I have been reflecting, though, on how things were different here, simply in terms of customs and logistics. In general, this is exactly what my blog is about. Also, this type of life event brings a real poignancy to living far from home and makes one question one's motives for doing so. But we'll get to that.
As I've mentioned in a previous post, all my grandparents are no longer with us. Sadly, this means I am all too familiar with burial and mourning customs, and so could feel the differences between how things were done here and how they were done back home. One thing that I found most striking was the amount of time that everything lasted. There were about ten days between the day the person passed away and when the funeral services took place. To me this seemed like an eternity, as in my experience things usually take 3-4 days. I realize, though, that this might be more of a function of living in a big city than it is a function of living in France. It's strangely similar to going to a nice restaurant -- it simply takes time to get a reservation.
In my experience in the US, all of the children and grandchildren of the deceased met in one place and then rode to all of the services together in a series of limousines. Being outside of an environment where this is normal, I realized that it might be a bit strange, overly luxurious. That being said, it's nice when the family arrives together and enters the church together, without having to greet the crowd of extended family and friends. While of course it's kind and supportive and wonderful of them to be there at such a time, it's also very difficult to face people in these moments. Here in France, our nuclear family made our way to the services together, and then met everyone outside the church, greeting and chatting with each other for what seemed like 30 minutes, but maybe was only 10-15. I watched those closest to the deceased hang back a bit, unsure of what to do, and then accept the condolences people offered them gracefully, though sometimes with difficulty. My understanding is that there are sometimes wakes in France, though not always. As there was not in this case, perhaps this time outside the church took its place, giving friends that opportunity to speak with the bereft family members. Whether this happens in a funeral home or outside a church doesn't really matter much, I suppose. The sentiments and the interactions are the same. Certainly none of this is ever easy.
One last observation is that cemeteries in France seem to be all stone and gravel, not grass the way I've seen in the United States. I don't know why this made such an impression on me, but it did. The families of the deceased have to bring their own flower pots and either install them permanently at the grave or find a place where temporary containers will stand up well. The custom is the same though, that people bring flowers and take a sense of pride in making sure their family member's graves look tidy. I suppose none of us can bear the idea of leaving our loved ones unattended.
In the midst of all of this, of comforting loved ones who are grieving the loss of a beloved family member, there were a few things going on in my mind. The first, of course, was trying to be there to make everything easier for my husband and make sure he carried on all normal necessary functions, such as eating enough, sleeping, etc. This was hardly necessary, but it gave me something to do and a sense of purpose. Perhaps that's simply my way of grieving.
On the other side of things... being here during the death of a loved one terrifies me. We were here for this one. We were in the right place. We had seen this person over the last few months, we were here to be with the family and mourn together. But... my side of the family is far. With the exception of a few weeks at the holidays, we've not been able to spend time with them. What if, God forbid, something were to happen to one of them? I've wasted precious time with them, living life in some far off country instead of being with them. What am I thinking?!
And then I remember what I'm thinking. I remember my husband who is here and who is the most important person in my world. I remember that he had been away from his home and family for over three years before we moved to France. I remember how wonderful his family members are and how they've become my family members, too.
And so there you have it. Plainly put, the one most intense source of anxiety and fear that living abroad carries with it. The fear that the worst could happen while you're gone, you could lose one of your most beloved friends or family members, and you will have given up time with them during their most precious last days. But then again, we've chosen a life that means we will face this fear no matter where we go. (Unless, of course, we convince one entire side of the family to move to another country. Should be easy, yes?) So I'll keep saying my prayers that God keeps us on the right side of the ocean, and that He grants us many years with those we love. May He send us no surprises. And may He bless the member of my husband's family and keep him always in His care.
As I've mentioned in a previous post, all my grandparents are no longer with us. Sadly, this means I am all too familiar with burial and mourning customs, and so could feel the differences between how things were done here and how they were done back home. One thing that I found most striking was the amount of time that everything lasted. There were about ten days between the day the person passed away and when the funeral services took place. To me this seemed like an eternity, as in my experience things usually take 3-4 days. I realize, though, that this might be more of a function of living in a big city than it is a function of living in France. It's strangely similar to going to a nice restaurant -- it simply takes time to get a reservation.
In my experience in the US, all of the children and grandchildren of the deceased met in one place and then rode to all of the services together in a series of limousines. Being outside of an environment where this is normal, I realized that it might be a bit strange, overly luxurious. That being said, it's nice when the family arrives together and enters the church together, without having to greet the crowd of extended family and friends. While of course it's kind and supportive and wonderful of them to be there at such a time, it's also very difficult to face people in these moments. Here in France, our nuclear family made our way to the services together, and then met everyone outside the church, greeting and chatting with each other for what seemed like 30 minutes, but maybe was only 10-15. I watched those closest to the deceased hang back a bit, unsure of what to do, and then accept the condolences people offered them gracefully, though sometimes with difficulty. My understanding is that there are sometimes wakes in France, though not always. As there was not in this case, perhaps this time outside the church took its place, giving friends that opportunity to speak with the bereft family members. Whether this happens in a funeral home or outside a church doesn't really matter much, I suppose. The sentiments and the interactions are the same. Certainly none of this is ever easy.
One last observation is that cemeteries in France seem to be all stone and gravel, not grass the way I've seen in the United States. I don't know why this made such an impression on me, but it did. The families of the deceased have to bring their own flower pots and either install them permanently at the grave or find a place where temporary containers will stand up well. The custom is the same though, that people bring flowers and take a sense of pride in making sure their family member's graves look tidy. I suppose none of us can bear the idea of leaving our loved ones unattended.
In the midst of all of this, of comforting loved ones who are grieving the loss of a beloved family member, there were a few things going on in my mind. The first, of course, was trying to be there to make everything easier for my husband and make sure he carried on all normal necessary functions, such as eating enough, sleeping, etc. This was hardly necessary, but it gave me something to do and a sense of purpose. Perhaps that's simply my way of grieving.
On the other side of things... being here during the death of a loved one terrifies me. We were here for this one. We were in the right place. We had seen this person over the last few months, we were here to be with the family and mourn together. But... my side of the family is far. With the exception of a few weeks at the holidays, we've not been able to spend time with them. What if, God forbid, something were to happen to one of them? I've wasted precious time with them, living life in some far off country instead of being with them. What am I thinking?!
And then I remember what I'm thinking. I remember my husband who is here and who is the most important person in my world. I remember that he had been away from his home and family for over three years before we moved to France. I remember how wonderful his family members are and how they've become my family members, too.
And so there you have it. Plainly put, the one most intense source of anxiety and fear that living abroad carries with it. The fear that the worst could happen while you're gone, you could lose one of your most beloved friends or family members, and you will have given up time with them during their most precious last days. But then again, we've chosen a life that means we will face this fear no matter where we go. (Unless, of course, we convince one entire side of the family to move to another country. Should be easy, yes?) So I'll keep saying my prayers that God keeps us on the right side of the ocean, and that He grants us many years with those we love. May He send us no surprises. And may He bless the member of my husband's family and keep him always in His care.
