I Do Care How You Say Goodbye
Thoughts on memorials as we celebrated the life of my mother-in-law
This weekend our family gathered to celebrate the life of my mother-in-law, Joan Natz. After a fall and a brief hospital stay, she died in October of 2023. After the holidays and before grandkids kids head back to school, this weekend we were finally able to gather to remember and celebrate her life. She would have been thrilled with the vibe, the family gathered, the storytelling, the laughter, and the country steakhouse setting. Yes, many tears were shed, but all were borne out of a deep appreciation for a life well lived and a love shared abundantly.
The day itself was perfect, not because every detail came off without a hitch, but because without exception, folks remarked, “She would have loved this.” Ineeded, she would have been thrilled with the vibe: family and friends reconnected and laughed a lot, we ate steak and potatoes surrounded by all the country steakhouse kitsch befitting Grandma Joan, and we told stories about how she has overcome so much and influenced each person’s life. She was not a traditional rule-breaker, and would have been easy to pigeonhole, but she overcame so much in her life. To see some of that in the generations to follow is not a surprise.
Reflecting on the day, I can’t help but think of the times I have heard people say about their memorials, “I don’t care what you do; I won’t be there.” I get it. Folks don’t want to inconvenience their families by adding complex event planning to the weight of their grief or make people sit through a ceremony that is not authentic to who they are, but let me be clear family and friends — I do care.
In no particular order, here is what I want.
I want people fed. Please feed yourselves and not just metaphorically; belly-sticking, well-plated, joy-giving food and drink should be abundant. My requests include but are not limited to: kamayan style feasting, ube lattes, good coffee, diet coke, my grandfather’s chicken adobo, my grandmother’s dim sum, my guacamole, my spinach dip, prime rib, fully-loaded baked potatoes, and whatever else my family decides will feed and bring joy to your soul.
I want people to groove. Please let the music pump. If you need traditional music for the service, I do love me some Come Labor On (On the organ), Here I Am (But not the funeral dirge version), and if you end the service by holding hands in a circle singing Seek Ye First as my home church does, I wouldn’t hate that. But please do not be limited by church music. My kids know that I love a good funk, slow jam, or power ballad, so if some New Edition, Adele, Earth Wind & Fire, Bruno Mars, or Whitney Houston made it in, I would also not hate that. Lastly, if the Electric Slide breaks out, all the better. You know who you are.
I want people to believe I believed. No, this is not a “make sure folks know Jesus,” time, but I do want folks to know that my faith was not obligatory. My commitment to justice in the world came out of a deep trust in the idea that there is always the possibility that new life emerges from death. I lived my life driven by the audacious belief that God’s possibilities were far more than I could even imagine. In a world where so much pain is so very possible, I am a resurrection person because it seems so impossible. I do not know what eternal life looks like, but I believe I’ll be chilling in some form with the OG’s after I am gone.
I want people to grieve how and as they need. Whoever is still around when I finally go, I wish for you the time and patience to grieve as you need. Yes, I am assuming that I will age with a delightfulness that warrants genuine grief, so just go with it. By the time it's my time, I also assume that their world will not have learned how to slow down and breathe, so please be revolutionary and rebellious in your grief. When others expect you to be a certain way that is not genuine to your grief, do not give in: embrace the laughter when it bellows out, own the ugly crying when the tears and snot flow, take a pause when waves of sadness hit unexpectedly, and be tender, always be tender with yourself and with others.
I want my celebration to be one more reminder of how I tried to live, what brought me joy, and what I hope will live on in others. Just as we did this weekend as we said our farewells to Grandma Joan, after my celebration of life, with full bellies and fuller spirits, I hope people will say, “He would have loved this.”
