Caleb Wilde

Caleb Wilde

(218 comments, 980 posts)

I'm a sixth generation funeral director. I have a grad degree in Missional Theology and a Certification in Thanatology.

And I like to read and write.

Connect with my writing and book plans by "liking" me on facebook. And keep tabs with my blog via subscription or twitter.

Posts by Caleb Wilde

15 Things I Wish I’d Known About Grief

Today’s guest post is written by Teryn O’Brien:

After a year of grief, I’ve learned a lot. I’ve also made some mistakes along the way. Today, I jotted down 15 things I wish I’d known about grief when I started my own process.

I pass this onto anyone on the journey.

1. You will feel like the world has ended. I promise, it hasn’t. Life willgo on, slowly. A new normal will come, slowly.

2. No matter how bad a day feels, it is only a day.  When you go to sleep crying, you will wake up to a new day.

3. Grief comes in waves. You might be okay one hour, not okay the next. Okay one day, not okay the next day. Okay one month, not okay the next. Learn to go with the flow of what your heart and mind are feeling.

4. It’s okay to cry. Do it often. But it’s okay to laugh, too. Don’t feel guilty for feeling positive emotions even when dealing with loss.

5. Take care of yourself, even if you don’t feel like it. Eat healthily. Work out. Do the things you love. Remember that you are still living.

6. Don’t shut people out. Don’t cut yourself off from relationships. You will hurt yourself and others.

7. No one will respond perfectly to your grief. People–even people you love–will let you down. Friends you thought would be there won’t be there, and people you hardly know will reach out. Be prepared to give others grace. Be prepared to work through hurt and forgiveness at others’ reactions.

8. God will be there for you perfectly. He will never, ever let you down. He will let you scream, cry, and question. Throw all your emotions at Him. He is near to the brokenhearted.

9. Take time to truly remember the person you lost. Write about him or her, go back to all your memories with them, truly soak in all the good times you had with that person. It will help.

10. Facing the grief is better than running. Don’t hide from the pain. If you do, it will fester and grow and consume you.

11. You will ask “Why?” more times than you thought possible, but you may never get an answer. What helps is asking, “How? How can I live life more fully to honor my loved one? How can I love better, how can I embrace others, how can I change and grow because of this?” 

12. You will try to escape grief by getting busy, busy, busy. You will think that if you don’t think about it, it’ll just go away. This isn’t really true. Take time to process and heal.

13. Liquor, sex, drugs, hobbies, work, relationships, etc., will not take the pain away. If you are using anything to try and numb the pain, it will make things worse in the long run. Seek help if you’re dealing with the sorrow in unhealthy ways.

14. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to need people. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

15. Grief can be beautiful and deep and profound. Don’t be afraid of it. Walk alongside it. You may be surprised at what grief can teach you.

What are things you’ve learned about grief that you wish you’d known when your loss first happened?

*****

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Teryn O’Brien works in marketing with various religious imprints of Penguin Random House. She spends her free time roaming the mountains of Colorado, writing a series of novels, and combating sex trafficking. She’s of Irish descent, which is probably where she gets her warrior spirit of fighting for the broken, the hurting, the underdog. Read her blog, follow her on Twitter, or connect with her on Facebook.

Death and Funerals

Today’s guest post is written by Laura Bock.

“Each of us has his own rhythm of suffering.”

– Roland Barthes

Death and funerals have never frightened me; I’ve had my share of close encounters with death, mostly from my own period of suicidal thoughts due to severe depression. Death and I have become friends of sorts over the years.

I’ve always held a fascination with death, even as a child. With my fascination came an understanding; I accepted death as a natural part of life at an early age. I knew all living things had to die; from the moment of birth, we are essentially living to die.

My mother didn’t want me attending funerals when I was young; she did not fare well with funerals and did her best to never attend any. I am thankful I didn’t pick up on her phobia.
When I was around 12 years old, I experienced the death of two major people in my life: my Nana and the pastor of the church I was attending.

My Nana’s death was sudden, yet expected; she had emphysema and was in the ICU when she passed on. I remember going to see her in the hospital with my nephews, who were just toddlers; we had to slip in quietly, because we were so young and it was after hours. Nana took my hand, squeezed it and told me not to be sad; I had to be strong for my dad and the rest of the family.

I was sad, but even at that young age, I knew to not dwell on her passing, but to rejoice and celebrate her life by remembering how she touched my life and the lives of others.

At her funeral I bounced around smiling, singing and laughing, trying to make everyone smile. My dad held my hand and took me up to Nana’s casket to say goodbye; I touched her hands placed peacefully across her torso, with her rosary in hand, then looked up and smiled at my dad who was holding back his tears. “Don’t cry dad, she’s at peace and doesn’t want you to be unhappy.”

