Why wait for a eulogy?
The appreciation of those that we love has never felt so strong, as during this time of prolonged separation and widespread threat. The thought of losing our loved ones doesn’t bear thinking about, but it’s unlikely we’ve let them know that.
In the UK — a country renowned for its stiff upper lip culture — we’re often restrained when it comes to expressions of love and affection. We most commonly leave it until after a person has passed away, to come forward and speak openly about our affection and feeling towards them. But why wait until that person isn’t around to hear it? For that person will undoubtedly gain more from hearing these sentiments than anybody else in the room.
We all want to be remembered, to leave our stamp on the world — whether that be in the public eye or simply within the small, immediate circles in which we’ve spent our lives. When in the midst of one of my existential crises, my mind often attempts to conjure up visions of my funeral: Who will attend? Who will speak? What will they say?
This idea is explored in the book (2012) and subsequent film (2014) The Fault In Our Stars, written by John Green. On hearing the news of Augustus’ proliferating cancer, his girlfriend Hazel and best friend Isaac decide to stage a premature funeral for him, which he himself attends. In response to Augustus’ fear of being forgotten, his two closest friends share their eulogies for him, so he too can know the memories and legacy that will remain of him when he passes away.
This January saw two significant occasions for my family: the 90th and 95th birthdays of my maternal Grandma (Judy) and paternal Grandpa (Jack) respectively, on consecutive days. Unable to get together and celebrate in the way we had initially hoped and intended, we were forced to think laterally about how to mark such momentous occasions; a zoom call and bunch of flowers in the post didn’t quite cut it.
Having spent the past ten months isolated from their families, we knew that all Judy and Jack would desire on their birthday was the warmth and company of their nearest and dearest. In an effort to give them the next best thing, we decided to compile a book of letters and photographs from everyone whose lives my grandparents have touched: immediate and extended family, old friends, new friends, the offspring of friends no longer around, teachers, colleagues, peers and neighbours.
Each book was profuse with memories captured in photographs and in words — scanned, emailed and handwritten, sent by post. Each contribution to the books added a piece to the puzzle, resulting in a vibrant picture of Judy and Jack’s lives. Inducing glee, nostalgia, tears and laughter, a large portion of the content also provided wonderful insight and access into parts of their lives that we, as children and grandchildren, would never have known about.
The contributors really took the opportunity to be open with their feelings and generous with their sentiments — something that is especially rare within our grandparents’ generation. It was clear that each individual had taken the time to sit down and immerse themselves in thoughts and recollections of Judy and Jack, a heartening demonstration of selflessness in a society that’s growing increasingly self-centred.
Though it took some planning, organisation and hard graft, each project was worth every ounce of effort; a true labour of love. The surprise doorstep-delivery of the books on their respective birthdays was met with profusions of joyful tears and gratitude. Poring over the pages, Judy and Jack were able to see all of the love and care that they have given to the universe over the past nine decades, reflected back at them.
What greater gift can there be to give someone on their birthday than a book that articulates and shares with them the mark that they have made on the world? And why not do so on an occasion of celebration rather than mourning?
We should bestow this knowledge on a person whilst their mind and body is still very much intact, so that they can take that knowledge with them and let it colour the rest of their future.
Let’s not wait for the eulogy. In doing so, we are simply depriving each other of a human’s greatest pleasure and sole purpose: to love and feel loved.