On Father's Day, June 20, Mitch Albom wrote a very compelling column in the Detroit Free Press entitled “Father's Day needs more real fathers.” He mentioned the large percentage of those “who are more sperm donors than fathers, shirking the consequences of careless unprotected sex, making parents out of those unwilling and sometimes unable to responsibly bring a child into the world.”
Mitch pointed out that most Father's Day columns “culminate in an appreciation of the man, something sweet he always did, something wise he always said, some love he always showed.” He warned that his was not one of those columns.
Were I to encourage you to read Mitch's column the way I did, I would urge you to think of another void which is becoming a new trend on Father's Day. It is not the numbers of children lacking a father on Father's Day, but a Father's Day in Detroit and surrounding areas where fathers mark that particular day with their children by calling, texting, skyping and emailing - sending love to distant places due to insufficient jobs and opportunities right here at home. My own personal experience was shared by many friends whose kids also live in distant places and were unable to “come home" for a Father's Day celebration.
Let me say that, as with most parents, our kids’ happiness is first and foremost. I can honestly state that each of our kids - Ari, Ashley and Milo in Chattanooga; Chad and girlfriend Whit in Eugene, Oregon; and Stephanie and boyfriend Zack in Olympia, Washington - each are at great places in their lives with successful careers and great relationships. Their choices for residency spoke volumes about what they saw as a lack of opportunity in their hometown. Each visit home is highlighted by the frustration that, while visiting mom and dad, there are few high school friends left to hang out with. Their friends also found little workplace opportunities in the community where they were raised.
I watch the exodus of those who leave the city. Because their kids don't live here, their choice of end of life decisions reflect the perception that Detroit is no longer considered home. I do not pretend to have a solution to this alarming situation, but I am deeply concerned for our community. Unless we can attract our kids with meaningful career possibilities here, we will lose more than great talent we spend so much love, time and energy developing.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Record-Setting Phone Call at The Ira Kaufman Chapel
I recently received a phone call from Florida from a woman who sounded along in years.
She started with, “My mother is determined to pay her funeral expenses, so that the costs come from her own money, not from funds from my older sister and me.”
As we proceeded with the conversation, I asked if we had buried her father. Apparently we had. I looked up our records and noticed her father was born in 1899. Figuring that her father would have celebrated his 111th birthday, if he were still alive today, I asked how old her mother actually was. She is about ready to celebrate her 106th birthday.
Now very curious, I asked, “You mentioned your older sister. Slap me over the phone if this is an inappropriate question, but how old is your older sister?”
The caller answered, “My mother had my sister when she was 19, so she is now 86.” "Slap me over the phone if this, too, is an inappropriate question, but how old are you?” I inquired. Her response? “I just turned 84.”
She then took charge of the discussion. “As long as you are so inquisitive, I have a question for you. What was the age of the oldest person buried through your funeral home.”
I pulled up a record card for Jack Halperin and explained that, if her mother could hang on for another 19 months, she would assume the impressive distinction of being the oldest person buried through The Ira Kaufman Chapel. I then told her, “Even if your mother is not able to achieve the age of 108, one record I know will stand and I imagine will outlive me is that you and your sister will be the oldest siblings to arrange a service for their mother.”
Most people perceive my job as being very sad and depressing. Every time I think of this conversation, I can only smile. I had the feeling that, when we take this arrangement from pre-need to at-need, there will be a sense of appreciation for the extraordinary years granted to these ladies who have outlived the mortality tables while caring for their 106 year-old mother.
She started with, “My mother is determined to pay her funeral expenses, so that the costs come from her own money, not from funds from my older sister and me.”
As we proceeded with the conversation, I asked if we had buried her father. Apparently we had. I looked up our records and noticed her father was born in 1899. Figuring that her father would have celebrated his 111th birthday, if he were still alive today, I asked how old her mother actually was. She is about ready to celebrate her 106th birthday.
Now very curious, I asked, “You mentioned your older sister. Slap me over the phone if this is an inappropriate question, but how old is your older sister?”
The caller answered, “My mother had my sister when she was 19, so she is now 86.” "Slap me over the phone if this, too, is an inappropriate question, but how old are you?” I inquired. Her response? “I just turned 84.”
