Dad's Hands

When we lose someone, especially when we are young, each memory that remains is precious. I lost my own father when I was eight years old, and many of the memories I have are a bit fuzzy. What we as grieving people need to remember most is that the feelings of love will never be forgotten, no matter how many of the details are lost. During the holidays, I often recommend that families take time to share memories of their deceased, to keep those memories alive, and so that young ones can remember that special person too. Here is a beautiful memory from 'Balou' shared on her blog 'born a girl'

http://www.codart.nl/exhibitions/details/1495/

Van Gogh, studies of hands

Hands and Mourning Doves
My Dad would've celebrated his 80th birthday last week. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about him. I've been feeling guilty because I can't remember the exact date of his birthday. I couldn't bring myself to ask Mom...it's something I should never forget. And I have. Hanging on to the too few memories and it hurts that even one little piece went missing. I was nine years old when Dad died from a heart attack at the age of 44. Little things will trigger memories of him. Yesterday it was hearing the coos of a pair of mourning doves. I always think of Dad when I hear mourning doves. I'll imagine that it's his voice and he's reminding me that he's not too far away. Who knows? Maybe it is him. And maybe it's just the little girl inside needing to be comforted. She's never very far from the surface.One of my most vivid memories of Dad is from church on Sunday mornings. Being the youngest of five, I think it was his job to keep me occupied and quiet during the Sunday morning sermons in our little Methodist church. I would sit in his lap and he would hold my hand in his big, tanned, calloused farmer hands. Ever so gently with his fingernail, he would push the cuticles back on each of my small fingernails. I can picture this so clearly. We always sat in the pews on the north side of church. Often the windows would be open. There were trees outside the windows and the mourning doves would be coo-coo-cooing outside. If all the other memories slowly disappear, this memory of touching hands and mourning dove songs will never be forgotten.

visit the blog at http://born-a-girl.blogspot.com/2008/12/hands-and-mourning-doves.html

Irish Wakes Online

http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/images/2008/1023/1224625123961_1.html

IRISH WAKES have gone online. Ireland’s first online memorial site, launched in recent weeks, offers families and friends of dead people an opportunity to record the life stories and their memories of loved ones in words, pictures and video. The site is the brainchild of business partners Hugh O’Donnell and Joe McGuiggan.
Contributors can tell the story of their nearest and dearest by uploading anecdotes, shared memories, photos, music and video clips. Mr O’Donnell, a restaurant and bar owner in Killybegs, Co Donegal, said: “The site continues online the tradition of the Irish wake where stories are told and memories shared.”
Co-director Mr McGuiggan, a Derry-based Library Service Executive, said: “Irish people have a strong love for remembering their dead as seen by attendance at wakes, putting memorials into newspapers and by sending out memorial cards. “They now have the opportunity to tell the life story of their loved one in a very visual and interactive way, and record it for future generations to appreciate.”
The website allows the person who creates the tribute to have editorial control of all shared memories which come in from friends and family. Nothing can be added without being screened by the tribute controller. -from The Irish Times- for the full article visit http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/ireland/2008/1023/1224625123961.html

Here are some photos and memories that have been shared on the site

http://www.inlovingmemory.ie/MemorialSites/MemorialSite.aspx?SiteName=NobleMorrow

I remember Noble as my adventurous brother always ready for a laugh.He once scared me half to death driving me to meet my father in Grange and told me the car brakes weren't working. He enjoyed seeing me squirm the whole journey. He lived life to the full and packed so much into 38yrs. We all miss him so much. Lets all try and be like him and enjoy every moment we have.
http://www.inlovingmemory.ie/MemorialSites/MemorialSite.aspx?SiteName=NobleMorrow

http://www.inlovingmemory.ie/MemorialSites/MemorialSite.aspx?SiteName=BernieKeeney

It was a great night of celebration as Bernie treated all her friends to drinks galore as she watched her 5 numbers come up on the national Lottery. It was to her dismay on returning home to check her numbers to learn she hadn't done the lotto that particular week, but the week before. Always professional, she kept the sunny side up and accepted congratulations from all asunder on her good luck during the following weeks. Much missed and often thought of. x
http://www.inlovingmemory.ie/MemorialSites/MemorialSite.aspx?SiteName=BernieKeeney

http://www.inlovingmemory.ie/MemorialSites/MemorialSite.aspx?SiteName=HughieODonnell

