The Funeral

The day we buried my Mother I remember my mother inlaw had my kids and got them ready. She thought it would be best for me to have some quiet in the morning. She brought them over and some jewelry for me to wear. My daughter's hair looked so pretty freshly washed and blown dry. My son had allowed his brush cut to be spiked for the occasion because he knows how I love it that way. I broke down in tears because I wanted to listen to Neil Diamond's Beautiful Noise CD. My had always played that record when we were cleaning house and getting things going on Saturday mornings. I needed music to get me going -- my feet hurt unbelievably from the viewing the night before.

We got to the church on time (always a proud moment for me). There was a viewing to be held prior to the service. I stood staring at her. She didn't look like mom to me. At least she was no longer jaundiced like she was Holy Saturday when she died. The wig she wore was pretty good at hiding the fact she'd lost all of her hair to chemo. It had been a bonding moment when my brother went to her house to shave her head when the hair was falling out in clumps. She decided to get a buzz to match his. She figured it was better to shave it off vs. suffer through the losing. Much neater and cleaner -- just as she'd like it. We got a good laugh at the two of them together after Pete shaved her head.

My uncle (my Dad's brother) was at the church when I got there. He had chatted with my Mom so many times. He already missed her. She was the link that kept extended family together. This uncle is always the steadfast one. He beat us to the church on my wedding day, for my Mom's funeral and for my sister's wedding. He is there like the rock of Gibraltar. He says whatever I need to hear. At the funeral home I asked him how he was (stupid question, always an automatic one) and he said "shitty!" I loved that answer because it gave me something better to say than "hanging in there." It was so much more true and honest.

My Mother's brother, was there too. He stood stoic and shocked like the rest of us. He looked so thin and frail. I was happy my husband and my other uncle each spent so much time with him at the wake. I didn't have the strength to talk to him because his hurt was right there in the open. He looked so lost and had so few people swarming him. The rest of the immediate family were pretty swamped greeting all who had come to pay their respects. The uncles all live in Chicago so the local friends do not know him.

In Mom's hands was the rosary I had bought her. For some reason it was really important to me that I was the one that purchased that rosary. We buried it with her as I expected we would. Maybe that is why it was so important to me that I bought it. Maybe it was that I knew it would stay with her and I wanted something from me to stay with her. (A year later this part about the rosary makes more sense to me so I've added it in -- it is so strange how it takes such a long time to process all that happened).

The sun shone brightly the morning of the funeral. My daffodils I'd planted beneath the mums last fall were in full glorious bright bloom. The wind didn't bother them. I got in the car wearing a coat I'd borrowed from my friend. I didn't have a dressy spring coat that looked decent and I hadn't had time to buy one. I'd barely had time to purchase clothing to wear to the wake and funeral. My friend had taken my husband and kids to the store and picked out a wonderfully tasteful dress for my daughter. I know my Mom guided them -- it was a last minute sale purchase that Mom would have loved. I loved it -- navy with small white polka dots in a bit of a sailor type style, drop waist. She looked beautiful.

My son wore his first communion outfit (it was just 2 weeks away). Grey slacks, blue shirt, blue blazer and tie -- he looked just like Grandpa a few weeks later when he received his First Holy Communion. I took a picture of them together and it is really a good one. The sad part is that you can see the fresh pain on my Dad despite his smile and joy over his grandson's First Communion. His First Communion was our first family event without her. Her empty place in the pew at the church tore at my heart.

At the church I took my kids up to the casket and talked to them about how Grandma will still always be with us. I told them it is okay to cry because we miss her, but that she is with Jesus in heaven now. I told them she is helping make a place for us just like she did up north. My parents had purchased a home in the northern part of the state and had completely renovated and remodeled it. It went from being a run down disgusting place to a retreat where we would gather each July 4 to get away from the world and to immerse ourselves in the love our our family. It was and is a relaxed vacation place where your hair, make up, and outfit does not matter. My Mom's touches are all over the home. Everything is well thought out to make it the ideal place to retreat from the world. I could tell each of my kids felt the same way because they loved the idea of Grandma Molly making a new and wonderful place for us in heaven.