After returning home from Nana’s funeral, I went through my grieving process. The hardest part was accepting the fact that when we would go to visit her house, that she wouldn’t be there anymore. The first time we visited after her death, I stood in the spot where her rocking chair was, right in front of the window looking out to the road; I pretended she was still there. I could feel her presence; I knew she was watching over all of us.

It seemed like hardly any time passed when the pastor of my church suddenly died. He was working on a car in his driveway when the jack gave out and the car crushed him underneath. This death was more shocking to me than my Nana’s.

When I attended the pastor’s funeral service, my philosophy on death was reinforced by the happy and uplifting hymns that were chosen for the service. I knew that life had to carry on, and while we would always miss the person we lost to death, we should always remember to celebrate their life. I became a pro with funerals at a young age.

I remember collecting all the loose change I could, putting it into an envelope and giving it to the pastor’s widowed wife with a letter that said what he meant to me and how sorry I was for her and her sons’ loss. I ran into her about 10 years ago; she still remembered my act of kindness.

Immediately after graduating high school, a friend of mine was killed in a car accident; she was very popular and the wake was packed wall to wall with friends and loved ones. Everyone was crying – except me. I remember being told by a close friend that I was insensitive because I was not upset and crying like everyone else was. My reply was simple, “Everyone mourns death in their own way. She is at peace – we should celebrate her life.” I understood I was merely a target for her anger as part of her grieving process.

I make it a habit to visit the gravesides of loved ones that have passed on. Cemeteries are not only for the burial of remains, but they also serve as a place for those of us still alive to remember and cope with the loss of our loved ones. Cemeteries are a peaceful place to reflect on life.

I have become a grief counselor of sorts to friends and family over the years. I understand the grief process; I am a very empathetic person, offering strength and comfort to all. Sometimes all someone needs is an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on. I’ve often thought about pursuing grief counseling as a career, but I do believe I’ve found my calling as a writer.

Perhaps I am an old soul and that is how I accepted death without it having to be explained to me by one of my older relatives. Maybe it’s because I read a lot as a child and was exposed to death in many of the books I read; whatever the reason, I am thankful that I have that balance and understanding in my life.

Mourning and grief are such deeply felt and personal experiences that vary with each individual. We should always remember to never judge a person because they are not reacting the way we think they should – that person could be falling apart and crying on the inside.

Perhaps that person is like myself and understands that every journey must end and we should celebrate and live life to its fullest – after all, we will never get out of it alive.

*****

Laura Bock is a freelance writer and photographer. She lives her life with no fear and has taken the leap of faith many times over, which explains her sometimes wounded wings. She’s recently learned to de-clutter and simplify, so that she might pursue the life she so desperately craves. Her passions are writing, travel and photography. You can connect with Laura on FacebookTwitter and her blog, Tales of a Formerly Inadequate Fat Girl.

 

 

11 Worst and Best Things to Say at a Funeral

I’m often asked, “What are the best and worst things to say at a funeral?”  And it’s a great question to ask because the right words can help speed up healing, while the wrong words can delay the grief process by days, maybe even months.

I stumbled across this list from Grief.com and thought they were very helpful.  Of course, there may be one or two pieces of advice that should be taken lightly.

The Worst Things to Say to Someone in Grief

  1. At least she lived a long life, many people die young
  2. He is in a better place
  3. She brought this on herself
  4. Edward Cullen does not exist and even if he did, he wouldn’t bite your loved one
  5. There is a reason for everything
  6. Aren’t you over him yet, he has been dead for awhile now
  7. You can have another child still
  8. She was such a good person God wanted her to be with him
  9. I know how you feel
  10. She did what she came here to do and it was her time to go
  11. Be strong

The Best Things to Say to Someone in Grief

  1. I am so sorry for your loss.
  2. I wish I had the right words, just know I care.
  3. I don’t know how you feel, but I am here to help in anyway I can.
  4. You and your loved one will be in my thoughts and prayers.
  5. I have a ton of bacon in my car with your name on it.
  6. My favorite memory of your loved one is…
  7. I am always just a phone call away
  8. Give a hug instead of saying something
  9. We all need help at times like this, I am here for you
  10. I am usually up early or late, if you need anything
  11. Saying nothing, just be with the person

Taken (mostly) verbatim from the incredibly helpful Grief.com

If you’d like to share your experiences with what should or shouldn’t be said, please feel free to share.  Or, if you agree or disagree with any of the above suggestions, let me know!

150 Year Old Reputation for 15 Minutes of Fame?

Over the past month I’ve been featured by NBC, CBS and the Facebook god George Takei (oh myyy).  And while the NBC and CBS posts were rather innocuous, this post has been making it’s rounds.  Like, it’s everywhere.

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For those of us who watch “The Walking Dead” and other Zombie films, the joke is mostly funny. For those who aren’t interested in the zombie genre, though, it’s created some discomfort.  Being that the post has gone viral, millions have seen it and not everyone has liked it.

One local person (who refused to give us their name) called the funeral home and demanded that I take down the post (by the time they called it was too late and the post had already gone viral).

