you with the things you don’t want to deal with. No, it’s not exactly like Six Feet Under. Yes, you have to go to school to be a funeral director, at least in New York State. Everybody always seems surprised when I tell them that — maybe they think any guy selling bootleg Yankees hats off the street could throw on a suit and start handling funerals and grieving families.

That’s ridiculous, for a lot of reasons. Not only are you dealing with dead bodies, which, beyond being frightening to most people, can also be host to all kinds of diseases, but there’s also the governmental red tape and transactions that could see tens of thousands of dollars changing hands. It’s certainly not a career someone could jump into blindly and excel at… especially given some of the situations I encounter regularly. These are just a few slices of what it’s like to be a New York City funeral director, one of the most overlooked, but essential, careers a person can have.

A normal day is never what YOU think of as a normal day

>For starters, I want to clear something up: every now and then I’ll run into someone who thinks it’s crazy that funeral directors charge money for what we do. It’s not. We do the job that other people can’t or won’t do. We provide a valuable service to the community. We’re not looking to rip you off, we’re just looking to be compensated for the work we do. Most people don’t have to deal with questions about whether they should make money in exchange for working hard, but death can elicit some strange behavior in the living.

My normal workdays are filled with events most people won’t ever experience in their lives. Picking up and tending to dead bodies, dealing with grieving families, taking funerals out to churches and cemeteries. To put it into perspective, remember that day at work when you spilled coffee on your pants and had to walk around with a huge stain all day? Well, my version of that involves throwing out a white shirt I was wearing because body fluid got all over it. The body fluid wasn’t mine. Yeah.

But, just like you, I have massive amounts of paperwork I have to do. After all, a job is a job is a job.

Hopefully you won’t have to attend too many funerals, but if you live long enough you’re almost certainly going to have face the music at least a few times. They’re rarely pleasant (except jazz funerals. Everyone should experience a jazz funeral — that’s how I want to go out.) but they’re a reality, and when you do have to go to one, there are a few things to keep in mind that will make your experience — and the funeral director’s — much better.

There’s no official dress code, but don’t push it

I understand that this nation is experiencing a full “dressing-down revolution,” but let’s evaluate. If you’re a male family member, a suit is almost a must. If you can’t wrangle a suit, slacks and a button-down are acceptable, but try not to dip below that. Polos are borderline and T-shirts are damn near disrespectful. I saw a guy walk into my place wearing an Angry Birds shirt, jorts, and Crocs. You’re going to a funeral, not a taping of Monday Night Raw. Put some effort in.

As for the ladies, just look nice. You have a few more options than the guys, but make sure it’s nothing too crazy, and NO JEANS. I swear I once had a lady walk in for a wake wearing a bikini and a cover-up that didn’t quite “cover up.” I assure you that anything you can wear to the beach isn’t appropriate to wear while standing in front of a casket. You don’t have to be a MENSA member to understand this.

Funerals are not the time or place for a buffet

In New York, we can’t have food in the funeral home. This isn’t just our rule, it’s also the New York State Board of Health’s rule. Food attracts bugs, vermin, and other unwelcome guests into funeral homes. We know this. The Board of Health knows this. The sign in our lobby is there so you know it.

This doesn’t mean “all food except the three dozen donuts and a box of coffee.” This isn’t Golden Corral. You should be able to handle going two or three hours without food — it’s why most wake times are split up, so you have a couple of hours for dinner in between.

One day somebody tried to bring in four pizzas and a case of beer for a wake. I was tempted to let him in, because who doesn’t love pizza, but I had to stop him at the door. This led to my being cursed out in vile, creative fashion, but hey, those are the rules. And really you should know that pizza is only acceptable at a wake if it’s for one of the Ninja Turtles or Kevin from Home Alone.

Drinking, death, (and sex) go hand in hand, but know your limits

A lot of people need a nip or two to get through a funeral. It’s stressful, and sure, you might want to take the edge off. DO NOT DRINK TOO MUCH. Too many times I’ve witnessed people puking all over the bathrooms here. Years from now, you never want to hear the question, “Hey, remember at grandma’s funeral when you did seven tequila shots back to back at dinner and vomited into a potted plant?”

Things can get even dicier when sex is added to alcohol — death and sex have long been connected in art and literature, a truth I see lived out more frequently than you might expect. I had a funeral for an older woman who had a granddaughter about my age. The granddaughter was involved in the funeral arrangements, and during the afternoon visitation, everything went smoothly. As she was leaving, she invited me to a bar to join her for drinks between sessions, but seeing as I had to work the night session of the wake, I declined.

