Laying to Rest

Yesterday I attended my first funeral in Germany. Cancer had defeated Herr Weber, the gentleman who lived across from us. All of us neighbors gathered to support his wife. Together we bought flowers for the funeral, signed a card and collected money for her. Then we all went to the burial yesterday. I couldn’t believe how many of us neighbors came. Once again I was impressed with the community spirit of my little neighborhood.

My friend Steffi told me it is traditional for every guest to bring a single flower to throw into the grave, so I cut a lovely red rose from our garden. I worried that the color might be inappropriate since red roses are to me a symbol of romantic love. But my neighbor Monica said that the man would have loved it.
It was a cold, rainy day. But during the indoor part of the service, a solitary ray of sunlight illuminated the white lilies and roses by the casket. It was lovely. Then while we were gathered outside for the burial, a hawk kept flying circles above us in the sky. I found that poetic, too.

After the burial we went to a local hotel for cake and coffee, and among my friends the conversation turned to burial traditions and our own ideas about death. They seemed okay with my expression that I don’t want anyone to wear black at my funeral. I said I would want folks to celebrate both my life and my arrival in paradise. I want joyful music, colorful displays of photographs, and lots of great food.

But when I said I wanted to be cremated, I sensed disapproval. I learned from my friends that cremation is not very common in Germany and that for a good many the practice is still taboo.  Funerary practices are strictly regulated here, and scattering ashes is illegal. A little more common is the burial of ashes at sea. My friend Astrid used to work in an urn factory, and she explained that urns made for that purpose are formed out of a sort of bread dough. Interesting.

Also very different is that most burial plots are leased here for thirty years at a time. If a family doesn’t renew the lease, the remains are dug up. I couldn’t get an answer about what happens to the body after that. That makes cremation sound even more logical to me.

My friend Sara watched the kids while I attended the funeral, but I could tell that they were affected by the idea of it nonetheless. Luke kept asking me about what funerals are like and what happens to bodies when we die (incidentally, he wants to be fed to fishies, but like our neighbors, he is horrified by the idea of cremation). And Claire woke up last night in tears because she had a nightmare that she was lost and couldn’t find her parents.

Coincidentally, yesterday was Dave’s and my fourteenth wedding anniversary. There is nothing like watching a widow grieving to remind a couple to value every minute together. Of course, unless we pull a “Thelma and Louise” and die together, one day one of us will have to carry on living without the other. Dave says he’ll probably go first since he is seven years older than me and because women usually live longer. But I say he’ll probably live longer because he is in better shape and I’m the one with high blood pressure and a lethal chocolate and French fry addiction. But either way, it’s good to have a bag full of memories to sustain whichever one of us is left, until we are reunited on the other side. That is good to remember when we get annoyed with each other, as all couples do.

So the four of us celebrated both Herr Weber's life and our anniversary by candlelight, eating homemade tortilla soup served on Sesame Street placemats. It may not have been all that romantic, but it made sense to include our children as an expression of our love for each other. And it was nice. Nobody even spilled their milk or had to be reminded more than twice to use their napkin.

At the end of the day, I think every one of us felt like we needed a hug. And those I was more than happy to provide.