Another person actually reported me to the Borough Council of my home town.  Thankfully, the Borough Council realized my post was in jest and didn’t kick me out town.

But when a friend that I really respect was uncomfortable with that particular tweet, it made me reflect upon my platform.  He constructively and kindly let me know what he thought via a Facebook message, and it provided me with a moment of clarification, which I communicated with this response:

So sorry. It is certainly something that I would never ever consider doing in real life. I understand why the thought of this would upset you and sincerely apologize. It has been a difficult process for me to understand how I can engage my generation in the death and dying conversation without being over the top. This is a process that I have continually modified based on constructive feedback. I thank you for being willing to offer me your thoughts and do know that I am very sorry this tweet called into question our trustworthiness. I will learn to do better.

I just want to make some things clear:  I am first and foremost a funeral director who has the utmost respect for those I serve.  And I would never, ever knowingly do anything through social media that would break the trust of my community.

Through six generations and over 150 years, our family has earned the trust and confidence of our community and I would NEVER trade that trust for anything.  I would NEVER trade our reputation that my family has built for 15 minutes of personal fame.  I have too much respect for my family and too much respect for this wonderful community that we serve.

So, why do I engage in social media?  And why are some of my posts “edgy”?

My goal with social media is simple: I want to start a conversation about death.  And, as a funeral director, I’m well suited to initiate the discussion.  We need to talk about death, we need to embrace it, we need to understand it better and – at times – the best way to start the conversation about an uncomfortable subject is through a little bit of humor.

This whole death and social media thing is kinda unique.  We’re doing it together.  We’re learning.  And we’re going somewhere.  We’re learning how to live life better through a healthy perspective of death.  So, learn with me.  I’m trying my best.

Memoirs of a Cancer Orphan

Today’s guest post is written by Lynsie Lee: 

 

They say you can’t help someone if they don’t want it for themselves. You can shove resources into their face, offer time, money, every ounce of yourself. But if they don’t want help, there is nothing you can do. Sadly, this is the case with my mother while she is dying from cancer.

Maybe she’s in denial. Maybe she is still trying to be the strong, independent woman that raised six children on her own. But now, when I walk into her dark, dingy apartment – the smell of old dishes and mildew filling my nostrils – I feel like maybe she just wants to die.

She has disconnected herself from us; much like when she was an alcoholic. We don’t know how to feel, what to say to her, how to help her. She has abandoned my siblings and I and it’s beginning to feel like she is already gone.

My family has always been the epitome of dysfunction. Our mother kept us from knowing relatives, so none of us have ever dealt with a death in the family. Questions, stresses and frustrations all swarm my mind when I think about when she actually does pass- not fully for the pain of the loss of my only parent, but for the realization that we will have to plan a funeral.  The dread of needing to clean up an apartment that has been hoarded in for nearly 30 years. There’s also the weight on our shoulders of what to do with our eldest sister who still lives there because of psychiatric issues that our mother chose to neglect and refused to address. My mom is choosing to let herself die and leaving us to handle all of the issues she never could.

I’m not angry with her, which I know is a stage of the grieving process. I refuse to have anger toward somebody that did what she could with what she had (mentally, emotionally and physically). I spent enough of my childhood and adolescent being mad at her, hating her, wishing she would die. But now she is dying and it kills me to think that this is what she wants.

It kills me to see her curled up in a fragile ball on a couch surrounded by boxes with all of the light bulbs in her home burnt out. It kills me that my eldest sister has to live in these conditions and see this image every hour of every day. And it kills me that my mom refuses to let us improve this.

I’ve been grieving publicly for a few weeks and while it does mean a lot to me when I receive condolences, or when others relate with their own personal losses to cancer, I still feel alone in the fact that my mom is dying in these conditions. She’s choosing to be alone in these conditions. She’s choosing to abandon her children when she is all we have ever had.

I tried expressing to her the other night that I was sad and scared and she told me to leave her alone, that she just wanted to rest. You can’t help someone who won’t accept it. My mother doesn’t want help. My mother wants to die.

*****

From Caleb: As a funeral director, I’ve had to learn to control my emotions.  Not because I’m a selective empathetic, but because grieving families need me to be the level head in the midst of grieving souls.  But I couldn’t control my emotions when I first read this post.  I cried.  I cried because Lynsie pulled me into her story.  I cried because I’ve served families whose loved one’s have chosen to die alone.  By their own choice.  I’ve seen the empty pain in those left behind.  The helpless pain.  The grief that has been disenfranchised by the one who has died.  When someone chooses to die along, it leaves behind a lonely grief.  An orphaned grief.

I hope this post finds its way to other “orphans” because I know it will give them a small sense of comfort, knowing that although your loved one has barred you from grieving, there’s a community of the lonely … an orphanage for the lonely grievers.

Thank you Lynsie for being willing to share.

 

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