I haven’t ever been to a family funeral, so I don’t know what my family does. I, however, have a strong desire to photograph.
The general consensus here seems to be it is OK for children, but not adults. There are a few problems with the reasoning:
- There are plenty of adults who have few to no pictures taken of them in their lives for all sorts of reasons. This is not uncommon.
- There are many people who have had pictures, but have suffered through one means or another leaving nothing behind.
On top of all this, there are many who do not have pictures with the deceased while alive. I wouldn’t hang it on the wall, but I would like to have a picture of my little one at Great-Grandma Ilene’s funeral if she doesn’t have the opportunity to meet her sooner. And many times families do not make the time to get together until a tragedy happens, meaning the lost opportunities are compounded.
My family has always been very open and frank about death. My grandmother, for instance, tells us about her wishes whenever we pass a graveyard. “Now you know when I die I want…” and whenever we played piano she would say, “I want you to play this at my funeral…” She’s been doing this since my parents were teenagers. There isn’t a sense of immenent death, but just an acceptance that it is part of life. I find that friends who have not grown up around this are very shocked to hear such things.
My husband’s family is the type to pretend we just don’t ever die. They refuse to discuss death or any person who has passed away. I find that very frustrating and saddening. When attending a funeral last week on his side, the people flew past the open casket as fast as they could without looking inside, then at the reception afterwards never once mentioned the dead person. When I talked about my time with her, my MIL told me it was inconsiderate and rude to bring her up. I was floored.
I would like to be remembered in life
and in death. I want people to grieve over the sad times, but then to find happiness and warmth in the good times and the hope of heaven. No matter how bad the physical body looks, it is a testiment to me of our faith in something more, something bigger, something better. If the physical is gone, the spiritual is home. It is bitterseet, but something I find comfort in.