“She is starting more and more to believe that a soul, if it exists at all, won’t travel so much as it will spread.
Widen out in all directions at once.
Soon to have the scant awareness of wind.”
– from The World by Bill Gaston
Every time I think I’m doing something original?
I’m not.
Every single time, I’m just part of a general trend.
Not once have I been anything other than a cog in the zeitgeist wheel. From macrame, to bread-makers. From hula hoops to Flashdance aerobic wear (You know it baby – I had it all – headband, turquoise velour track suit, arm warmers, leg warmers – the works).
Later, there was the sipping-of-quality-tequila trend that I genuinely believed I started.
I didn’t.
When we first got our Dalmatian, we were simply another set of DILDOs (Double Income Large Dog Owners) back when they first coined the term. Thankfully the acronym has mostly fallen into disuse.
I’m now learning the ukulele. So. Of course.
Huge trend.
And now that I’m going to be taking hospice training, death is suddenly de rigueur.
But for once, I am so far ahead of the curve I’m almost leading it. I’ve been hopping on headstones since I was no higher than a cross in a cemetery. (Not sure whose funeral it was, but I do remember my mother yanking the back of my arm and bringing me to heel. That was when I learned that I was not supposed to jump on the headstones. To be fair, I was very young and incredibly bored. There was a hole and lots of dirt and I swear I only jumped from one flat headstone to the next, but still, Mom was fairly peeved).
Before I was old enough for school, I can remember hanging out at home, listening to the radio. The bronze and cream Philco sat on the little shelf to the right of the sink. The sink’s window overlooked the red swing set and our huge cherry tree. That radio was always on, but Mom especially tuned in when the CFVR funeral announcements came on.
Because. Oh my yes. There’s nothing like a good funeral announcement (which, quite conveniently, followed the hog market report).
At church, which we attended endlessly, most of the congregation showed up for funerals. Back then, wedding invitations often included an invitation from the pulpit requesting the presence of the entire church. This meant, that aside from the woman in white coming up the aisle, or the coffin at the front, the crowd was pretty much the same.
Afterwards, whether a wedding or a funeral, everyone gathered in the the cool of the church basement where there was thin coffee, buns and squares. People got up to share their stories about either a) the happy couple, or b) the deceased.
Always, a dizzying amount of coffee was ingested.
I remember the moment when I realized that not everybody grew up like this. It was grade eight. I had a new friend over and we were looking through the thick black pages of our photo album. She was shocked at all our photos of dead people in open caskets. For the first time I viewed our family from outside my subjective reality.
Who knew?
This morning I listened to a CBC podcast and heard a doctor’s mission to have Death Education added to the curriculum. Her argument, which I agree with, is that we have hidden ‘real-life’ away, tucking anything remotely uncomfortable behind big sterilized doors. Then, just to mess with our minds further, popular movies spew out romantic death bed scenes of such laughable unreality that people are quite stunned when the mess of death enters their own world.
In the interview the doctor suggests students might even visit a cemetery. Imagine?!?
And then she talks about the parental indignation at the mention of death.
Why are we all so busy pretending we won’t die?
And wouldn’t it be healthier to actually talk about it now and again?
It should come as no surprise that one of my best travel experiences was visiting the Mexican cemeteries for Day of the Dead.
And Kevin has grown used to my need to visit cemeteries – wherever in the world we might be – so that I can wander and take endless photos.
Which is why I can say, with some authority, that death is not a scary topic for me, and that for once, I’m ahead of the trend.
At the end of this month I start my hospice training. I know that there will be tough emotions to deal with. I do not want to suggest this will be easy, but I know now that I’ve been training for this my whole life.
You might even say I was born to this.
I believe you will make an amazing hospice worker and bless those that you deal with Colleen because you have an uncanny ability to listen to people and not shy away from the tough subjects that they will need to be able to release. Remember to save some of your boundless energy for yourself though! xo
That is such a lovely comment Barb. Thank you. I’m looking forward to the training and hope that it will help me really learn how to be as present as possible. Never fear on me saving some energy – today I had another lovely nap 🙂
I’m jealous! Now let me add, for those who might not understand, that I’m another Mennonite who grew up listening to funeral announcements. My dad would write them all down each day, with short notes about age, town, funeral date. And although death and funerals have been too close to home too often since a tender age (grandfather, uncle, mother, neighbour, cousin, multiple relatives, niece, father, step-mother, nephew…), I’ve long been interested and comfortable talking about death. I wish it wasn’t so taboo.
