Commemorating a parent: Eulogies and obituaries
My friends are losing their parents, and each has been concerned with the rituals of farewell. Carolyn arranged for pipers to play at her mother's funeral, in honour of her Scottish heritage. Kate and her brother read excerpts of letters they had received from their mother over the years, funny, wise, and occasionally scolding. Alice's father's colleagues provided warm reminiscences in the chapel of the university where he taught for his career.
Each of these gestures reflected the love those gathered felt for the parent.
Joanne faces a different task. If she had once loved Maxine, the feeling was destroyed by instability and her mother's consistent inability to nurture. Because I witnessed some of these behaviours, I'd say Maxine's mothering was about a -3 on a 10-point scale. When Maxine died suddenly, a continent away, Jo felt only relief.
But soon, Jo must stand in front of family and close friends to deliver a eulogy. She has decided to acknowledge the chaos and hardship that led her mother to terrorize her children and family, to say "she did the best she could", then read a poem (to be determined, probably Wordsworth, her mother liked the Romantics), and leave it at that.
The obituary was easier, a précis of facts, history, kin: Maxine lived through the Blitz, then emigrated to Canada, overjoyed to hear that our post-war rationing allotted each adult a half-pound of butter per week.
In my parents' time, you did not "speak ill of the dead". Memorial services sidestepped human flaws, the homilies of faith papered over unspoken pain. The real story often came out when family gathered to dispense of possessions, or at the wake.
When she read the obit to me, I thought of a noted British obituary-writer of the last century, who was known as master of the euphemism. "Possessed a keen intelligence" really meant "pompous know-it-all", "devoted to his work" meant "boring drudge", and "had a large social circle" meant "anything in a skirt".
But in the last decade, I have noticed an increasing tendency toward more candid obituaries and eulogies. An obituary may note, for example, that the deceased "gave her opinion even if we didn't want to hear it", or even mentions darker qualities or struggles. The notices are also reflecting social change; today, I read the first acknowledgment I have seen of a "physician-assisted death", of a man who journeyed to Switzerland for his choice. (For an example of unusual obituaries, see "Nine of the Most Incredible Obituaries Ever Written"; click on the person's name to read.)
Don't we all wish that one day, our surviving family and friends commemorate us tenderly, summoning precious memories? But we reap what we sow, and now that a frank, full assessment is increasingly common, others will speak of us as they think we really were.
"She is at peace now", those who offer condolences often say, but Jo says she too will feel peace, once she has said goodbye with respect and sadness, and in truth.
Each of these gestures reflected the love those gathered felt for the parent.
Joanne faces a different task. If she had once loved Maxine, the feeling was destroyed by instability and her mother's consistent inability to nurture. Because I witnessed some of these behaviours, I'd say Maxine's mothering was about a -3 on a 10-point scale. When Maxine died suddenly, a continent away, Jo felt only relief.
But soon, Jo must stand in front of family and close friends to deliver a eulogy. She has decided to acknowledge the chaos and hardship that led her mother to terrorize her children and family, to say "she did the best she could", then read a poem (to be determined, probably Wordsworth, her mother liked the Romantics), and leave it at that.
The obituary was easier, a précis of facts, history, kin: Maxine lived through the Blitz, then emigrated to Canada, overjoyed to hear that our post-war rationing allotted each adult a half-pound of butter per week.
In my parents' time, you did not "speak ill of the dead". Memorial services sidestepped human flaws, the homilies of faith papered over unspoken pain. The real story often came out when family gathered to dispense of possessions, or at the wake.
When she read the obit to me, I thought of a noted British obituary-writer of the last century, who was known as master of the euphemism. "Possessed a keen intelligence" really meant "pompous know-it-all", "devoted to his work" meant "boring drudge", and "had a large social circle" meant "anything in a skirt".
But in the last decade, I have noticed an increasing tendency toward more candid obituaries and eulogies. An obituary may note, for example, that the deceased "gave her opinion even if we didn't want to hear it", or even mentions darker qualities or struggles. The notices are also reflecting social change; today, I read the first acknowledgment I have seen of a "physician-assisted death", of a man who journeyed to Switzerland for his choice. (For an example of unusual obituaries, see "Nine of the Most Incredible Obituaries Ever Written"; click on the person's name to read.)
Don't we all wish that one day, our surviving family and friends commemorate us tenderly, summoning precious memories? But we reap what we sow, and now that a frank, full assessment is increasingly common, others will speak of us as they think we really were.
"She is at peace now", those who offer condolences often say, but Jo says she too will feel peace, once she has said goodbye with respect and sadness, and in truth.
Comments
My father was more complicated. As his oldest biological child, I was expected to speak at his service. He was not a bad parent, just a mostly disengaged one, especially after my parents' divorce. I spoke mostly about my childhood and how he'd helped instill a good work ethic and sense of responsibility, both of which have served me well (this is true). HIs two step-sons that spoke had spent much more meaningful times with him as adults, and had more fond memories to share.
