Friday, July 19, 2013

Question of the Day

Reader Julie has graciously sent a supply of QOTD’s.  (By the way, you other readers are welcome to send them in, too.)

Here’s one that made me think.

How old were you when you first attended a funeral and saw a dead person? How did you handle that?

I was in my teens.  It was for a family friend, and I didn’t get a close look at the open casket.  I was more curious than anything.

8 barks and woofs on “Question of the Day

  1. My grandmother died in spring, 1953. I was nine years old. Went to three family funerals during my 10th year, 1954.

  2. I think I was 5. It was my great-uncle. I recall it took a while to get used to the idea of him being gone, but I recall losing relatives earlier than that so it wasn’t the shock it could have been.

  3. My father. I was about 29 and the mother of four children who, thank god, weren’t there. I don’t want to think about it. Others, family “retainers” took over the whole process which had been planned years in advance leaving my mother out of all decisions so the casket was open. Leave it at that.

    When next I went to a wake where the casket was open I paid my respects to the family and left without even a glance at the reconstructed person who was once an old friend. This is why we are going to the fiery furnace and the ashes strewn over the woods in northern Michigan. Dust to dust – or rather, fallen leaves and moss.

  4. My father’s mother, in St. Paul…and I was 21. The coffin was open and my aunt Ruth decided that Grandma’s smile was wrong. I fled when the undertaker came out with his tools.

    And by the way, caskets are small boxes that hold jewels. Their use instead of coffin is an affectation foisted upon us by undertakers who want to be called funeral directors, sort of like janitors wanting to be sanitary engineers. Read Jessica Mitford’s American Way of Death.

  5. My granddad when I was 29. The coffin was closed and the service short sad and right for him. I want such a service for myself.

  6. An aunt died when I was 15-16. As the mourners were walking past her coffin, my mother said I didn’t have to go up front. So I didn’t. But I could see her face from our seat. Nothing traumatic about seeing a dead person.

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