And I visit cemeteries too. In Tennessee, I found the most colourful cemeteries, with a carpet of bright plastic flowers. In Prague, I noticed the trend of pictures on the tombstone. And in Buenos Aires I visited the grave of Eva Perón (or respectfully, María Eva Duarte de Perón).
So I look forward to hearing how your hospice training goes. I think you’ll make a great hospice worker.
Oh my. The Mennonite DNA is a swirling helix of black clothes, funerals and flowers. I love that you enjoy a good cemetery too. In Greece they place olive oil and salt beside the photo of the deceased. The mausoleums in New Orleans were amazing. I especially loved the huge cemeteries in Vienna. But for sheer exuberance, the Mexican ones still reign supreme.
I’m hoping I’ll be a good hospice volunteer. I appreciate your belief in me. I’ll let you know how it goes.
I have this weird fascination with cemeteries too….must be in our Mennonite DNA. Keep on writing Colleen, you have a gift.
Kelly, it certainly seems to be some sort of Menno gene. I’m always surprised when they take my blood that I don’t bleed black 🙂 Thanks for your lovely support. I appreciate that so much.
We have a lovely tradition in France to honour the dead. On 1st November people bring flowers (mostly chrysanthemum) to their loved ones and the cemetery is a spectacle of yellow and orange. I hope when I die I will receive the same attention !
After my mother died 17 years of pancreatic cancer in France I felt that I had to do something practical in this country so I did voluntary work in an hospice near where I live. I only stayed 3 weeks. I was totally overwhelmed by the suffering. Also this was done on Friday night after a week’s full time work. I am afraid I couldn’t take it and I left without saying anything to anybody but the day after I came back to apologise for my behaviour. I am writing this not to put you off but you must be prepared to be shocked and saddened. I hope you will be more courageous than me. Very Good Luck.
Oh Catherine, that tradition sounds so similar to the Mexicans. I had no idea. I love the image you painted of all that yellow and orange.
I appreciate your story about feeling overwhelmed by the suffering. I think working full-time is more than enough to take care of. But even without the full-time work, it’s hard to know how I’ll do.
I was told that the training itself is worth it, so, if I simply can’t do more than that – well – I’m leaving it open and will be paying attention to how I feel. Thanks for telling me about your experience.
I like your attitude on this subject. I’ll look forward to hearing what you learn during your hospice training.
Thanks Matt. I’m really looking forward to the training. I’ve heard it’s really interesting. I’ll definitely share what I can.
The only picture my dad has of his father (he died when dad was two) is the casket shot. Other than that, no dead photos in our family.
The world needs more people like you. Thanks Colleen. You will be a wonderful hospice worker.
Oh Liz. Isn’t that something? To have only a photo of the body and not the man.
I understand that photography was such a big deal that they only took these photos at major events. And death is about as major as it gets. Still, that is so sad.
Thanks for your support.
I heard the same podcast this morning. I also feel I was born for this. Interestingly, I do find myself reading the obituaries that are still printed in the local paper. I feel obliged to read them for some reason. I think for me it is one way to honor or pay tribute to someone’s life. I believe all life is precious, even if I didn’t know them. I choose to read the final chapter of their story on this planet. However, I did throw away all the casket photos from my parents.
AnneLise. It must be Mennonite synchronicity that we were both listening to the same podcast.
I read the local paper obituaries too. I like that you see it as an honouring. That makes so much sense to me.
It’s interesting to see what people focus on when they are describing someone’s life. It’s not often, if ever, that you read about their material success or what kind of car they drove.
It’s always about what they loved to do and most importantly, about who they loved and who loved them.
Like you, there are no photos of my dead parents. I know I offended one aunt when I refused the offer of photos of my mother in her casket.
I never saw any of Dad either, I’m not sure if any were taken. If there were, people had the good sense not to show me. I prefer photos of when they were alive 🙂