30 Before 30: Life at a funeral - from an atheist's viewpoint
I don’t care for dead people. Whether they’re on TV, on the news, or in the same room with me: they scare me, and I’m fine with that.
At funerals, I’ve always been a fan of the “milling around at the back of the room” crowd than peering over the actual body. Not because it’s morose, but because I always imagine the recently deceased jumping from the casket and biting the necks of family members. Or at the very least, opening their eyes and saying “Boo.”
I suppose it’s human nature, coupled with repeated watchings of zombie movies — we can’t handle the dead. When we look at them, we see them breathing — our eyes and brains can’t understand that they’re not. The stillness and sadness of a funeral home is filled with horrible jokes and gallows humor because, eventually, we’re going to be the one by the flowers who isn’t saying much.
When I attended the viewing of my boyfriend’s grandmother, I kept all this to myself. I mingled. I met many members of his considerably large family and did my best to be social and upbeat, but not too upbeat. We walked around the room, shaking hands and taking hugs. Everything smelled like aftershave and furniture polish, and the effort to be clean at a death scene seemed so ludicrous, so innately human, that I would have laughed if I had the energy.
Chris was on grief autopilot. He was hearing stories for the hundredth time because I had never heard them before. I saw grown men cracking jokes with tears in their eyes, trying not to glance at the front of the room and taking drinks when they eventually did.
We ate finger food and laughed at the coldness of the room. We had to.
During the service, I sat with the family. I was really, really uncomfortable. I felt like an impostor. I wanted to give up my space in the second pew to someone who had met this woman more than a handful of times. I didn’t feel right bowing my head and singing hymns — I never do, really — but now I felt ashamed. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to run.
Chris sat next to me quietly, blinking, trying not to cry. Something, I realized, that none of the men in my family bother to do. We don’t pretend to be strong when we aren’t.
If this were my grandma’s funeral, I wouldn’t be there. I’d be in the hospital with an eating disorder. I’d need a heroin injection every time I regained consciousness to get me to stop howling. I wouldn’t be able to dress myself, let alone make it to the church.
I loved Chris so much then, all in that moment, I welled up fiercely. I bit my lip hard to stop from crying. Now not only was I crashing a funeral, I was mocking the dead like a hired mourner. I sort of hoped the family would lynch me at the cemetery; they could hit me, and I could be hit, and then we would all feel better.
It’s a terrible thing to be an atheist at a funeral. Any feeling of hope or healing will be sucked from your side of the room. When it isn’t your relative, you feel like the literal devil, sitting in the pews among the devout and shaking your head at all the affirmations they’re trying so hard to cling onto. I held Chris’s hand, because I wasn’t here for me. I gave his sister a hug and a tissue, glad to have some kind of usefulness.
The pastor stood at the front of the room, giving a usual sort of sermon about life and death, and this particular life and this particular death. I’m not much at home in church, or most events that take place in them, so I nodded in the right places and pretended to sing, just like I did when I was 11.
Suddenly, the mood shifted. The pastor moved away from using mortal phrases such as “death,” and “passing,” and referred instead to “going home” and “moving up.” A continuation, rather than an ending. Now, I don’t believe in heaven or God or reincarnation — so I was surprised to find myself feeling uplifted.
It didn’t content me to think that my relatives would be living out other lives in heaven. It contented me that the people around me — people who loved me, people who never met me, people I had never seen or thought of while I was alive — they would be going on. Long after I’m dead, there will be new dances and languages and pop music. There would still be trees and post offices and Sundays and sledding and China. If I died — when I died — there would still be China. That made me feel better. Which I suppose is the latter half of a funeral: we need to feel better that our loved one died, but also that we will also eventually die.
I thought of my grandmother, content in her Catholicism, and my father, cursed with an anxiety disorder and terrified of death. I’d thought that only the religious have the luxury not to fear their own death, but that’s not quite true. I didn’t feel better from the promise of afterlife, but at the promise of life after. After I’d winked out, after I felt nothing and saw nothing. If I close my eyes, it doesn’t mean the world doesn’t exist. It’s scary to think about being nothing, but nothing’s not bad. It doesn’t hurt.
