So, I had a bad day this week, and I’ll post about that later, and in the middle of it, several acquaintances on Facebook piped up about the George Floyd funeral. My feelings about the Floyd case and what I thought of the contents of their post aside, the talk of funerals layered on top of what was already a crummy day. And, since I write to get things out of my head, I wrote up a response.
And then I thought about it. I’ve been trying very hard not to be that guy on Facebook who clutches his pearls at everyone else’s comments and starts debates about everyone else’s moral failings. Nor was I wild about posting something on the page of a woman who is little more than an acquaintance and then having some troll of a human being laying into me, questioning whether I’d just made the whole thing up.
So, I decided to spare myself all the fuss. At the same time, I did write up a nearly two-page answer, and since I have a blog, it’s a shame to let it to go waste. So, here it is.
It was prompted by this meme:
Here’s what I know.
I’m a parent, and I have a to-do list.
My to-do list contains the entry “Pick headstone.”
The headstone in question is for my son, Colin. He died last year. He was 5.
Colin died of a brain tumor and we had what felt like a large funeral. I think it was between 80-100 people attending. So, we haven’t suffered from Covid-19, nor have we had to push through the nightmare of organizing a funeral during a pandemic. I can’t speak to any of that.
I don’t know how the quality of my son’s funeral would have changed if there had been significantly more or significantly fewer people in attendance. I was numb through much of it. I remember enjoying speaking to people afterwards. That said, we didn’t get around to burying him until almost a month after he died. And we’d known for months before his death that he was going to die, so we were fairly well-prepared for it. The funeral felt like a form of closure, but it was really just another step on a process I’m still living through. I simply don’t know what the number of people there meant to me.
I do know that, because I am American, but live in Europe, most of my family couldn’t make it. One German aunt came, as did one niece from America. Everyone else was unable to travel or simply couldn’t break away. I understood.
I also know that I barely interacted with many people who came to the funeral, sometimes by choice, sometimes because you can only talk to so many people in one afternoon.
I do know that in the months since his death, some of my greatest support has come from people who live nowhere near me. It’s been from the people who take a moment to drop me an email or to respond to a post on my blog. A friend flew out a month after the funeral and I practically counted the minutes until his arrival. My therapist and I meet online now because of the virus and I get a lot of strength from those moments. But I also enjoy meeting in person whenever I can with friends in the neighborhood. I’ve been lucky in that: Germany never had a complete lockdown.
But I still don’t know about the numbers at the funeral. I know you can’t speak about a funeral being “good” or “better.” You can only really think about it in terms of being “less bad” or “more manageable.” Would it have been less awful if there had been 200 people? I don’t know. Would it have been more awful if there had been only about 10? I don’t know. How would I have reacted had I been told that most of the people who wanted to come – the people I wanted there – could not come? I don’t know.
I know I’ve been going through a phase ever since Colin died where I almost can’t stand to see other people happy. Or, to be more clear, I would like to see some people as unhappy as myself. There is a terrible part of me that wants another parent of a now-6-year-old to see their child die, just so I would have one other person who understands how I feel. It is hard for me to hear from other parents about how their children are doing.
Does that translate into how other people experienced their loved one’s funerals? Does it make me feel worse that another kindergartener died somewhere and had hundreds more turn out? Does it help me control my grief if I know someone else only had a few people turn out for their child’s death? Does it hurt you that you had a small funeral for your loved one? Would your pain be less if George Floyd’s family also had a small funeral?
I don’t know.
I suspect people are annoyed by the media coverage of the Floyd funeral. I work in the media and know what a circus it can become if you let journalists into your funeral, so I was also surprised that they made the choice they did. Then again, had someone come up to me at Colin’s funeral and told me that a little media attention might in some way help prevent another child from dying the same way, how would I have reacted? I don’t know.
I don’t know what to do with the debate that the Floyds are being treated better somehow by being allowed to have a large funeral. The whole concept of one funeral being better than another is foreign to me, as the loved one is still dead at the end of the day. I do know that a fairly quick Google search shows me that Texas law does not currently put any limits on the number of guests at a funeral, though it does recommend face masks and greater-than-normal distances between guests. The only real requirement is that funeral facilities be cleaned thoroughly between uses.
I do know that, when the funeral ends, you just need to keep going on with your life. Days turn to months and months to years and you’re expected to live your life as normally as you can, as ridiculous as the attempt feels. I think different people deal with all of this quite differently. For some people, it matters the world that a loved one’s funeral is well-attended, for others, it matters more that friends and family keep them lifted up for months after the fact. For some, you wonder how you can survive watching the horror of a brain tumor only to be catapulted into a world facing a pandemic. Some would do anything to stop the virus’ spread. Some would do anything to draw attention to a cause. I don’t know, but it feels like it doesn’t help to judge everyone so much and to, instead, find ways to help each other through this.
But I don’t know.
?
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