She then took charge of the discussion. “As long as you are so inquisitive, I have a question for you. What was the age of the oldest person buried through your funeral home.”
I pulled up a record card for Jack Halperin and explained that, if her mother could hang on for another 19 months, she would assume the impressive distinction of being the oldest person buried through The Ira Kaufman Chapel. I then told her, “Even if your mother is not able to achieve the age of 108, one record I know will stand and I imagine will outlive me is that you and your sister will be the oldest siblings to arrange a service for their mother.”
Most people perceive my job as being very sad and depressing. Every time I think of this conversation, I can only smile. I had the feeling that, when we take this arrangement from pre-need to at-need, there will be a sense of appreciation for the extraordinary years granted to these ladies who have outlived the mortality tables while caring for their 106 year-old mother.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tattoo or not to
I will confess the obvious to you: I am not a Jewish scholar and fully expect that such a title will not be part of my obituary when my time on earth comes to an end. However, I also confess to a respect for Jewish tradition, which is a part of my soul. This respect comes from the practicality Judaism provides those who choose to live by its principles, because the guidance that has been passed from generation to generation is often rooted in sensible answers to often-complex questions.
In my work with children explaining the death of a loved one, I am fortunate that the Jewish approach is easily understood. Consider the shomer who stays with the body from death to burial, or the religious ritual of washing and dressing the body in a shroud, the burial taking place as quickly as possible, the family and friends participating in the final burial, and the shiva, kaddish and yahrzeit – these all make sense, so much so, to the amazement of many parents, that even their young children can grasp the wisdom we are blessed with.
Which brings me to one of my favorite phone calls in my 37 years as a funeral director.
“David, you have a phone call from a young woman - and I do mean young.” I picked up the call and it was from a girl just a few weeks away from her 16th birthday. Two years earlier I had taken her, her siblings and a couple of cousins on a tour of the chapel prior to their great grandmother's funeral.
Now, her parents wished to buy her a meaningful 16th birthday present that wasn't a car and had asked her what she wanted. She told them a tattoo. Predictably, that conversation went the way of so many conversations with our teenagers, starting with the emphatic, “No!”…“Why not?”… “Because I said so.”… “I think I'm entitled to a reason.” You can imagine the rest. Then the famous line from her mother, “If you get a tattoo, you can't be buried in a Jewish cemetery.”
Our very skeptical, almost-16-year-old refused to believe that and announced she was calling me.
Before I take you to the conversation's conclusion, let me say that nowhere have I ever seen it written - and never has anyone given me a Jewish traditional response - which would prevent someone from being buried in a Jewish cemetery because of a tattoo. I have heard it explained that we should not choose to desecrate our bodies in life or death (hence no embalming, no autopsy unless ordered by law). Arguably a tattoo could be construed as desecrating the body, so it should be avoided.
I asked if this young girl's parents were home. As I suspected, she and her mom were arguing and dad wasn’t actually involved in that discussion. I told her I could not guarantee her a tattoo, but she would most likely enjoy the next couple of minutes of conversation. Her mother joined in on the phone call. I inquired where the mother came to understand that a burial in a Jewish cemetery was not forthcoming if someone had a tattoo. She explained she remembers hearing it from her parents while growing up, always took that as the authoritative opinion and carried it to the next generation.
I explained to her that, at a Chevra Kadisha conference in New York, the subject of tattoos and Taharah (the ritual of washing and dressing the body by members of the Chevra Kadisha) came up. The head of this organization, an Orthodox rabbi, explained the concept of Kavod Ha’met, respect to the dead. Each one of us has a Jewish soul and we treat the body with the utmost respect. Everyone receives this reverence and denying one who is Jewish a proper burial goes against everything Judaism teaches us. Do we deny survivors of the Holocaust burial in a Jewish cemetery because of the numbers on their arms? How about veterans of the Navy who have been tattooed with the naval symbol to signify solidarity with their squad? Do we deny them burial in a Jewish cemetery? The answer is quite clear.
Mom was a little shaken, for she had put all of her eggs in the basket by using the denial of a Jewish burial as her argument against the tattoo. I offered this young girl an opportunity to call my daughter in Olympia, Washington. My daughter had told me, if she had it to do over again, she would have never decided to get that tattoo a long time ago while on a trip to Mexico. She had really wanted it at the time, but now regretted it. My caller didn’t contact my daughter, however.