And I’m sure, like all the things that terrify us in the night, it won’t be half as bad as we think it is when it shows up.
When the processional started out, I fell back with the crowd, not wanting to be first in line behind the casket. I tried to shuffle myself in with the non-relatives, but Chris’s mother spotted me and took my hand. I smiled at her and squeezed it. I wasn’t here for me; I was here for somebody else.
And when I’m not, they’ll still have China.
Sarah Smallwood is a freelance writer living and working in Ann Arbor. She is currently rewriting her first novel, keeps a daily blog at The Other Shoe and hosts a podcast at Stuff with Things. She can be reached at heybeedoo at gmail dot com.
Comments
jcj
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 6:28 p.m.
@David Briegel I am not an atheist but I found your comments very respectful of those that don't share your view. Thanks
denise1inaa
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 1:39 p.m.
Nicely written... I can completely relate.
Matt Cooper
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 11:46 a.m.
Knut: Not to add fuel to the fire here, but I would think that if she had any respect at all for your wishes, cremation would be the only thing she would do. It is your body in death as well as in life, and if you want to be cremated that shouldn't be a question. You and only you have the right to decide how your remains should be treated. I couldn't conceive of disrespecting a loved ones wishes like that.
hmcnaugh
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 9:56 a.m.
I am not an atheist. In fact, I am a Christian, but I loved this piece. It was a very intimate, heartfelt article that allowed me a glimpse into the viewpoint of an atheist. Everyone has the right to form their own beliefs and I am appalled at the negativity that is being spewed by some of the others on here. Many times, those who are first to attack another for their beliefs are the ones who are standing on shaky ground themselves. You have a way of writing that keeps me so engaged until the very end. I love reading all of your articles and look forward to the next.
David Briegel
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 9:26 a.m.
hockeymom, Just more proof that none of our beliefs really matter. "Somewhere between the time you arrive and the time you go, May lie a reason you were alive but you'll never know". Jackson Browne Celebrate!
A2K
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 9:17 a.m.
Oh, and I agree on not liking the traditional American funeral make-up/formal clothing etc. When my mother died at home in 1999, we washed and dressed her ourselves, she had specified no embalming etc. and was cremated within 24 hours of her death. I went with my father when she was cremated - it was solemn, but simple.
ypsitiff
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 9:17 a.m.
Excellent story! I think we've all felt the awkwardness of funerals for people who we knew only briefly and you articulated that feeling well. I'm sure your presence and support were appreciated regardless of your inner monologue :)
Robert
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 9:16 a.m.
It's a free country. However, would you please get off the cross?--we need the wood. I believe this article was written for the purpose of saying, look at me, I'm an athiest. Wow, that's great. You're an athesiest. Life goes on.... Fortunately, or unfortunately,--however you look at it-- athiests are now a dime a dozen. Many people lack belief in god. Some of them also lack respect for others, self discipline, self control, etc. I don't know you, so I can't say if that's you or not. However, I have met people like that from experience. Unfortunately, they are becomming all too common. We live in a ME generation society where WE are always #1 and nobody else matters. Yeah, welcome to the new ME generation where everyone is included, but nobody is respected. One last note, God Bless America
A2K
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 9:12 a.m.
As an atheist, I've never felt like an imposter at Christian (or other religious) funeral. I do see much value in viewing the deceased, however uncomfortable and sad - it never really seems final without seeing the person, and realizing that their unique spark is gone forever. I actually take great comfort in atheism - we really only have this short time, then we are all stardust. Make the most of it and love as much as you can. I've only had one negative experience at a funeral in regards to my/husbands atheism (it was my father-in-law's funeral) where a woman from his church accosted me and my husband and hissed "Look at you, crying...only dirty heathens mourn!" but this was an anomaly. I've often thought about how the atheist/agnostic community needs more resources for life-events: weddings, funerals, etc. that are traditionally encased in religious ritual. There are some written for secular humanists - but there are many people who aren't aware of the options.
hockeymom
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 7:52 a.m.
I don't believe in atheists.
