Why I Choose Not to Attend Funerals
Perhaps it’s the recent loss of our little dog or the health challenges we’ve faced with our middle dog that got me thinking about funerals.
Let me start by saying that this post, like all my writings, is about my personal reflections, experiences, and ponderings. It’s not meant to judge others—just to share what I’ve found inside myself.
The first loss I experienced was my paternal grandfather. When my grandparents visited, they’d bring Dunkin' Donuts, and my grandfather would often fall asleep on the couch. I believe he worked the third shift for the postal service. When he passed, we had recently been transferred overseas, and we traveled back for the funeral as soon as we could. All I remember is us all going to retrieve his ashes, which were in a cardboard box.
At 17, my high school boyfriend’s dad died. As soon as I heard, I went over to be there for him. But add the death of an estranged parent to an already bumpy high school romance, and it was not a pretty story. I sat on the floor next to his bed all day, and he never looked at or spoke to me. I was trying to be patient but had no idea what to do. Wanting him to lean on me, I expressed this, which led to a fight, and I ended up leaving. He told his mom he didn’t want “that bitch” at his dad’s funeral. I didn’t attend.
My stepbrother Kevin had a heart condition and received a pacemaker in high school. He went to college, graduated, and at the time of his death, from heart failure, he was just starting his adult life. He was kind, funny, and very good-looking. Although we hadn’t seen each other for a few years, we ran into each other a week before he passed away. Kevin was just 23 years old when he died, and as I write this, tears stream down my face.
When Kevin passed, I was furious. Mad at life’s cruelty and maybe even at “God.” He was young, and it wasn’t fair. I don’t think I stayed for the service; I was sobbing and couldn’t take it.
My stepfather (Kevin’s father) died of cancer a few years later. During the funeral, people stood up and talked about what a great guy he was. But he was, in fact, a terrible husband and a deeply flawed human being.
At the house after the funeral, I sat with Sean, my other stepbrother and Kevin’s brother. I saw someone who was keeping it together for everyone else, who hadn’t yet had a chance to grieve his father’s loss himself. And again, so many more tears as I write this.
As an adult, I had a friend of 17 years whose father passed. By then, I had implemented another life rule: “I don’t do funerals.” Her relationship with her father had been fraught with his alcoholism. He was verbally abusive for much of her life, and even during the last 10 years, when he lived with her and her family, he remained consistently unpleasant.
When he passed, I let her know that I didn’t do funerals. As I remember, I sent a handwritten note explaining that I wouldn’t be attending but would be there for her in any way she needed. We could meet for lunch or dinner anytime. Her response was that our friendship was over—the hurt had been inflicted. Our 17-year relationship was just over.
The confusing part for me was the contempt she had for him while he was alive. Relationships are complicated, I know, but of all the reasons to end a friendship, not attending the funeral of a man she had such contempt for seemed unexpected.
Several years ago, I had an employee who rarely saw her fraternal grandparents except in passing at the grocery store. Yet when one of them became ill, she took time off work to sit with the rest of her family in the hospital waiting room. When that grandparent passed, she still didn’t visit the surviving one. I was confused—why sit vigil at a deathbed but not visit during everyday life?
In the last five years, I’ve lost two amazing relatives, and I didn’t attend their funerals. They lived a flight away, and I had only most recently seen both at a wedding seven years ago.
There are all sorts of reasons people have funerals and memorials.[1] Some need closure, others want to be there for their family members. As I continue to reflect on whether my no-funeral stance is right or wrong, I guess it falls under the lens I choose to see everything through.
Each of us is different, entitled to our own feelings, opinions, and chosen experiences. If I’m not living my life with the intention of hurting anyone, then I’m not responsible for their reactions.
I promise to be there whenever you need someone to talk to or cry with.
For my funeral, if there is one against my expressed wishes, I would imagine only 20 people being there—the ones I see and communicate with regularly. Why make a trip to my funeral if you couldn’t make a trip to see me when I was alive?
After all these losses, I came to a decision: I would not attend funerals. Was it the people who showed up after not bothering to visit or even call someone for years? Why do we gather to say goodbye to someone we never bothered to call or visit? And then, even when someone is a horrible human being, people stand up and say nice things about them.
When I can, I like to wrap up my posts with a clear conclusion or an insight found. This topic feels unresolved—and honestly, that’s okay with me. If some people judge me for not going to funerals, I’m okay with that. If you ever need anything anytime, let me know, and I will always do my best to help you in any way I can.
Here’s the reality: See the people important to you when they are alive. Be real about those in your life when they are alive and in their death.
P.S. This blog is complete but as I was pondering last night, perhaps my belief in reincarnation contributes to my sort of detachment from death. The soul/spirit has left this earth and is not sad or regretful. Hopefully, they did what they came here to do and are preparing for their next incarnation.
https://www.centerforloss.com/2023/12/funeral-ritual-important/