My friend Melanie passed away a month ago. She died suddenly, of natural causes at age 56.
At her memorial service, Melanie's widower and young adult children put on brave faces, but we all felt their heartache, and our own sorrow. Yet, Melanie's service was nonetheless an important happiness experience. This may not be true for all funerals. After my friend Kathy was murdered by her husband, her service was a wrenching river of sobs. Also, the immediate family and closest of friends may be completely overwhelmed by grief and shock. For the rest of us, when people who are not children die because their bodies give out, funerals can strengthen individual and community happiness muscles.
Not that I was happy at the end of the day. I was weary, and wanted only a hot bath and a glass of wine. Making deviled eggs for the reception, then attending the service and reception, before collapsing sadly at home is no day at the beach. However, to live a meaningful life (without which true happiness may well be impossible), we must do many things we'd rather not. Just look at the other end of the life spectrum. Do parents of newborns enjoy sleep deprivation, for example? Happiness has a price tag.
It is easy to be happy in joyful circumstances. To find joy under difficult circumstances, two strategies may be particularly helpful:
-- Benefit finding -- more popularly known as looking for silver linings; and
-- The power of "and" -- i.e., the capacity to hold more than one concept simultaneously, even if they seem contradictory. Sometimes, "and" is necessary. As Francis Bacon said, "In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present."
I write this with all due respect to Melanie, who was a writer herself. Melanie had two Master's degrees, one in English Literature from Oxford. I think she would appreciate the Francis Bacon quote, and my introspection. So, allowing for sorrow and benefits, here are some silver linings from her send-off:
1. Funerals allow us to feel our feelings. When I learned of Melanie's death, I went numb. I was entertaining out-of-town visitors, and focusing on their needs. All I could think about Melanie was, "this makes no sense." She was supposed to be in my meditation class the evening before she died. I just could not wrap my head around the fact that she was dead. I knew I should be crying, but no tears would come. Finally, as I sat in a pew waiting for the service to begin, I felt my tears begin, too.
The crying was important. As Tal Ben-Shahar points out in his book Being Happy:
"All our feelings flow along the same emotional pipeline, so when we block painful emotions, we are also indirectly blocking pleasurable ones. ... To lead a fulfilling life -- a happy life -- we need to allow ourselves the range of human emotions."
2. Funerals help us be good. Back in 2005, NPR broadcast Deidre Sullivan's This I Believe essay entitled "Always Go to the Funeral." Here's part of Sullivan's insight:
"'Always Go to the Funeral' means that I have to do the right thing when I really, really don't feel like it. ... I'm talking about those things that represent only inconvenience to me, but the world to the other guy. ... In my humdrum life, the daily battle hasn't been between good versus evil. It's hardly so epic. Most days, my real battle is doing good versus doing nothing."
I didn't mind attending the service, which I knew would be moving and special. I'm not much of cook, so my inconveniences were making deviled eggs and cooking dinner for the grieving family. Fortunately, in my humdrum battle of "doing good versus doing nothing," good won.
3. Funerals build community. The food wasn't just for Melanie's family -- I was also upholding community obligations. When word of Melanie's death spread, so did the phone calls and emails: Who will sing in the pick-up choir? What meals does the family want, and who is organizing? How do we sign up for the reception? What else does the family need?
Our ability to come together is no accident. We work -- and play -- at building community, all year long, year after year. Everyone chips in, from helping to organize the winter Mardis Gras, marching in the Fourth of July parade, setting up tables for the Corn Roast -- and, showing up for funerals. Melanie's service displayed the strength of our community, and further strengthened it.
During the service, I marveled at and felt grateful for everyone in attendance. Melanie's community. My community. We can all count on it, because we all show up. At the reception, community members hugged each other lovingly. And we washed the dishes, because community also needs grunt workers.
For Melanie, here's more Francis Bacon:
"There is no man that imparteth his joy to his friends, but he joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth his grief to his friends but he grieveth the less."
We share the joy, the grief, the cooking and cleaning up. We build community.
4. Funerals open the door to valuable introspection. A few winters back, I took an online happiness course, which asked us to write about what we wanted said at our own funerals. Such thoughts naturally arise while attending a memorial service. Maybe that sounds narcissistic, but I find it a helpful touchstone. As we go through our ordinary days, adding up to our lifetimes -- what do we want that final tally to look like?
Another aspect of introspection is, what do you not want to regret at death's door? You, me -- who wants to be dying and say, but wait! I always meant to (fill in the blank). Too late, then.
In 2012, palliative care nurse Bonnie Ware published a study on the five common regrets of the dying, including "I wish that I had let myself be happier."
When I am dying, I want to reflect on a full, rich life of love, service, fun, and courage. One that was as happy as possible. I want to say, "I'm satisfied," not "I wish." So bring on the funerals, and even the deviled eggs.