Well, when she got back from the bar she was bombed. Staggering all over the place, knocking a plant down, slurring her words. It was bad. She mentioned something about needing to talk to me, but I blew her off, chalking it up to buzzed babble. When she disappeared for a while and the ruckus seemed to die down, I decided to slip off to my office to decompress.

Once I turned the light on, I saw that she was in there, sleeping. I woke her up (more or less to make sure she wouldn’t vomit in there), and she immediately clung on to my chest, talking about “wanting to thank me.” That hand on my chest surely made its way down to my crotch, and she was not letting go, despite my protests.

At that point, I knew I had to get her out of my office and off of my crotch, since no good could come out of this situation. I started to steer her out of the office by her shoulders while she began kissing my neck, making it out into the hallway. Luckily, one of her cousins saw me and pulled her away, and someone drove her home after that. At her grandmother’s service the next morning she couldn’t look me in the eye. Only after the casket was lowered did she come up to me and apologize.

Funerals are times for mourning, not violent grudge matches

Emotions run high enough during funerals, so don’t make things worse by continuing old grudges or starting new ones. One bad exchange can set off a powder keg.

I witnessed two brothers squabble over money from the minute they came in to make arrangements. The morning of the funeral it reached its breaking point. What started as a loud argument in front of the casket progressed to a screaming match in the lobby.

By the time I got to them I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing — each brother was holding an unplugged floor lamp like a lightsaber, circling each other. It took me a second to process everything, but when I finally spoke up to tell them how ridiculous the situation was, one them smacked the other over the back with the lamp (I do have to respect the opportunistic nature of that fella), which led to a quick skirmish on the floor. It broke up pretty quickly, but it was neither the time nor the place for it — the correct time and place would’ve been the ECW Arena in 1997 — and everybody left feeling pretty embarrassed.

If you’re not hammered, violent, or blatantly rule-breaking, most other requests are OK

On the other side of the coin, if you have a special request for your loved one, don’t be scared to speak up. One person wanted me to play Nirvana on the way to the cemetery because it was the deceased’s favorite band. “Oh, and one more thing — CRANK IT.” You bet your ass I did it. There wasn’t a cooler hearse in the world that day. It got some strange looks from the people we passed on the street, but whatever.

I’ve received requests to wear a Mets tie while doing a funeral, to pass someone’s favorite bar on the way to the cemetery, to lead an entire collection of people attending a funeral in singing The Golden Girls’ theme, pretty much anything you can imagine. Have I rolled my eyes at some of the requests? Absolutely. But you know what? When you see how much it means to the family, it makes it all worth it.

People don’t really want to talk about death or funerals, and yeah, funeral directing is a strange job. Having your mortality thrust in your face every day you go into work gives you a pretty unique outlook on life. I don’t particularly mind the job as a whole — I wish it were more 9-5, but hey, I get to help people, and that feels pretty good.

Complete Article HERE!

July 27, 2016July 27, 2016

Parents Honor Daughter With Tea Party Instead of Funeral

She believed “love is a superpower” that could make everything all right.

BY DIANA BRUK

In her last days, 5-year-old Julianna Yuri Snow of Vancouver, Washington, couldn’t move her arms or legs or breathe on her own, but that didn’t stop her from being as fabulous as she could possibly be. Every morning, she put on a princess dress and tiara and painted her nails with glittery polish, telling CNN reporter Elizabeth Cohen that “there’s no such thing as too much glitter.”

The little girl suffered from an incurable neuromuscular disorder. Doctors said that there was “no light at the end of the tunnel” for her, and so she chose to forego medical treatments and died at home instead of in the hospital on June 14, 2016.

Because Julianna loved tea parties, her parents decided to honor her spirit by throwing a whimsical party at the City Bible Church the following Saturday instead of a traditionally somber funeral.

Friends arrived wearing floral print dresses and shirts, and the hall was decorated with everything she loved, including bright colors, pink balloons, and lots of glitter. There was even a nail bar where guests could give each other manicures and a cupcake bar where they could decorate frosted treats.

One of the tables was filled with her old toys and tiny dolls, which the children who came were welcome to take home. And on one long table laden with tea sandwiches, there was a poster made by her grandfather, Tom Snow, which read, “Text from Julianna: Arrived in heaven! I am healed! Thank you for your love! Hope to see you in God’s time,” and a banner with a favorite saying coined by Julianna herself: