I woke up early and hunkered down with coffee, ready to start a new essay series for paid subscribers about the business of death.
My mother died in January. I thought I knew all about death, but this is the first time I’ve been an executor. There are all sorts of terrors involved in estate management.
I’m talking to you, probate court.
But after acing the New York Times puzzle section (I am obsessed, it’s my morning ritual) I scrolled through today’s headlines and realized it was Father’s Day.
Can I start a series about death on Father’s Day?
Oh, you know it. What better day for me to begin?
The last time I saw my dad was on Father’s Day in 1981. I was about to leave for a summer in New York. I went to visit him in the hospital before I left. I had no idea it would be the last time I’d see him alive. I was fifteen years old.
He was dead two weeks later. That summer was the beginning of an intimate relationship I’ve developed with death.
But just like people, death can still surprise me. And instead of “The Business of Death,” I’m changing the title of these essays to,
“Hello, Death.”
Hopefully we’ll get to know it a little better. And because paid subscribers can comment on pieces, we can all share information.
The more acquainted we are with death, the less violent our experience may be. If we know nothing about what it’s like, grief can be exacerbated and heightened. It’s hard enough to lose someone. Getting slammed with paperwork and unexpected costs can be a nightmare.
I’m very fortunate because my brother and I are doing this together. It’s brought us closer. But sometimes death can destroy lifelong relationships, because it does seem to be a catalyst for bringing out the best—or worst—in people.
If we’re on familiar terms with death, at least we know its habits when it comes knocking. And if we have a plan about death’s aftermath, it gives us something to do when someone dies.
Believe me, having something to do is a good thing.
When my mom died this year, we had a plan, and we carried it out. But even with a plan, my brother and I had different ideas about what the word “private” meant, as in a private funeral.
It never occurred to me we’d have different definitions of the word.
We hashed it out and the result was we still couldn’t agree. We threw in the towel and decided on a public funeral. A larger funeral than we’d planned gave us a lot of work to do over a period of days.
I treasure that time. I loved the way my brother and I worked together with our spouses to make it happen.
It was our mother, who lived to be 94, who taught us how to talk about death. For her, it was a practical matter and should be treated as such.
But just because I’m comfortable with the topic doesn’t mean everyone is. There’s theory, and then there’s practice.
The first time I spoke with my husband (known here as Secret Service) about his wishes, the conversation went something like this:
ME: We should talk about what we’d prefer for funeral arrangements.
SS: Okay.
ME: For instance, I don’t know if you prefer cremation or burial. I know it’s the tradition up here to have a viewing. I definitely do not want that, by the way, but it may be something you’d like…do you prefer to be buried or cremated?
SS: I don’t care.
ME: You don’t care?
SS: Right. I’ll be dead.
ME: But you have two young children and an ex-wife and parents and brothers. I don’t want to be left holding the bag and making all the decisions; I need to know what you’d prefer, so I’m just carrying out your wishes.
(Silence.)
ME: So I need to know what you want.
SS: I don’t know. I never think about it.
ME: You never think about it.
SS: Right.
At this point, I go through the Oh No moment facing all couples at some point.
The Oh No moment is when the person you think you know lets you know, as a matter of fact, there are aspects of their outlook on life which are in direct conflict with your own.
In this instance, the Oh No moment revealed I’d married someone who doesn’t discuss death.
Oh no. This is bad.
I think about it all the time. How could I have married a Death Denier?
I reverted to using a very gentle, sing-song tone to hide my growing alarm.
ME: Does your family ever discuss plans for funerals, last wishes?
SS: No.
ME: Never? Nothing?
SS: Right.
ME: Oh, okay. Well. We do have to talk about this.
SS: Why? I won’t be here.
ME: Oh my god…
SS: I don’t care. Have a party. I’d like a party.
ME: What kind of party? Do you mean a wake?
SS: I don’t know. A party. With my friends.
I wish I could tell you we’ve made more progress since then, but I’d be a liar.
I can get nothing from him about what he wants, and he’s had to hear entirely too much about what I’d prefer. In fairness to him, I do tend to change my mind.
First, I wanted to be cremated. Then, I found out I qualified to be buried at sea, which appeals to my sense of adventure.
I did some research and discovered if I died at the wrong time of year, I might be on ice for several months. That can get very expensive. Plus, they make you use a lead coffin.
No thank you. I want to avoid coffins. The burial at sea was scratched.
I finally decided to donate my body to the Body Farm in Tennessee. Just like they need cadavers for medical students, forensic scientists need bodies to study things like decomposition.
I figure with all the mysteries I’ve read and all the murder podcasts I love, the least I can do is donate my body to the science which has given me such pleasure. Plus, it’s really fun to watch people’s faces when I tell them my plans.
Conversations may be difficult; I don’t know if Secret Service and I will ever have the one I want about death. But there are things you can do to make it easier on yourself and those you leave behind. As this is the inaugural essay, I’ll just name a few.
Rule # 1: When you die, someone is going to go through your things. If you don’t want just anyone doing that, leave clear instructions. Pick someone.
One aspect of death almost everyone puts off is getting rid of evidence items you don’t want others to see.
As someone who has actually been hit by a bus while walking across the street, I know death can come at any time. Don’t dilly-dally about discarding material you’d prefer to die with you.
As Gabriel García Márquez wrote, we have three lives: public, private, and secret. Best to deal with your secret life while you still can.
If you’ve had an affair and are saving a letter (or email or text thread) which you’re reluctant to trash, just imagine your spouse reading it. Or worse, your kids.
That might get you motivated.
Another thing which occurs to me is the knowledge versus instinct conundrum. Just because I’ve a good working knowledge of death does not make me immune from irrational fear.
The fears surrounding death are the trickiest part. Joan Didion’s genius work, The Year of Magical Thinking, helped me understand what my brain was doing while I grieved.
A friend of mine died once, and because I knew what to do, I ended up handling a lot more than I anticipated. He left no known next of kin, just some distant cousins in another state.
I accompanied his body to Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx. Woodlawn is New York City’s Père Lachaise. There are many fantastic New Yorkers buried there, including Miles Davis. They also have an active crematorium.
The staff there could not have been nicer. I watched his body go in the furnace, and they let me push the button to ignite the fire.
I asked if I should stay but they told me it would take a few hours. They encouraged me to pick up the ashes later in the week from the funeral home. I could also pick up his ashes directly from them later in the day.
I trusted the guys at Woodlawn but had reservations about the funeral home, which I chose because of the price. I worried if I picked up the ashes there, they might mix them up with someone else’s.
I’d been entrusted to take care of my friend’s body. I didn’t want to take a chance. I told Woodlawn I’d be back in a few hours.
When I returned, the ashes were in a container which they’d placed in a paper bag. They handed it to me, and it was much heavier than I anticipated. So instead of using the handles of the bag, I held it with both hands.
The ashes were still warm.
It was shocking.
And it just about did me in. The guys there got me a glass of water and guided me to a seat in the chapel. They told me not to leave until I’d stopped crying and was okay to drive.
I finally calmed down. I walked to my car and put the container in the passenger seat. I buckled the seat belt over the container, and we drove home.
We create these crazy scenarios (what if his ashes are mixed up?) because believing anything is better than believing someone is dead. Our brains create circumstances to make the person not dead, or to distract us from grief. I had no time to be sad if I was worrying about the ashes.
When people start acting obsessively after the death of a loved one, just remind yourself that’s what they’re doing to cope. They really cannot help it. It’s very human.
It’s okay to have irrational fear. Just wave hello and carry on. But it does bring us to our next guideline.
Rule # 2: Pick up the ashes later.
Now, here’s where the rubber meets the road. I went with the inexpensive funeral home because his cousins were not expecting to dole out money for a funeral. And you know what happens when someone dies?
You need money. A lot of money.
Which brings us to:
Rule #3: Ensure someone has access to some of your funds.
I’m learning the ropes about who gets to touch your money after death.
When I became her Power of Attorney a few years ago, my mom and I went to the bank together to drop off a copy. During the process, the banker let it slip that when my mother died, I would no longer be able to access the account.
Neither my mom nor I knew the Power of Attorney expired upon death. The power of everything goes to the executor of the estate.
She decided to add my name to that account then and there.
It was over a month before my brother and I got an appointment to be certified as executors by the county. Funerals usually happen in three days, and even if a funeral has been paid in advance, thousands of dollars in incidentals can add up.
Money can only be accessed if your name is on the account, or if the account is one that’s payable upon death.
There’s a whole slew of future essays about finances, and different ways to leave money (there are four.) But for now, just know your heirs won’t be able to access anything unless you take steps to ensure they can.
Enough about death for now. Until next time.
Thanks for tackling the practical (as your mother would have said ) side of death. Agreed that it can break up a family. Beware!
So appreciate this theme for as you said, if you are unacquainted, there's no dress rehearsal here. In addition to having his estate and paperwork in great order, our father provided my brother and me the kindest of gifts - a complete guide to his "fun"eral - with all of his preferences - down to providing his own obit (practical but with a line or two showcasing his stellar sense of humor as well as highlighting the lifetime achievements of importance to
HIM), music & reading choices (and readers) and more. This was an incredible asset during our time of grief (not to have to make these decisions - and then question ourselves until our end). Kind, giving and organized beyond ! the end. I will forever treasure these handwritten 10 pages - as well as my lifetime mentor: a great lesson to take care of these things during our lives so as not to be a burden to others when you are gone. ❤️