Knut
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 1 a.m.
"Eventually, were going to be the one by the flowers who isnt saying much." LL! On a more serious note: Culture shock! I've had some serious discussions with Katy, who, like yourself, is American. I have attended several funerals for her loved ones now, and to this day I cannot get used to the open casket/rosy cheeks make-up. In Norway we don't have funeral homes at all. it is all a brief visitation at the morgue w/o makeup (which was how I saw two of my grandparents for the last time) before proper funeral a day or so later in a closed casket in a church or a funeral chapel. I had quite a shock as a 36 year old for the first time seeing one of her parent's friends on display, tanned, wearing a suit, and head resting on a silk cushion. We had some serious argues after that, one or two which made her cry or us shout at each other. We rather avoid the topic now. To make it brief: I will no longer use the "bad taste" remarks about this to me very "wax doll" like ceremony, since it seems to be such a strong tradition over here and mean so much to many people. I realize many Americans consider it the last chance to see a loved one at rest in manner that they find respectful, beautiful, and gives some element of closure. But I have requested that I be cremated! She has countered this and said that I will be displayed as SHE seems fit, as funerals are not for the dead, but for the mourning people left behind. Fair enough. Eventually, I'm going to be the one by the flowers who isnt saying much.
Knut
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 12:58 a.m.
"Eventually, were going to be the one by the flowers who isnt saying much." LL! On a more serious note: Culture shock! I've had some serious discussions with Katy, who, like yourself, is American. I have attended several funerals for her loved ones now, and to this day I cannot get used to the open casket/rosy cheeks make-up. In Norway we don't have funeral homes at all. it is all a brief visitation at the morgue w/o makeup (which was how I saw two of my grandparents for the last time) before proper funeral a day or so later in a closed casket in a church or a funeral chapel. I had quite a shock as a 36 year old for the first time seeing one of her parent's friends on display, tanned, wearing a suit, and head resting on a silk cushion. We had some serious argues after that, one or two which made her cry or us shout at each other. We rather avoid the topic now. To make it brief: I will no longer use the "bad taste" remarks about this to me very "wax doll" like ceremony, since it seems to be such a strong tradition over here and mean so much to many people. I realize many Americans consider it the last chance to see a loved one at rest in manner that they find respectful, beautiful, and gives some element of closure. But I have requested that I be cremated! She has countered this and said that I will be displayed as SHE seems fit, as funerals are not for the dead, but for the mourning people left behind. Fair enough. Eventually, I'm going to be the one by the flowers who isnt saying much.
Matt Cooper
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 12:24 a.m.
Im not sure why Scylding needed to be so snarky, or where he/she got this interpretation that you think China is come sort of Utopia. Think what you will, this was a very well written piece. As someone else said, I too am glad I am not an athiest. I do believe very strongly in the hereafter as well as in the old philosophy that our loved ones that have gone before us will be waiting for us in whatever level of existence we end up in. I also believe in a higher power of my own understanding, and I have a very strong faith in that higher power. It is this faith which carries me in my worst and most painful hours and moments. I honestly cannot conceive of thinking and believing in...nothing. No faith, no higher power, life in an endless vacuum. No reason for any of it? I'm sorry but I cannot adopt that philosophy. As for your boyfriends grandma's funeral, I'm glad you were there if only to comfort someone else. I'm sure they all were greatly appreciative of that as well. In the words of David Clayton Thomas, former lead singer of Blood, Sweat and Tears, in their song "And When I Die": "I can swear there ain't no heaven, but I pray there ain't no hell!"
JudithS
Thu, Jan 6, 2011 : 12:18 a.m.
stunhsif & Scylding: why the need for such negative comments? Thanks Sarah. I have found over the years the funerals I have attended are less religious, and more of a celebration of that persons life and contributions. I find them less awkward and more of a reunion of sorts, bring out people I probably won't see again, 'til the next one. As an athiest and someone who worked in the funeral business helping those of all different religious and non-religious beliefs, your feelings are normal, and there is no need, as someone suggested, for you to confide these feelings to a "content Catholic", or worry that (as all good Christians have warned us) God only loves Americans, and not those dang communist Chinese people! Sorry about the sarcasm, the trollers on this website get on my nerves with their negativity! Thanks for a good article, funerals are for closure for the living, not to make sure the deceased make's it to Heaven...or whatever the destination.
