Notes from the Graveside: Why I Read Every Obituary

I would love to tell you that most funerals are the exact same. And I wouldn't be lying. Every graveside service has the same tent, the same chairs, and the same hole in the ground. Every service has the same tissues, the same video of memories, the same guestbook. But it is just as true to say that every funeral is unique. Different deceased. Different family members. Different weather. And, most importantly, a different atmosphere.

Because the atmosphere changes, the music has to change, too.

The Funeral of Joy vs. The Funeral of Loss

I played at a service a few years ago where one of the family members spoke about their mom’s addiction to QVC. Everyone laughed; I even joined in because my own mom shares that addiction. That funeral wasn't heavy. Sure, it’s always sad to share memories of someone who isn’t there anymore, but this was a funeral full of love. It wasn’t just love for the deceased, but love for the living. When I played Amazing Grace that day, it wasn’t full of grief; it was full of joy, with just a touch of mourning for the temporary loss of connection rather than the loss of an unlived life.

Contrast that with a service I played where the deceased was a 17-year-old girl who had taken her own life. That was an incredibly sad, heavy event. The grief was palpable and lasting. I played Amazing Grace differently that day. I played it a little slower, being sure to give extra space to the notes that hurt.

That sentence might sound odd -- notes don’t hurt. But in a tune like Amazing Grace, they do. Some notes just feel heavier. They are the notes that set up the emotion. If you play them fast, the painful notes hurt a little less. It feels like a wistful smile as you wave at your loved one from the other side of TSA security. But if you play them slow, if you draw them out, it’s like the silent tears streaming down your face while your throat aches. It’s like every muscle in your body wanting to run after the car and beg them not to go, but knowing it’s too late.

That 17-year-old’s funeral was the latter. Even as an outsider, it was devastating. I had to emotionally recover after that one. I cried on the drive home, and I spent the rest of the day just trying to breathe. I played laments on my pipes, called my mom, and just thought about that girl. I believe that those who have passed on are still here, just separated from us, and I hoped she knew how loved she was.

"We pipers may not be able to change the volume of the instrument, but we can change the volume of the feeling."

The First Funeral

This deep connection to the service isn't just business for me; it started with the very first funeral I ever played. I had only been playing the bagpipes for two years. It was my first solo performance, and it was for my grandmother.

She had been my biggest cheerleader when I started learning the instrument. Standing there, playing for her, was the first and only time I have ever cried while playing. I can tell you firsthand: it is incredibly difficult to do both at the same time. That experience taught me early on that my job isn't just to play notes. It's to help people say goodbye when words aren't enough.

Holding Grief

People often ask how I can handle being around so much sadness without letting it crush me. I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure this out. I think the secret is that you acknowledge the grief exists, but you don't give it space to grow.

Think of it like seeing a paper bag on the side of the road. I can acknowledge the bag is there. I can even pick it up and recycle it to help clean up. But I don't have to take it home and put it on my kitchen counter. I can hold space for a family’s grief without taking it home with me.

What I Wish Families Knew

If there is one thing I wish every family knew, it’s how much I care. I can't speak for other pipers, but I am always intimately interested in the life of the deceased. The first thing I do when I book a funeral is find and read the obituary. I try to think about that person as I determine what tunes to play.

Sometimes it's obvious that I am playing for the deceased. Other times, it's obvious I'm playing for the living. I try to figure that out ahead of time because it changes my performance. More than anything, I want the family to know that on that day, at that service, holding their grief and providing some semblance of peace is my highest priority.

It’s almost like the bagpipe is screaming your emotions to the world. If the funeral feels heavy and dark, a good piper will amplify those emotions. If a funeral feels full of love and acceptance, a good piper will amplify that, too. We pipers may not be able to change the volume of the instrument, but we can change the volume of the feeling.