A problem I can see with "airing the dirty linen" as Susan, above, puts it, is that even in the same family, a parent can evoke three very different eulogies. Some siblings might always have got along famously with their father while others found the same man distant, even cruel. While the latter might feel they need to speak their truth at a funeral, doing so might be very hurtful to the former who are grief-stricken and vulnerable. I still flinch, three years later, when one of my sisters continues to bring up grievances against my mother (whose personality could be difficult, yes) -- this would have been unbearable in the immediate wake of her loss.
Such a provocative and thoughtful post -- I'll be very curious to follow this conversation. I suspect it may be a sensitive topic for many.
I loved the old dog's obituary. My black cat Renzo will be 20 in a few weeks so of course his days are numbered and we have to make sure he has the best possible exit when the time comes.
My father was well, a typical man of his time, but died when I was 15 so I had no say in the funeral, nor would I have wanted to. He died at about the same age I am now (he was a chain smoker). My mother lived to a very old age, too old... she should have died a few years earlier... vascular dementia at life's end? Many little strokes, not Alzheimer. Not as horrid as the -3 mum; on the contrary she was devoted, just extremely hypercritical and not at all loving. Relatively late I learned of the fear she lived in as a child. I think that if she had lived a generation later, she wouldn't have had children. The ceremony made me wince a bit, but it was about her, not me.
I've had much more say and involvement in the memorials to some close friends.
I appreciate honesty and some humour peppered into a eulogy...no one is perfect and life is full of challenges...I think it is more personal to speak frankly but take care not to belittle or be disrespectful to the deceased.
Like another commenter I was surprised to see a birth and death post within days of each other!
You do write about interesting topics!
By the way, even though I am not English, I am not a big fan of eulogies given by close family members. Too often there are tears (or sobbing) and somewhat maudlin narratives which, I don't believe, serve the purpose of honoring a family member. This makes me a little glad that our church (The Episcopal Church) somewhat discourages personal eulogies.
unefemme: My mother's obituary was simple, which was her direct order. Thanks be! She had both extremely evident good qualities and faults, nothing was "average".
Araminta: You represent another wish, that of acknowledging a role that was routinely discredited, and thus, a life. I was touched by your persistence to honour her.
hostess: Nicely put, I think it's essential to capture the person's essence. If the deceased were not respectful to others during their lives, do you still feel they merit respect in death? I struggle with that and in situations in my family have defaulted to vague, hard-to-decipher statements.
DocP:Maxine made this man look like Mother Teresa. Jo's challenge was to somehow acknowledge her mother as a person, but she felt it would be deeply dishonest and in a sense, collusive with the abuse to say fake,'good things'. I certainly agree that petty score-settling has no place at a memorial.
lagatta: Those mothers often come from such backgrounds, marked by early years. Ah, dear Renzo... there should be an honour guard of elderly moggys from the neighbhourhood for him.
materfamlias: I agree that children, especially when a family spans as many years as yours, experience the same parents, but different people. My brother is 15 yrs older, and his eulogy introduced me to my father as a different man.
I met Maxine several times: I know what happened when I knew her, and before. The woman deserves respect as a human, but any more would be a stretch and it takes a bigger person to accord her any praise as a parent.
certainly strived to be worthy. Your friend is right that her mother probably did the best that she could and probably deserves our compassion.
I had an aunt who was not a nice person, and no one spoke at her funeral. The sparse crowd spoke to the choices she had made in her life, and we didn't need to dwell on the burned earth she left behind. It was a very good lesson on the fact that you reap what you sow.
I don't know that 'baring it all' after a parent's death can be all that helpful. At some point we all have to look at ourselves, let some of that past go and take responsibility for the here and the now. Not everyone was mothered perfectly, but there's a lot of growing up between childhood and 60. Civility and the old 'if you can't say something nice...' go a long way.
I did not intend to imply, that Jo would "bare it all". Rather, she will not praise her mother •as a parent•, will not say that she loved her, that there will be a huge hole in her heart, what a great example she was to her- or any such words. This is important to her and to her sister.
Hummingbird5: I agree speaking to one's assembled friends and family is not for everyone, and some funerals also include members of a congregation or even broader public, a sea of faces that can be daunting. One of my friends who felt that way played one of her father's favourite pieces of music, introducing it with only a brief sentence. The music did the speaking for her.
I was determined to speak at my mother's funeral and managed to get through without breaking down or even wobbling too much. I wanted to say publically how much I loved and respected her. My brother wrote a piece for another family member to read, my aunt spoke and several other people spoke spontaneously about mum and how much she meant to them. (In New Zealand, funerals usually have a open section when anyone who wants to speak can come up and say a few words).
My brother and I had to arrange her funeral (and pay for it, we discovered later!) as my parents' marriage had broken up in acrimonious circumstances. She had no organised religion so it was quite weird for me (a Christian) to try and plan a service that wasn't a service in the usual sense. We included a some of her favourite music (mostly Mozart) and a slide show of photos from her life. Overall, I think she would have been pleased.
discord she sowed. She would have been uplifted by the praise of her grandchildren who viewed her as a loving, but quirky character. It saved us the dilemma of how to eulogize her.