A few years ago, I wrote a poem, inspired by my autistic son, my recently deceased grandmother, and the question, “What is a funeral?”
As much as I’d love to share the poem with you, I’d someday like to see it turned into a children’s picture book so must refrain from “publishing” it in any other form. The trouble is, it’s the kind of book that deserves to be beautifully illustrated. In fact, it NEEDS illustration to tell the story because as much as the words convey rich meaning, the imagery translates their meaning. Since I’ve almost zero talent when it comes to illustration, it’s not a book I can do alone.
Sadly, this book that is so special to me is a challenging manuscript to sell to a publisher because it’s a poem, a story, about death and funerals. And it’s the kind of story most appropriate for a 9-year-old but it needs to be a picture book for the reasons above. That makes it not only a hard sell to publishers, but a hard sell to readers. How many parents are going to want to buy picture books for their reading-able children? How many would be open to discussing funerals with their kids? How many are ready to have the conversation about grief and loss and the last goodbye?
The thing is, it’s not just a story about funerals and death, it’s about cultural and religious diversity. Each line of the poem represents a funeral tradition practiced by different peoples. With one line I depict the Aboriginal Weeping, and another the Tibetan Sky Funeral, or another the Chinese Death Guard.
I wanted to write about these because I was raised to see funerals as a flower-strewn church, a black coffin, candles, and our best black clothing, ugly shoes, and ugly crying. I was raised thinking funerals were a homage to the dead as if from the beyond they were judging how much we loved them by how expressive we were in our grieving. It never felt natural to me. This singular view of funerals never felt like a right fit.
As I grew older and was able to meet other families, explore traditions from other communities and religions, I saw that our world is an intricate mosaic of beautiful goodbyes. We live in a diversity of commemoration and memorialisation. I also began to realise that our last goodbyes aren’t for the deceased, they are for the living. Yes, we honour the dead, but we also provide shoulders to cry on, belonging and community, shared experiences, memories, and the beauty of life. Grief and loss are uniquely personal experiences and there’s no one right way to process the hole in our heart that comes from the death of a loved one. The funeral, how ever it is practiced, is an opportunity to begin to tend to the wound that remains and to know in our pain we are not alone.
Ultimately, the power to choose our last goodbye transcends cultural or religious norms even if it is constrained within them. Part of why I want to share this children’s book is both to raise awareness of the diversity of traditions across cultures, but also to remind us that the limitations of our experiences with funeral rites doesn’t dictate what choices we have.
I’m a big believer in adopting the practices that most speak to the truth of your soul, regardless of societal, cultural or religious, norms within which you’ve been raised. I’m a big believer in exploring concepts of other cultures so one can delve into a greater knowing not just of our differences, but also our similarities.
Funerals are a tradition that transcends borders. The last goodbye might be commemorated in many different ways, but the fact is, the farewelling of a loved one is a universal practice.
How would you like your loved ones to say their last goodbye to you?