Three weeks after our conversation, I received a text message from the now-16-year-old, showing a photo of a tattoo below an ankle and consisting of a heart with an arrow through it and the word “LIFE” on it. The picture was followed by a message, “Thank you, you're awesome.”
I hope she truly does love life and lives it to the fullest, with the knowledge that upon its end, burial in a Jewish cemetery awaits her.
In my work with children explaining the death of a loved one, I am fortunate that the Jewish approach is easily understood. Consider the shomer who stays with the body from death to burial, or the religious ritual of washing and dressing the body in a shroud, the burial taking place as quickly as possible, the family and friends participating in the final burial, and the shiva, kaddish and yahrzeit – these all make sense, so much so, to the amazement of many parents, that even their young children can grasp the wisdom we are blessed with.
Which brings me to one of my favorite phone calls in my 37 years as a funeral director.
“David, you have a phone call from a young woman - and I do mean young.” I picked up the call and it was from a girl just a few weeks away from her 16th birthday. Two years earlier I had taken her, her siblings and a couple of cousins on a tour of the chapel prior to their great grandmother's funeral.
Now, her parents wished to buy her a meaningful 16th birthday present that wasn't a car and had asked her what she wanted. She told them a tattoo. Predictably, that conversation went the way of so many conversations with our teenagers, starting with the emphatic, “No!”…“Why not?”… “Because I said so.”… “I think I'm entitled to a reason.” You can imagine the rest. Then the famous line from her mother, “If you get a tattoo, you can't be buried in a Jewish cemetery.”
Our very skeptical, almost-16-year-old refused to believe that and announced she was calling me.
Before I take you to the conversation's conclusion, let me say that nowhere have I ever seen it written - and never has anyone given me a Jewish traditional response - which would prevent someone from being buried in a Jewish cemetery because of a tattoo. I have heard it explained that we should not choose to desecrate our bodies in life or death (hence no embalming, no autopsy unless ordered by law). Arguably a tattoo could be construed as desecrating the body, so it should be avoided.
I asked if this young girl's parents were home. As I suspected, she and her mom were arguing and dad wasn’t actually involved in that discussion. I told her I could not guarantee her a tattoo, but she would most likely enjoy the next couple of minutes of conversation. Her mother joined in on the phone call. I inquired where the mother came to understand that a burial in a Jewish cemetery was not forthcoming if someone had a tattoo. She explained she remembers hearing it from her parents while growing up, always took that as the authoritative opinion and carried it to the next generation.
I explained to her that, at a Chevra Kadisha conference in New York, the subject of tattoos and Taharah (the ritual of washing and dressing the body by members of the Chevra Kadisha) came up. The head of this organization, an Orthodox rabbi, explained the concept of Kavod Ha’met, respect to the dead. Each one of us has a Jewish soul and we treat the body with the utmost respect. Everyone receives this reverence and denying one who is Jewish a proper burial goes against everything Judaism teaches us. Do we deny survivors of the Holocaust burial in a Jewish cemetery because of the numbers on their arms? How about veterans of the Navy who have been tattooed with the naval symbol to signify solidarity with their squad? Do we deny them burial in a Jewish cemetery? The answer is quite clear.
Mom was a little shaken, for she had put all of her eggs in the basket by using the denial of a Jewish burial as her argument against the tattoo. I offered this young girl an opportunity to call my daughter in Olympia, Washington. My daughter had told me, if she had it to do over again, she would have never decided to get that tattoo a long time ago while on a trip to Mexico. She had really wanted it at the time, but now regretted it. My caller didn’t contact my daughter, however.
Three weeks after our conversation, I received a text message from the now-16-year-old, showing a photo of a tattoo below an ankle and consisting of a heart with an arrow through it and the word “LIFE” on it. The picture was followed by a message, “Thank you, you're awesome.”
I hope she truly does love life and lives it to the fullest, with the knowledge that upon its end, burial in a Jewish cemetery awaits her.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Josh Tobias joins The Ira Kaufman team
I would like to introduce myself. I am Josh Tobias and I recently joined the staff of The Ira Kaufman Chapel.
