i come from Irish wakes, a terribly misunderstood tradition
psychologically ~ a wise gift from my Irish ancestors
just lost someone ~ grief exhausted to the core
the house fills up with people, tea made, and whiskey starts flowing  

by midnight a few relatives & close friends yarn stories of the deceased
whole room bursts into contagious laughter ~ spilling into saturating tears
then crying and laughing again

and just before the wee hours an argument breaks out over something no one remembers
a grudge ~ begins to stiffly form ~ not sure if its’ the drink or just emotions running high

the wake is not Irish irreverence ~ it is community
holding one of its members through the worst night of their life
it fills the dark with warmth ~ and refuses to allow grief to exist in silent isolation

some believe a wake evolved from a pagan ritual practice of ‘waking the dead’  

traditional belief has it the wake evolved from an Irish “faire”
meaning to watch over & never leave the body alone
from the moment of death to burial — someone is always present

Family and neighbors come without being asked
they keep coming ~ family doesn’t have to cook
doesn’t have to make decisions or have to be alone with their loss

community arrives takes over and stays
stories told at our family wakes sewed us even closer together
these stories were told retold & even told today

laughter dispels grief ~ story brings relief
of all the complicated human flaws and forms
a Wake is not the flattened saint ~ formal mourning can induce
a hearty lot to help make death survivable invented the Irish wake

I shall never forget my dear Uncle Tim’s Wake
dressed in his buttoned down sweater jacket ~ a tucked in flannel plaid shirt
appeared to be sleeping ~ too young to be dead
his opened wooden casket placed in the dimly lit living room of the home he built by himself
I approached the casket ~ stood quietly looking upon the body
felt him out of the casket, standing next to me ~ his arms around my shoulders