Summer isn’t quite ready to step aside, but it won’t be long before the leaves change colors and Mother Nature reminds us that dying doesn’t have to be such an ugly business.
If you’re even a little bit Irish, it’s not news to you that parting with certain family members can have, well, a bright side. The happy formalities used to last for days.
They say the three-day Irish wake got started not as an excuse to party but as a precaution, because every now and then a fella in the habit of drinking stout from pewter tankards would fall into a catatonic state from lead poisoning, only to recover in a day or two. So mourners would drink and dance to pass the time as they waited to see whether or not old Seamus got his second wind.
In my family, deathly departures called for the gathering of cousins and friends and aunts and uncles and assorted hangers-on, complete with food and drink and dancing. When my mother passed, the chairs in the viewing room were pushed aside so that her seven children could dance to the Four Tops and the Rolling Stones. Funeral homes aren’t offering dance floors yet, but according to The New York Times, there’s a growing trend to lighten things up by “putting some fun in funerals,” with “celebration rooms” and “death-themed comedy shows.” I love it.
By the time my grandmother was waked in her home in Brooklyn, traditions like keening and covering mirrors were no longer part of the ritual. But the occasion was no less peculiar. “Come Into the Parlor” is a snapshot of what it felt like for a kid in 1963 to be part of this strangely atavistic practice. You can read it in Miracle Monocle (6-minute read, 1,500 words).
To get into that unvanquished Celtic spirit, try Mr. Jagger’s “Dancing with Mr. D.”
For something more traditional, here’s the Clancy Brothers: “Finnegan’s Wake.”