2010 has been a whirlwind year for me. I left my job in the mortgage business that I’d held for the last seven years to work at The Ira Kaufman Chapel. I had been looking to make a change for quite a while, but never in a million years did it occur to me that this would be the place for me. After all, it’s not as though I woke up one day and said, “Gee, I really want to be in the funeral business.”
However, after several meetings with David Techner and the rest of the staff, I knew that it was meant to be. There was just something that felt right about it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that what mattered most to me was finding something fulfilling, meaningful and rewarding. Working at The Ira Kaufman Chapel has met and exceeded my expectations in all three areas. I really look forward to going to work every day.
Now, since I started, I have been asked the same questions a hundred times and in several different ways: “How do you handle the sadness?” or “Isn’t it depressing?” or “How do you do that every day?” I tell these people that it can be sad, it can be depressing, but it doesn’t change the fact that I love what I do and I look forward to being here for each family needing our help.
One of the most challenging aspects of my transition was explaining my new job to my 11-year old daughter and five-year old son. With my son Charlie, I had to start at the beginning, by asking him if he knew what a funeral was. He didn’t, so I spent a great deal of time with him, explaining what I do and answering an unlimited number of questions. Actually, the questions still pop up fairly regularly.
With Cady, my 11-year old, it was a very different. When I told her what I was going to be doing, her immediate response was, “Dad, that’s like a mitzvah job.” It brought tears to my eyes. She understood. She got it. But, more than that, she reinforced for me that I was finally where I was supposed to be.
The Ira Kaufman Chapel has always been about service to our Jewish community. That
means so much to me and is one of the main reasons I was attracted to working here. Throughout my life, I have been involved in worthy causes in this community. I see my new position as a very meaningful extension of that and as an opportunity to help.
-Josh Tobias
Thursday, January 14, 2010
In death a greater legacy
Elvis Presley would have celebrated his 75th birthday on January 8. Thousands were on hand at the Graceland mansion to commemorate the occasion. I am totally fascinated with Elvis, not because I loved his music, but rather the fact that, since his death on August 16, 1977, he has been annually one of the highest earning entertainers with his estate bringing in almost $100 million dollars a year. These numbers far exceed his earnings while he was alive.
Michael Jackson at age 50 found himself tens of millions of dollars in debt. So, he was planning his final "farewell" tour when he died of a drug overdose, the drug allegedly administered by his personal physician to help him sleep. Since his death six months ago, his estate has earned an estimated more than $100 million, with his death making a greater impact than he was able to when alive.
Which brings me to Marabel Chanin (see my June 8, 2009 blog). Follow the logic. Marabel Chanin was the woman who became known through a moving report by reporter Brad Edwards of Fox 2 News. She had lived in a veritable fortress mirroring Fort Knox on a street that looked more like a war zone than a neighborhood. Brad wondered why she stayed. It was her home, even though a 9-1-1 call played on air displayed her terror as gunfire rang out amid the makeshift dope houses surrounding her. “If I scream, who will hear me?" was the question that captured the attention of viewers watching the report.
Marabel died on December 26, 2008, but was not buried until May 2009. You see, with no family around, Marabel apparently died peacefully and anonymously - so much so that, until Brad was doing a story on unclaimed bodies at the Wayne County Morgue. He reran his piece announcing that Marabel's body had sat unclaimed until a distant relative called. The relative remembered attending Marabel’s mother's funeral at The Ira Kaufman Chapel long ago.
Brad announced on air the graveside funeral, and much to the surprise of Rabbi Loss, Cantor Neil Michaels and myself, more than 50 people attended her service. It seems that Marabel's death finally brought to her a sense of family that she had lacked for much of her 88 years. Rabbi Loss commented that he had not officiated at a funeral where the deceased had never met those that had come to pay their respects. Marabel Chanin in death seemed to have had a greater impact in death than in her years granted on this earth. No, her estate was not earning millions of dollars, but her death brought perspective to those touched by her story.
Norm Powell took his family to Oakview Cemetery before Thanksgiving and spoke to his family of the blessings of their family, the meaning of Thanksgiving. He called to ask what arrangements have been made to erect a headstone. I met him at the cemetery with Dave Huber of Monument Center. I was touched to not only see fresh flowers on Marabel's grave, but advised by the staff at Oakview that the grave receives fresh flowers regularly and has a constant stream of visitors.
