(I was really on the fence about posting this. It's just some thoughts tend to go through around this time of year, plus some current new thinking that resulted from being a LW lurker).
Around this time of year, I tend to start thinking about death a lot. My dad died 12 years ago this month, and it’s still one of the most significant events of my life. Death is something that still seems to be solidly in the hands of religious and spiritual types as a discussion topic. I’m hoping that this post (in addition to not being too rambling) can provide some impetus for people to challenge that in daily life.
I don’t mean this to be an angry screed against religions. There was a priest on hand when my dad died. My mom, sister and aunt were gathered around, and it was in the midst of praying that my dad finally passed away (I apologize for the wording; our language can be so spiritually loaded, I just want to avoid saying died over and over). He told a really nice story about my dad being in heaven. It was comforting at the moment, a kind of way for my family to keep those awful, overwhelming feelings of loss at bay.
But it was after I got home and started calling my relatives that the enormity of the situation hit me. My uncle in particular broke down into angry tears when I told him the news. My dad was his older brother, and meant so much to him. There wasn’t any story that was going to make that loss any better. My uncle really thought there was more that could have been done medically. At the time (I don’t know what the state of the art medicine of today could have done), I really don’t believe that was the case. I remember watching my dad have seizures at the rate of about twice a minute. When he died, I was relieved to see that come to an end. He was going through intensive chemotherapy at the time, and died of sepsis. His body was just facing too much, and finally succumbed. There just wasn’t any way around what the eventual outcome was going to be, sadly.
The bright side in the situation, and what I hope to impart, was the strength I got from being around my friends and family; the community of people that came around to take care of us. We were inundated with food baskets, for instance. I was in such a state of shock in trying to process the situation, not having to worry about basic things like meals was a relief. And so many people who knew my dad or our family came by to share their condolences. The conversations were awkward. People didn’t know what to say. And it meant the world to me that they tried. Friends of mine came out of town to be with me specifically. I was so, so grateful that they took time out of their lives to do that.
I can give you all the standard but true things about death; live everyday like it matters, tell people that you love them today, for examples. But, I wanted to share that I think the best rational response to death is for the community to be there for people. I’ve been reading about the various meetups here on LW, and something that stood out for me was the community aspect of bonding. I really and truly believe that the way to make rationality matter is to keep building these rational communities, just as communities. I think it was the New York meetup that has really emerged into a group with strong bonds. I don’t see this as a condolences arms race, necessarily. But over time, these groups will be able to take care of themselves when these hard times come. We give a lot of power to religious groups, because they’re one of the few who step up when these hard times hit families. Often times, they are the only larger community a person is a part of. It’s really important, in my eyes, to offer alternatives to that.
So, I would encourage the meetups up and the like to emulate what I read about in New York. Sure, talk about rationality and related topics. But please do recognize the impact of just bonding in a group. Eventually, being the group of people that supports someone as they grieve is exemplary work, and I believe that is something that will naturally arise out of these communities. If you can step outside of that group and be there for others, so much the better. Rationally speaking, I think humans would be better off if there were ways to grieve openly and fully, without having to factor in religious stories.
I apologize if this post is a bit rambling; it brings up a lot of emotions for me. It meant so much to me that my dad said he was proud of me while he was still coherent, at a time when I wasn’t very proud of myself, for instance. That and so many other things are going through my head. I just wanted to get this out. Thanks for reading.
I'm a member of the NYC group. I was surprised at how quickly I felt close to the people there. The line that occurs to me from HP:MoR is:
I think that's a big part of the key. That and the hugging. I still feel a little awkward about that, like hugging is something that should be earned and I haven't earned it yet, but it definitely helped.
We're not there yet, and I'm not sure everyone wants this for the NYC group in particular, but I would like there to be more/better secular communities that fill the niches generally controlled by religion. Frankly, I think it's perfectly okay to describe oneself as "religious", even if your religion is Secular Humanism or Rationality or whatever it is that you believe in that moves you.
My personal experiences with death:
My grandmother died last year. The funeral was a very religious ceremony, which I didn't mind. She was Catholic, she lived a Catholic life, and most of the people mourning were Catholic. To ignore that (silly as I my find their beliefs) would have been disrespectful.
But last months my two dogs both died (a few weeks apart. Their deaths were not related but the coincidence made it harder. They were 14 and 19). My family dug a grave and read some poems, sang some songs and said a few words.
And was profoundly, profoundly annoyed that although 3/4 of us were atheists, the most moving things anyone had to say stemmed from a religious viewpoint. There was an incredibly moving essay about the things dogs do for us and how they slow down in their later years until finally they run down a hole where we can't follow them, and find themselves in a beautiful meadow where they can run around forever. The full essay was 2 pages long and was very beautiful, but when we got to the end I just felt so mad.
We didn't read the essay again when the second dog died (it was too recent and it was a long essay and it felt weird to do so). I spent the afternoon trying to think of something to say. I'm not even sure whether this is accurate (my knowledge of quantum mechanics is pretty awful) but as we buried her I said "According to the many worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, there's a universe out there where Whiskers is still bounding around like she did 10 years ago."
It was the best I could come up with. It felt like less of a lie to me.
I also sang the Kender Mourning Song, a poem from a fantasy novel that I always thought was beautiful and want sung at my funeral. What I realized I liked most about it (but not until I sung it then) is that it's a sad and beautiful song without mentioning anything about an afterlife. It's not a "Lifeist" song (it's clearly written from a standpoint of "death is part of the natural order of things, and we can accept it"), but if you're at a funeral that doesn't involve cryonics, I think it's a perfectly good way of dealing with the issue. (For the record, while doesn't HAVE to be part of the natural order, I have no problem with accepting it as such for the time being)
Perhaps the best thing to say at a funeral is "we will avenge your death!" (on death itself).