An Honest Look at Death

Our culture is obsessed with death. Just look at some of the top podcasts in the U.S., or the proliferation of crime-focused TV shows, or even what populates the pages of our news sites. Sex may sell, but death, in all its gory detail, captivates.

Despite this fixation, do we ever take a moment to consider our own death and what that means for the life we’re currently living? Victor M. Sweeney has. In fact, he wrote a book about it. He and Death, it turns out, shake hands on a daily basis.

A mortician, Sweeney plies his trade in a small Minnesota town where he lives with his wife and children. A Wired video catapulted Sweeney to internet fame a few years ago, and that led to a book, Now Departing: A Small-Town Mortician on Death, Life, and the Moments in Between. The book (released last fall), and the thoughtful promotion of his wise wife landed him as a guest on the Visitation Sessions podcast a few months ago, which is where yours truly heard him and was deeply struck by his musings on the concept of affability. This turned into a piece (about Elinor Dashwood), and made me want to read Sweeney’s whole book. I’d been saving the read for an upcoming lengthy car ride, but during some downtime on a recent day, I pulled it off the shelf and proceeded to read it in its entirety over the course of the afternoon and evening.

Thought-provoking doesn’t do this book justice. Convicting, maybe? Compelling? Well-balanced, perhaps? This last one is perhaps the most fitting, because Sweeney does an admirable job with a difficult task. He brings us a book of multiple genres -- memoir, humor, philosophy -- and invites us into his life and thoughts on a necessary but rather overlooked profession all centered on a topic most people wish to avoid considering.

Each chapter contains some type of story or vignette that illustrates a point Sweeney wishes his audience to consider — from memory to inconvenience to affability to “bone arks.” Interspersed throughout the stories in each chapter are Sweeney’s ponderings on life, an early memory, a family moment, or a description of some aspect of his job. Throughout it all, Sweeney gives details about a mortician’s work, bringing readers into his profession without minimizing or over-aggrandizing what he does.

The further I got into the book, the more I found myself grabbing a pencil, marking phrases and passages, staring at them, and writing comments of my own next to them. Having a conversation within a book is perfectly acceptable — but pencils only, please.

There’s humor, such as when he writes of sometimes being third-wheeled by the dead while on a date with his wife. There’s also great grief over the tragic suicide of his best friend. Sweeney has written his own obituary, hosted his own funeral party, and already picked out what he wants his headstone to say. Actually, this part struck me deeply, both the obituary writing and the headstone inscriptions. So many of us are concerned with our legacy, our impact on those around us, and how we will be remembered. But if we’re honest, we know that in about 100 years, we’ll be out of living memory — and this can be a frightening consideration. “Enter the obituary,” writes Sweeney, “the tangible thing left behind at the end of it all. . . . If we are to remember anyone through an obituary long after their death, it is important to write down the things that mattered and that they amount to some kind of truth.”

Sweeney is a practicing Catholic, and he melds his faith with his profession and conveys his religious convictions to a secular world very ably. He’s not shy about his beliefs, but his book isn’t preachy or didactic. Perhaps most notable to me was that he serves those of all faith backgrounds (or none) and is friends with people from all sorts of backgrounds. But he doesn’t let the fact that this book is meant to have a wide reach water down what he professes.

Importantly, nowhere in the book did I feel a weight of morbidity start to creep over me. Sweeney doesn’t make light of death; he simply puts it in its proper context and invites us to do the same. His respect for the human person, for their souls and their bodies, is powerful and comes through beautifully in the way he discusses the families and the dead he’s worked with.

While there is a wide array of truths and words to ponder throughout this book, the concept that most captured my attention was Sweeney’s thoughts on inconvenience. So often, we have this idea that we “don’t want to be a burden,” or we “don’t want to be a bother” to our families and friends after we die. But, as Sweeney reminds us, from the moment of our conception, we are, in a sense, an inconvenience (think of the morning sickness you caused your mother!). This isn’t a bad thing, Sweeney argues: “It has been said that ‘tears are the price we pay for love.’ I propose another axiom: ‘Inconvenience is the price we pay for love.’”

When it comes to inconvenience, a balance should be struck that honors the dead while also serving the living. When I am dead, I want to make some things easier, if I can. The hard parts cannot be avoided, though; the transportation and preparation of my body, the gathering of family from wherever they may be, and organizing the ritual I’d like to have as part of my final goodbye when my time is up. These things will all take sacrifice and live from my family and friends. Some of them will have to take time away from work or their own families. If I die before me wife, I will make her life incredibly inconvenient. This is the price she pays for loving me.

Profound words for a culture that prioritizes efficiency and control.

Now Departing is a clear, sincere, honest reflection on the business of death. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to wander through the local cemetery, both to offer prayers for the dead and to contemplate their headstones. Who knows what inspirational phrases I might find there.