I’ve heard the term “celebration of life” before these last few weeks. Sometimes it’s used as a replacement term for funeral, other times it’s separate—like a memorial service or some other sort of event. It’s a weird term, though, suggestive of a greater positivity muddled in grief, an appreciation of life, someone’s life, with an acknowledgement of their absence.
I guess when I think about what inevitably surrounds the phrase, it seems oxymoronic to involve the idea of celebration.
Someone a few years younger than I from the island passed away unexpectedly about a week and a half ago. I don’t want to speak about his passing beyond the fact of it. I want to be sensitive to everyone. I feel intrusive just saying that someone has passed, but I wanted to talk about how we’ve come together on the island in order to grieve and celebrate his life in these past days because it’s been inspiring for me.
A day after his passing, somebody organized an event of sorts, posting on the town Facebook page about how they would be releasing paper star lanterns in memoriam. Despite a last minute location change from South Beach to Marriner’s Wharf, most of those on the island, plus other friends and family from other islands and the mainland, turned up down front to watch the lanterns fade into the night.
There was a lot of talking and laughing, getting pulled in for quick (or long) hugs. Most people had tears in their eyes at one point or another. In groups, the conversation would lull, lost in thought or captivated by the scattered light trail, glowing further until they seemed to depart behind some dark curtain.
The funeral, a beautiful service, was held a few days later. While everyone was probably completely exhausted, both emotionally and physically, some of the younger crowd from Long and Great Diamond islands decided to have a bonfire on the beach that evening. They bought soda and materials for S’mores (which were broken into on the boat ride to the island) and invited a range of college-aged kids to middle-schoolers. Though that age range isn’t exactly unusual for a Long Island bonfire, it was just so cool. It created a place for everyone who had just lost a friend, cousin or brother to come hang out with other people who could relate.
Even though everyone’s grief was (and is) fresh, the overarching mood wasn’t that of sadness. It was obviously present on the wharf with the lanterns and at the bonfire on the beach, but the sadness wasn’t the essential reason for coming together.
It’s always hard to accept a death, but I think these celebrations of life are what help us start to come to terms with it. From my perspective, Long Island seems to take solace in the community, and, in this time of tragedy, celebrating the life of a young man is what will get us through.
Melanie Floyd is a recent University of Maine at Farmington graduate who lives on Long Island in Casco Bay.