The Funeral Before the Funeral (aka: The “Real” Funeral)

Janice was the prototypical “superwoman” – but with a secret. Living her entire life in the same small town, she was a local business owner, Girl Scout Troop leader, library committee president, fundraiser extraordinaire, wife, and mother to Sarah and Jennifer. She was respected and admired for always looking stylish, being organized, and remembering details and names. She knew everyone and everyone knew her. In fact, she was so “perfect” that it would have been easy to hate her if she wasn’t so darn personable. After being widowed, Janice organized a community widows group and planned excursions and events. 

After Janice’s death, Sarah and Jennifer felt a lot of pressure to plan a funeral that was worthy of their mother. Community expectations were high. But the truth was that Sarah and Jennifer had always had a difficult relationship with their mother. While she was kind, polished, and gracious to the community, Janice was impatient, critical, and begrudging with her own daughters. She would nitpick at their clothes, weight, relationships, and life goals. While generally supportive of her daughters, Janice would make her disapproval known and would be quick to remind her daughters if they stumbled. Her criticisms and expectations had left emotional scars, and both daughters had escaped by attending colleges across the county. As they grew to adults, Sarah and Jennifer admired their mother’s accomplishments, but they never felt close or safe with their mother. 

Now that it was time to plan a funeral, they felt stuck. They couldn’t share any of the dark side of their mother at the service. The community wouldn’t even believe them. And they had no desire to drag their mother’s reputation through the mud at her own funeral. Yet, they needed to grieve genuinely and honestly. 

The day before her funeral, the sisters grabbed a bottle of wine and found themselves back in their childhood home in the bedroom they had shared. This was the safe place where they would retreat after a disapproving lecture from their mother to support one another. As they passed the bottle back and forth, they shared “Do you remember?” stories. They vented. They cried. They hugged. And they grieved the relationship they wish they could have had with her. By unleashing the pain and anger they had, they found the public funeral to be a much easier experience. They could praise their mother without feeling dishonest. They could recognize her accomplishments and accept the support of the community without feeling like hypocrites. The private ritual of sharing their frustrations, anger, and grief allowed them to more fully participate and benefit from the public funeral rituals. 

I am convinced that when an important person in our life dies there is never only one funeral. Our lives and relationships are complex. We grieve in many different ways over our lifespan. We have an inherent need to create private funerals to help integrate these losses into our lives.