One of my fondest memories of my father was the time he made me a weather cock. I was in 3rd class in Niall Mor N.S when one day we were doing a geography lesson which featured a picture of a weather cock in the textbook. At the end of the class the teacher announced that each of us was to bring in a weather cock the next day. At the time my father was very busy with lambing but he never complained when I told him what the teacher wanted. That night as I was going to bed he was out in the cold bottling shed measuring and hammering. The next morning there was a fully functional weather cock on the kitchen table. When I arrived at school I was the only one with a weather cock and it was given pride of place on a pillar in the school yard. I was so proud of my father. In later years I was in Boarding School in Ballyshannon. Whenever there was a concert or school play on where I was taking part he would always travel from Killybegs to support me. Sometimes I used to be embarrassed to see the old brown wolsley car arriving smelling of sheep dip and bits of hay sticking out the back. But now I have treasured memories of the sacrifices he made and the greatest love he showed me by giving of his time. Deirdra. x
http://www.inlovingmemory.ie/MemorialSites/MemorialSite.aspx?SiteName=HughieODonnell

You Say it Best When You..

Sharing memories during a funeral service has become very popular. It is a way for family and friends to participate, to personalize the service, and to make the service reflect the happy memories of a person. Sometimes, though, it is difficult for people to stand up and share in a public place in front of a lot of people. I often suggest that if a family wants this as part of their service, that they have someone agree ahead of time to be the first to share. It's easier then, for others to share. Here are UK celebrant Charles Cowling's experiences and thoughts on the subject.

http://www.goodfuneralguide.co.uk/2008/09/you-say-it-best-when-you.html

You say it best when you...
At yesterday’s funeral I invited people in the audience to have their say after they’d listened to tributes from the family. I tried to make it easy. I gave them time to think about it in advance, acknowledged that speaking in public is hard, invited them to speak from where they were sitting and reminded them that the only thing that mattered was getting it right for their dead friend.
Hardly anyone spoke. I had made an elementary error: I had supposed that their primary medium for expression is words.
I remember planning a funeral with a family, fruitlessly trying to get them to tell me about their dead mum. Very little came until they explained that, as a family, talking was something they just didn’t do. Words, to them, were just so much blather. After some thought, I suggested lighting candles. They weren’t at all the sort of people who like lighting candles, I reckoned, but they leapt at the idea.
On the day of the funeral, I set up my stand, lit a tall candle in the centre and called people forward to light a satellite tealight. Normally, only a few come. On this occasion, everyone did – maybe thirty of them. The array of flames looked very pretty beside the coffin, where they spoke more eloquently than words.
Words are unlikely ever to court disaster so long as they have been checked for precision and cleansed of ambiguity. Saying by doing, though, can be tragic-comically perilous. I’m thinking of the deplorable incident of the dove (symbolic of the soul of the dead person) which, when released, flew inside the crematorium for warmth, could not be chivvied out, and had to be shot. I’m thinking of another dove which, when released, was all at once attacked by a sparrow hawk. As the horrified mourners gazed up, bloody feathers fluttered down on them. I am thinking of the balloon which settled, miles and miles away, in the horns of a £50,000 prize bull. Enraged, the bull burst its fence, charged into a road, was hit by a car and had to be destroyed. These are all true stories.
A piece of music can be eloquent, but only when it is exclusively associated with the dead person. Music so often fails to be effective because those listening to it have their own, private relationship with it.
Back in the here and now, I am chewing over the second lesson I learned from my mute mourners. I had wholly overlooked the fact that they had already done the most eloquent thing they could do for their dead friend. It was this: at some inconvenience to themselves they had made the effort to come to his funeral.

All the bells and all the whistles in all the world cannot speak more meaningfully than simply being there.

This story is from Celebrant Charles Cowling's blog The Good Funeral Guide.

To read the rest of this story, and other thoughtful pieces, visit http://www.goodfuneralguide.co.uk/2008/09/you-say-it-best-when-you.html