As we stood at the grave, we discussed what the headstone should say. Marabel's stone will read as follows:
"She cried, "If I screamed, who would hear me?"
We heard you
Marabel Chanin
TEACHER
An unveiling of her stone will be held in the spring. I'm assuming Brad Edwards will announce this service too, as he reviews the coverage of Marabel's life and death. I'm guessing that occasion’s tribute to her will once again act as a reminder to all of us to count our blessings for the love of family - Marabel's true legacy.
Michael Jackson at age 50 found himself tens of millions of dollars in debt. So, he was planning his final "farewell" tour when he died of a drug overdose, the drug allegedly administered by his personal physician to help him sleep. Since his death six months ago, his estate has earned an estimated more than $100 million, with his death making a greater impact than he was able to when alive.
Which brings me to Marabel Chanin (see my June 8, 2009 blog). Follow the logic. Marabel Chanin was the woman who became known through a moving report by reporter Brad Edwards of Fox 2 News. She had lived in a veritable fortress mirroring Fort Knox on a street that looked more like a war zone than a neighborhood. Brad wondered why she stayed. It was her home, even though a 9-1-1 call played on air displayed her terror as gunfire rang out amid the makeshift dope houses surrounding her. “If I scream, who will hear me?" was the question that captured the attention of viewers watching the report.
Marabel died on December 26, 2008, but was not buried until May 2009. You see, with no family around, Marabel apparently died peacefully and anonymously - so much so that, until Brad was doing a story on unclaimed bodies at the Wayne County Morgue. He reran his piece announcing that Marabel's body had sat unclaimed until a distant relative called. The relative remembered attending Marabel’s mother's funeral at The Ira Kaufman Chapel long ago.
Brad announced on air the graveside funeral, and much to the surprise of Rabbi Loss, Cantor Neil Michaels and myself, more than 50 people attended her service. It seems that Marabel's death finally brought to her a sense of family that she had lacked for much of her 88 years. Rabbi Loss commented that he had not officiated at a funeral where the deceased had never met those that had come to pay their respects. Marabel Chanin in death seemed to have had a greater impact in death than in her years granted on this earth. No, her estate was not earning millions of dollars, but her death brought perspective to those touched by her story.
Norm Powell took his family to Oakview Cemetery before Thanksgiving and spoke to his family of the blessings of their family, the meaning of Thanksgiving. He called to ask what arrangements have been made to erect a headstone. I met him at the cemetery with Dave Huber of Monument Center. I was touched to not only see fresh flowers on Marabel's grave, but advised by the staff at Oakview that the grave receives fresh flowers regularly and has a constant stream of visitors.
As we stood at the grave, we discussed what the headstone should say. Marabel's stone will read as follows:
"She cried, "If I screamed, who would hear me?"
We heard you
Marabel Chanin
TEACHER
An unveiling of her stone will be held in the spring. I'm assuming Brad Edwards will announce this service too, as he reviews the coverage of Marabel's life and death. I'm guessing that occasion’s tribute to her will once again act as a reminder to all of us to count our blessings for the love of family - Marabel's true legacy.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Why G-d created dogs
Towards the end of his career, Rabbi M. Robert Syme, of blessed memory, would often ask me to take him on Shiva calls, which I was more than happy to do. Once, a longtime member and dear friend of his died and the family asked him to officiate. The deceased had a grandson who was six and a half years old and was described to me as being very sensitive, wise beyond his years and very curious about death. Rabbi Syme suggested that the family contact me and arrange a meeting and tour of the Chapel to help the child make sense of his grandfather's death.
As I sat with this young boy, I wondered where this glowing assessment came from, as he appeared to barely listen, asked no questions and seemed disinterested in any discussion involving his grandfather's life, his death and Judaism's approach to life after death. Although he came to the funeral, I saw little of the gifted child described in my initial meeting with his parents.
Rabbi Syme and I visited the home where Shiva was being observed. As Rabbi Syme sat down, the boy approached us with information that I hadn’t known about. “My dog died,” he announced.
