Randy Cassingham's Blog

On Fun Directors and the cathartic uses of the common Party Balloon.

Echoing Liz in Germany:
When my mother died, Our small family gathered at her house and spent the night laughing and crying. I later realised that we were actually celebrating Mum's life and the warmth, love and humour that she brought into ours.

When my sister and I were placed in charge of the funeral arrangements we were almost lost as to what to do. Then we remembered Mum and her little ways (everyone has them!) and the grim task became a whole lot less grim.

Arranging Mother Dearest's funeral became a constant celebration in itself - and although there were plenty of tears, there were many joyful moments remembering Mum's ways. The way she always sounded when you answered the phone, "It's only me..." The episode with the ferret. Everything was fair game - and that turned the whole thing into a fun game of sorts. Or as fun as a funeral could get!

So naturally, the Funeral Director became known as the "Fun Director" and, as we planned outrageous rites, decorations and events for the funeral - all of which Mum would have hated enormously - the Fun Director joined in with some suggestions that had us screaming with laughter.

All in all, it was a magnificent catharsis. Only after the funeral did we find out that we could have had the balloons after all.

The effects from Mum's funeral still loom large in my life, after two years without her. I will be getting married in January '08 and since Mother Dearest cannot attend, I have insisted that we absolutely must have balloons at the wedding. With balloons, it will almost be as if Mum is there, although I know that she is watching over us.

So yes, Virginia, there can be comedy in tragedy, laughter in tears and fun everywhere. When I see people that, to quote (badly), 'sit in the corner gnawing again and again the old gristle of their tragic lives, and deriving no nourishment whatsoever therefrom,' I truly pity them.
I do not pity them for their loss, although I feel for them because of it. I pity them because their loss has seemed to become their crutch, in some cases their whole reason for being "like they are."

So, darling readers, take a little well-meaning advice. Loss is tragic. It is meant to be tragic. But the hurt from your loss be nowhere near as great had you treasured your lost one less. So celebrate the life, the life that could have been but never was, the times of sadness shared, the times of joyfull companionship. You will never experience them again but if you do not remember, then they are truly lost.