Post #400

This is my 400th blog entry since I started it almost 10 years ago(!)  (I'll have to throw a party in July when the actual 10th anniversary arrives.)  I'm going to do what I've done in past 'century' posts, which is to review some of what I wrote about since my 300th entry.  The time gap between the 300th and 400th is going to expose how I don't write as much as I used to -- it's taken me twice as long as the prior 100.

I wrote about several recurring annual topics, including the Berkshire Hathaway Annual Meeting (soon to be post #410), my advice to graduating seniors, RAGBRAI musings, and things for which I'm not thankful. 

I wrote about how smart people have many advantages in the world, but are disadvantaged by a lack of numbers, and so many stupid people holding them back.

I wrote about new cities and regions of the country I visited, including attending the Rose Bowl.

I wrote about how great social media technology and platforms could be, if not for the all of the people who use social media for evil and not for good.

I wrote more about our country's slow, inexorable march toward decriminalization and legalization of marijuana, which can't come soon enough.

I wrote a few more times about financial issues, and starting my own firm.

I wrote a handful of times about great songs and songwriters, a dying breed with the exception of a few hip-hop and country artists, to which I rarely listen.

Nearly 100 entries apart, I wrote about my observations at the funerals of my father and mother.

I wrote about how religion separates people (and in many cases, harms people) at least as much as it brings people together.

I wrote about the dysfunction and hatred of this decade's politics and politicians, which is in many ways related to the last item.

I wrote about how today's baby boomer parents are ruining not only their kids' lives, but society in general, with their awful parenting.

I wrote a few items of self-reflection, on what happened in the past, and what I might do differently if I knew then what I know now.

400 posts.....bring on the next 100!

Too Many Goodbyes

I've had one of the longest, if not the longest, time gaps since my last blog entry.  The main reason is, the past month has been consumed by my mother's failing health, death, and burial.  She was 90 years old, long enough that she survived not only her spouse, but every other sibling and and in-law of her generation.

More on her life later. When my dad passed away not quite four years ago, I made some observations about the overall funeral experience.  All of those observations held true again with my mom's passing, but now I have more to add:

Unlike for my dad, I had a chance to preview my mom's obituary and suggest changes.  While I did provide my two cents worth, we should have been more focused on adding a sentence that any memorials be made to one or more designated charities.  I'm not sure why that wasn't done, but anyone who's ever had to later help sort out the flowers and wind chimes and cash (for Catholic mass intentions) should know it's needed.  There are better ways for others to help leave a legacy.

I have new respect for the embalming skills of funeral home staff.  Toward the end of her life, a variety of afflictions had turned my mom's body into a hand-clenched, hunched-over state.  But in the casket, she appeared straight and calm.  Having said that, the better way to go about a burial is still cremains, eliminating the unnecessary and ridiculous cost of caskets and vaults.

The burial service at the cemetery was unique, at least for me.  This time we were not asked if we wanted to stay to watch the casket / vault lowered into the ground.  I didn't need to see it, but I'd never seen it done before, and I paid attention to how it was accomplished.  My main takeaway was that there was a lot of pressure on the funeral directors, because there were a lot of things to move around, and so much could have gone wrong with a lot of mourners watching.

There were too many 'goodbye' moments for me before, during, and after the funeral.  I said goodbye to my mom before she died (on more than one occasion) when she was facing imminent death.  Then our family said goodbye to my mom's body before the service when the casket was closed, then again during the service at the final blessing, and then again at the end of the service when the casket was lowered.  Then later, we had to start saying goodbye to relatives and friends who had attended.  These final salutations all come at a small emotional cost.  I would have preferred not to say goodbye that many times in such a short period, especially to the dead.

As with my father's death, I've been very contemplative about my mom's life, and how she spent it.  I certainly don't want to dwell on the past couple of years, which she basically spent losing motor function, and dying inch by inch in a nursing home.  And I kind of hate that most of my memories of her relate to taking care of her spouse's and children's domestic needs, even in retirement.

In the end, though, her family's happiness was her happiness.  So I've concentrated on that, and the fact that she no longer needs to be concerned about others' welfare, or by the limitations of her own body.  I'm going to miss Mom, but I will always carry a piece of her and Dad with me.

About A Funeral

My dad passed away last week.  He had cheated death for 89 years, spending the final 70 smoking Lucky Strike or Marlboro cigarettes, at least when he wasn't using Red Man chewing tobacco.

I'm not going to eulogize him here.  There was plenty of that done last week by others, and I wouldn't be that good at it anyway.  By the time I was a teenager, my dad was in his 50s, and there's a lot I don't know well about his earlier years.

But I do want to write about my observations of the visitation and funeral, and what I think my dad would have thought about what went on.

The presentation of the casket and the memorials were very nice -- almost too nice.  It was all very calming, and the flowers/plants/statues are good for both the receivers and the givers.  But while I think my dad would have liked that, I think he would have hated the cost of the jewelry box-looking casket.  There's no good alternative short of cremation, but he was a frugal man.

The visitation was an exercise in stamina for the family.  With an immediate family that included my mom and all nine children and assorted spouses, there were a whole lot of visitors who made their way through the receiving line.  There was no break from 4-8pm.  I think my dad would have been surprised, and pleased, at all of the relatives and friends who were there.

The funeral service was respectful, and traditional, and unnecessarily sad.  My dad was a traditional man, a military veteran, someone who I think would have liked the formality of the service.  For me, it was fine except for the music.  So slow and somber.  A funeral is supposed to be a celebration of a person's life, right?  Shouldn't the music be more celebratory?  Makes no sense to me.

The short time at the burial site in the cemetery was difficult for some, but not all.  After the final words are spoken, it's apparently become a thing for mourners to stay and watch the casket be lowered into the vault, and then into the ground.  I suppose it's an attempt at closure for some, but it seemed to me to just prolong their grief.  I didn't stay for that, and I think my dad would have wondered what the hell we were still doing there by that point, and why we weren't doing something more productive.

All in all, I felt sad through my initial viewing of the body prior to the visitation, and again near the end of the funeral mass.  It was especially difficult seeing other family members having a hard time.  But other than that, I mostly felt calm inside.  It was much, much  easier than the prior week, when the immediate family came home to say a final goodbye prior to his death.

My dad lived a good long life.  It was very tough to see him go, but his health was failing, and his quality of life was getting poor.  He went to church the entire way through, praying that he might go to heaven.  He knew as much as anyone that you can't get there if you're still living.