On Death
On Saturday I was a pallbearer in a dear friend's funeral. Ive been thinking a lot about why our ceremonies are so gendered and these are my thoughts.
Somehow gender seems to outlive its hosts.
The woman who passed away was a spectacular grandmother. She was intelligent, thoughtful and loving. She had a bright smile that stretched her skin taught when she laughed. She was as genuine a person as I have known.
Even my youngest memories of her focus on a gnarled pair of hands, unable to close the largest button. She outlived her husband who helped her through 25 years of debilitating arthritis. Caregivers often die first.
Fortunately, her agile mind far outpaced her fragile body. To those who took the time to know her, this woman was as bright as they come. One doesnt meet many college educated women who remember the great depression, but even a rare woman so educated seems to abide by our patriarchal dictum: women get less space.
Most things womanly are minimized in worth and memory. Our histories are all but blind to the feats of women. Are women thin to use less space? I'm not sure, but it would be in keeping with the rest of our norms. Laughter and complaint are given feminine words like giggling and bitching, thereby undermining the worth of the topic and those holding the discussion. All these may seem abstract, but, for me, they were concrete this weekend.
Ive never been so aware of the constriction of women. In the my familys other funerals: those of her husband and his close friends, we spent most of the time celebrating the man's life with a rich fabric of tales. We tell stories of accomplishments, stories of fear, stories of humor and stories of worth. By telling stories we enshrine the deceased into a web of connections, explaining how the man lives on in us.
But this weekend there were no stories. Her granddaughter will remember the connections, as will several others, but she has been afforded no more space amongst the dead than she was afforded amongst the living.
It is possible that her long-time illness prepared the family for her death. It is possible that she just wasnt dominant enough to cry out, recognize me. Remember me. I am. It is possible that these conversations occurred but I missed them.
I wish I believed in these possibilities. We may all be equal in Gods eyes, but we certainly arent equal anywhere else.
On Saturday I was a pallbearer in a dear friend's funeral. Ive been thinking a lot about why our ceremonies are so gendered and these are my thoughts.
Somehow gender seems to outlive its hosts.
The woman who passed away was a spectacular grandmother. She was intelligent, thoughtful and loving. She had a bright smile that stretched her skin taught when she laughed. She was as genuine a person as I have known.
Even my youngest memories of her focus on a gnarled pair of hands, unable to close the largest button. She outlived her husband who helped her through 25 years of debilitating arthritis. Caregivers often die first.
Fortunately, her agile mind far outpaced her fragile body. To those who took the time to know her, this woman was as bright as they come. One doesnt meet many college educated women who remember the great depression, but even a rare woman so educated seems to abide by our patriarchal dictum: women get less space.
Most things womanly are minimized in worth and memory. Our histories are all but blind to the feats of women. Are women thin to use less space? I'm not sure, but it would be in keeping with the rest of our norms. Laughter and complaint are given feminine words like giggling and bitching, thereby undermining the worth of the topic and those holding the discussion. All these may seem abstract, but, for me, they were concrete this weekend.
Ive never been so aware of the constriction of women. In the my familys other funerals: those of her husband and his close friends, we spent most of the time celebrating the man's life with a rich fabric of tales. We tell stories of accomplishments, stories of fear, stories of humor and stories of worth. By telling stories we enshrine the deceased into a web of connections, explaining how the man lives on in us.
But this weekend there were no stories. Her granddaughter will remember the connections, as will several others, but she has been afforded no more space amongst the dead than she was afforded amongst the living.
It is possible that her long-time illness prepared the family for her death. It is possible that she just wasnt dominant enough to cry out, recognize me. Remember me. I am. It is possible that these conversations occurred but I missed them.
I wish I believed in these possibilities. We may all be equal in Gods eyes, but we certainly arent equal anywhere else.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
That is some serious Hegel reading. How is it treating you?
SlithyTove, I feel you on the bitchiness issue. It is far from fair.