David Briegel
Wed, Jan 5, 2011 : 11:21 p.m.
fishnuts, It's not Saturday Night but you probably needed one!
David Briegel
Wed, Jan 5, 2011 : 11:16 p.m.
Excellent article. The funeral/wake/celebration is for those that are left behind. To celebrate the life lived/lost. To comfort one another, swap stories and share memories. As an atheist I just try to reflect during the religous parts and be respectful. Some times there is some disconnect between the religiousity and the deceased that can be awkward and even uncomfortable. Those are the tough things to deal with. In my experience most people want the service to be somewhat lighthearted and the celebration part to help comfort the grieving part. For my own gathering my daughters know I want good music, some food and drinks! Celebrate what was!
Sarah Smallwood
Wed, Jan 5, 2011 : 11:15 p.m.
@Scylding: Maybe my point didn't come across properly. I meant that I would be devastated when my own grandmother dies. Many people, regardless of religious affiliation, feel the same way when they imagine the death of a loved one. We have different ways of coping, even though some are less mainstream than others--and atheism, like theism, is no guarantee of happiness.
Scylding
Wed, Jan 5, 2011 : 11:07 p.m.
"If this were my grandmas funeral, I wouldnt be there. Id be in the hospital with an eating disorder. Id need a heroin injection every time I regained consciousness to get me to stop howling. I wouldnt be able to dress myself, let alone make it to the church." Umm, I'm not so sure this atheist thing is working out too well for you. Perhaps nihilism isn't everything it's cracked up to be...in Ann Arbor. Oh, and what about America? Aren't you glad that America will persist when you are gone, too? Or is it that we are too religious for you to be glad about our continued existence, whereas China is the communist utopia that you think we should be, so you want it to endure... Have I got that about right? You know, perhaps you would be happier emigrating to China before you die, instead of just imagining how it will endure afterwards. Then, you will truly know what you are idolizing, and what you will ultimately be missing out on. I'm sure they have a very welcoming immigration policy, being a utopia with no religious intolerance issues. Or, instead, maybe you should have a very long discussion with your grandma, who as you say is "content" in her Catholicism.
asutts
Wed, Jan 5, 2011 : 10:57 p.m.
Superb. Simply superb.
stunhsif
Wed, Jan 5, 2011 : 10:35 p.m.
After reading your opinion piece, I am very happy that I am not an atheist. How well did you know this poor woman? Reading this made me want to go take a shower! Good Day No Luck Needed
JasonJen
Wed, Jan 5, 2011 : 10:19 p.m.
Very heartfelt and well written.
Dann
Wed, Jan 5, 2011 : 10:16 p.m.
Sarah, I loved how you put into words what I have been feeling for so long. Being an atheist really does make you appreciate the things around you, and knowing that those people and those things will still be here when we are not. Amen, my sister.
Susan Prager
Wed, Jan 5, 2011 : 9:05 p.m.
This was a nice piece. I know all about the being there for someone else, thinking random (sometimes inappropriate) thoughts and trying not to get in the way. It's not a pretty or happy place, but for some it's the way they get to say goodbye.
sh1
Wed, Jan 5, 2011 : 8:55 p.m.
I don't think anyone feels comfortable at funerals. We do it to show our love and respect. I, too, am an atheist. During prayers, I choose to remember how I've been affected by the life of the deceased and how I can honor them in my everyday actions.
Heidi Hess Saxton
Wed, Jan 5, 2011 : 5:54 p.m.
Sarah: Thanks so much for sharing such an intimate, personal glimpse of your life. I've always wondered how atheists get through funerals. Now I know. What I loved most about this piece was the thought that, regardless of one's particular creed, the language of kindness and compassion transcends everything. You may have FELT like an imposter -- but Chris' family will always remember, fondly, that you cared enough to show up. Thanks again.