As I began to comprehend the reason behind the child’s previous silence, Rabbi Syme asked, "What was your dog's name? What kind of dog was he?"
For the first time since meeting this young boy, I saw his eyes light up. He described his dog with an enthusiasm not previously shown in the discussions about his grandfather. When the boy finished telling Rabbi Syme about his dog, Rabbi Syme asked him, “Do you know why G-d created dogs?” The crowd gathered in the family room stopped all activities and conversation. You could have heard a pin drop.
The boy responded, as I believe everyone in that room might have, with, “No, why did G-d create dogs?” Rabbi Syme answered, “There are three reasons. First: dogs teach us how to give unconditional love. You can be mad, furious with your dog and he will still snuggle up with you through your anger, regardless of the seriousness of what indiscretion he might have performed. Second: dogs teach us humans how to receive unconditional love. I have noticed that when families go through illness and bereavement, the family dog is there through thick and thin, giving and receiving love at a time when we need it most. And finally, and most importantly, dogs teach us how to lose.”
The boy looked puzzled and said, “I don't understand.”
Rabbi Syme continued, “You see, the average person in the United States lives about 78 years. The average dogs lives 11 years. What dogs teach us is we can bring them into our family and love them unconditionally from puppy to old age. And when we lose them, as difficult as it is, we can reflect on the gift of love given and received, shed our tears, cherish our time we were blessed to share, and realize that life, as difficult as it may seem, must go on. This is why G-d created dogs.”
The silence in the room spoke volumes. As we left the home, you could sense that everyone who shared this experience felt enriched by this exchange between a young child and his Rabbi. As we buckled our seat belts, I looked at Rabbi Syme and demanded, “Where did that come from? That was brilliant!”
Rabbi Syme explained that, when rabbis are posed a question for which they have no answer, they respond by writing a sermon. Once he was asked by a young child, “Why did my dog die? Didn't G-d love my dog?” Rabbi Syme didn't remember his exact response, only that he felt it was not something he was comfortable with. So, he wrote and delivered a sermon later entitled, “Why G-d created dogs,” a sermon he continued to deliver and one that has probably been repeated by everyone who was in that family room that day.
As I sat with this young boy, I wondered where this glowing assessment came from, as he appeared to barely listen, asked no questions and seemed disinterested in any discussion involving his grandfather's life, his death and Judaism's approach to life after death. Although he came to the funeral, I saw little of the gifted child described in my initial meeting with his parents.
Rabbi Syme and I visited the home where Shiva was being observed. As Rabbi Syme sat down, the boy approached us with information that I hadn’t known about. “My dog died,” he announced.
As I began to comprehend the reason behind the child’s previous silence, Rabbi Syme asked, "What was your dog's name? What kind of dog was he?"
For the first time since meeting this young boy, I saw his eyes light up. He described his dog with an enthusiasm not previously shown in the discussions about his grandfather. When the boy finished telling Rabbi Syme about his dog, Rabbi Syme asked him, “Do you know why G-d created dogs?” The crowd gathered in the family room stopped all activities and conversation. You could have heard a pin drop.
The boy responded, as I believe everyone in that room might have, with, “No, why did G-d create dogs?” Rabbi Syme answered, “There are three reasons. First: dogs teach us how to give unconditional love. You can be mad, furious with your dog and he will still snuggle up with you through your anger, regardless of the seriousness of what indiscretion he might have performed. Second: dogs teach us humans how to receive unconditional love. I have noticed that when families go through illness and bereavement, the family dog is there through thick and thin, giving and receiving love at a time when we need it most. And finally, and most importantly, dogs teach us how to lose.”
The boy looked puzzled and said, “I don't understand.”
Rabbi Syme continued, “You see, the average person in the United States lives about 78 years. The average dogs lives 11 years. What dogs teach us is we can bring them into our family and love them unconditionally from puppy to old age. And when we lose them, as difficult as it is, we can reflect on the gift of love given and received, shed our tears, cherish our time we were blessed to share, and realize that life, as difficult as it may seem, must go on. This is why G-d created dogs.”
The silence in the room spoke volumes. As we left the home, you could sense that everyone who shared this experience felt enriched by this exchange between a young child and his Rabbi. As we buckled our seat belts, I looked at Rabbi Syme and demanded, “Where did that come from? That was brilliant!”
