My son and I discuss the double meanings of words all the time. The word that came up this day was wake: leaving someone in your wake, the wake of a wave, a wake relating to death.  “A wake is sort of like a party for the dead person,” I said.  He looked at me, eyes raised. “What do they do at the party?”

“Well, they celebrate the life of the person who died, and they pay their last respects.  In the olden days, this used to be in ones living room, and people could file past the person in their casket, saying goodbye before they were buried.”  He considered this, having recently studied the Pioneers.

“Do they do that now?”

“No, I said. Not so much anymore.”

“Good, he said. That would freak me out.” I laughed and told him he didn’t have to worry about it, not for a long time, which I hope is the case.  But I do feel the people of old had knowledge that we have erased from our collective memory. Families used to be big, to help with farms and work, and they used to have lots of kids because they knew they’d lose a few along the way. To accidents, sickness, etc. Due to our medical advances, many of the things that may have killed us are no more.  I think we have removed ourselves so much from this element of life, we’ve actually done ourselves a disservice.  We can’t accept wrinkles and aging, much less death. I’m the same. I can’t even bring myself to know the date my Dad died. I have blocked it out, just reliving a general dis-ease in early Spring. I remember thinking, maybe he sent off a birthday card to me before he went. Maybe it is on its way, as a last token. I think I am still waiting, ten years later. But I do know one family that managed to swing the tide the other way, accepting head on what many of us bury deep within ourselves.

I met him once, the  Grandfather. He was a kind person, and had to tilt his head towards me when I talked due to the volume of the large backyard barbecue we were attending.  It may have even been his birthday, I vaguely remember that part of it. He passed on shortly thereafter. I knew he hadn’t been well, but it is still always a shock to hear someone has passed. In this case, it was my friend’s husband’s Dad. They shared the news amongst family and friends, and then went to the funeral home to make arrangements. They listened to the process, what happens when one is cremated, and were given choices of caskets, ranging in price and style. The son knew this wasn’t right somehow. It didn’t feel right.

“What if we made our own casket? My dad taught me to be a skilled carpenter. I think it’s better if we make the box he’s buried in, ” he said, letting out what did feel right. The director was unused to such a request, but agreed that it was perfectly within the rights of the family to do so. So they went home and they built a box. Then they gathered the family, and they painted it, including the kids. They painted flowers and messages and taped things to it and let everyone find a way into their grief, a way that would also send Grandpa out in style. One of the girls, small at this time, had lots of questions. Why were they doing this, why would this box be burned up? Although she was somewhat distressed, she was connecting the dots in her head. They were giving Grandpa a send off. This was his going away party, and this was his present. This was his wake.

Of course, there were logistics to think of. The funeral home wanted to be the ones to transport Grandpa in..um..their minivan.. (it is a very useful vehicle) so they had to release the body to the directors. And when the time came, the crematorium guy (not sure if that is his official title) states something along the likes of… “I’ve never seen that one before!” This could have been a compliment, or just a factual statement, but it speaks loads to how hands off we are in this day and age. Grandpa left this world in a box created by his family, one who faced the process in a way I can only hope to ever achieve. These friends of mine are minor miracles, I think. They are the kind of people I thought I’d be when I grew up. I’m still growing up, so I hope I can still achieve some of their strength and courage when the time comes. They honored their love in a way that felt right, and that is a gift they have not only given to their family, but to all they have told their story to.  So now, when I think of wake, I think of the space just after the wave, the aftereffects of an action, and a simply built, exceptionally crafted pine box.