Rabbi Syme explained that, when rabbis are posed a question for which they have no answer, they respond by writing a sermon. Once he was asked by a young child, “Why did my dog die? Didn't G-d love my dog?” Rabbi Syme didn't remember his exact response, only that he felt it was not something he was comfortable with. So, he wrote and delivered a sermon later entitled, “Why G-d created dogs,” a sermon he continued to deliver and one that has probably been repeated by everyone who was in that family room that day.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
“What happens to bodies in the ground?”
In 1989, while I was being treated for cancer at the University of Michigan Comprehensive Cancer Center, I received a call from an elementary school in Northville. The staff asked me to speak to the school after a beloved teacher had lost her battle with breast cancer.
As was my usual routine, I talked about what had happened and how we could memorialize this teacher in a meaningful way for the school and her family. When I opened it up for questions, the theme seemed to go in the one direction of this subject that made me uncomfortable - what happens to the body in the ground? I was used to answering openly and honestly almost any question I asked, but the concept of explaining decomposition to a large group of elementary school students made me a bit uncomfortable.
I left feeling frustrated that I couldn’t respond to these questions with the same ease that I felt these kids deserved. When I arrived at my appointment at the hospital that day, I shared my frustration with my oncologist. He offered to call a professor who, he promised, despite his lack of bedside manner was a gifted teacher he was sure could help me handle this topic.
I met the professor in the cafeteria and he looked at his watch, signaling he was in a hurry. I explained the experience I had just come from and he said, “So, you want to know what happens to the body in the ground?” I confirmed that was my goal.
Here is the conversation exactly as it happened.
“Our bodies consist of two-thirds of what?” “Water,” I quickly replied.
“What's the other one-third?” I thought about it for a brief moment and somewhat guessed, “Bones.”
“All right, let's review what we've learned. Your body consists of two-third’s water and one-third bones. What happens when water sits still with nowhere to go?” he asked. “It evaporates,” I replied. “What's left?” “Bones,” I responded and then he asked, “Can I go now?”
I was stunned that the one issue that caused my only sense of discomfort could be explained so easily. As he walked away, he turned around and added, “Oh, by the way, make sure they know it doesn't hurt!”
In my blog, “Helping parents tell kids the truth about death,” I stated that the difference between physical death and spiritual death is that, with physical death, it is fact: there is no mystery. The only mystery for me was this explanation and, in less than 60 seconds, that was solved.
As was my usual routine, I talked about what had happened and how we could memorialize this teacher in a meaningful way for the school and her family. When I opened it up for questions, the theme seemed to go in the one direction of this subject that made me uncomfortable - what happens to the body in the ground? I was used to answering openly and honestly almost any question I asked, but the concept of explaining decomposition to a large group of elementary school students made me a bit uncomfortable.
I left feeling frustrated that I couldn’t respond to these questions with the same ease that I felt these kids deserved. When I arrived at my appointment at the hospital that day, I shared my frustration with my oncologist. He offered to call a professor who, he promised, despite his lack of bedside manner was a gifted teacher he was sure could help me handle this topic.
I met the professor in the cafeteria and he looked at his watch, signaling he was in a hurry. I explained the experience I had just come from and he said, “So, you want to know what happens to the body in the ground?” I confirmed that was my goal.
Here is the conversation exactly as it happened.
“Our bodies consist of two-thirds of what?” “Water,” I quickly replied.
“What's the other one-third?” I thought about it for a brief moment and somewhat guessed, “Bones.”
“All right, let's review what we've learned. Your body consists of two-third’s water and one-third bones. What happens when water sits still with nowhere to go?” he asked. “It evaporates,” I replied. “What's left?” “Bones,” I responded and then he asked, “Can I go now?”
I was stunned that the one issue that caused my only sense of discomfort could be explained so easily. As he walked away, he turned around and added, “Oh, by the way, make sure they know it doesn't hurt!”
In my blog, “Helping parents tell kids the truth about death,” I stated that the difference between physical death and spiritual death is that, with physical death, it is fact: there is no mystery. The only mystery for me was this explanation and, in less than 60 seconds, that was solved.
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