I walked up to the casket with my Dad and sister to say our last goodbye. It just didn't feel real. We then walked together over to the book of the dead where the priest would begin the funeral rite. I could not help but cry. I felt so lost without her and so alone. I looked over as my husband took my kids up to Grandma for the last time. My son put his hand out for me and I left my sister and my Dad and went to him. I held both of my kids hands and we walked up together to say goodbye. We then walked over with my husband to join my family. My younger brother and his family were last. Then the priest (whom we had not preferred) gave the best service I've ever witnessed or attended. We had wanted our pastor, but he was away on vacation. I'm grateful that Father S. did the service. He brought me so much comfort.

When we were to put the pall across the coffin we had to walk over to the entryway and wait as the funeral home attendants prepared the coffin and wheeled it over. The organist (who is known for never departing from the program) broke into When Irish Eyes Are Smiling. What a wonderful moment that was. We didn't plan it, and we couldn't have planned it better. We smiled and laughed, and that felt good. The church has windows that go all the way around -- the sun was shining and the sky was bright blue. My family smiled in wonder as the song reached our ears -- played upon the piano vs. the dreaded organ. My Mom didn't like the organ and neither do my sister and I. "They play the organ during horror movies for a reason!!" is my sister's famous line. I have to agree. So we smiled. We smiled that Kaye took it upon herself to make the moment about who my Mom was, instead of where we all were in our grief. What a wonderful moment!

The teen band played the music at the funeral along with Kaye who is a regular organist but who agreed to piano knowing our radical views of the organ. The soloist took a personal day from work so she could be there. I'll never forget it. I didn't know the horn player would be there and when the horn sung out for the ahllayluya it was like we were hearing the heavens sing to greet their new arrival. I know I must have had the biggest smile on my face as I turned my head -- Joe the horn player shot me a big smile back. He could clearly see how grateful I was for his gift of music. I know my Mom would have been too -- she loved the Life Teen mass and the joy in that music.

Despite the shock and grief what stands out to me is the little moments when you see God's love shine through.

As we put the pall over the casket we then had to walk into the church. We walked past my Mom's sister standing next to her brother. This was a shock since she had not spoken to my Mom in years. She (my aunt) is crazy and it makes me sad to think my Uncle had to spend time with her that day. It was bad enough to deal with the loss of his older sister -- he didn't need to have to babysit his younger one who is a very selfish person. I don't see her changing at all -- she never once said a word to any of us at the funeral. It isn't like we wouldn't have forgiven her or not let her participate. How sad that she isolates herself from a family that would accept her.

My daughter took it upon herself to hold my Dad's hand and walk into the main area of the church with him. She sat apart from me -- in the first row with him and my older siblings. I sat in the 2nd row with my family and my younger brother's family. I sat behind my Dad and my daughter and between my husband and son. I was surrounded by those most dear and I cried and sobbed. I never before have cried in front of people over and over and so hard. My back shook and my husband rubbed my back as my son held my hand and then got me a kleenex. When I tried to stop crying he told me "It's okay to cry mom. You told me it is. Go ahead and cry." I hugged him, thanked him, and cried. To get the support you need at the worst of times from your 8 year old is an amazing thing. I see God speak through him quite often. I am blessed to have 2 really great kids.

I didn't expect the trumpet during the Aleluyah. Our church does a REALLY upbeat version and I hadn't expected the trumpet player to come for the funeral. He did -- and when his trumpet sang my heart filled with joy. I know my Mom would have loved it. I turned my head and he caught my eye -- my smile probably could not have been bigger. His eyes smiled back. Later I talked to Joe about his playing and how much it meant to me. He smiled and said he knew when he played the first note. His gift of music brought joy amidst sorry -- tell me that isn't God whispering encouragement in the darkness.

During this same joyful Aleluyah, many in our church clap to the beat. You could joke about white people clapping and I'd laugh too -- but I have to admit it is hard NOT to clap during this particularly joyful version. Well, at the funeral nobody knew what to do. Do you clap? Do you not? What do you do? My Dad was always a party pooper over the clapping for the Aleluyah -- he opted to sing along and keep his hands still. Mom always clapped and never failed to smile during this part of mass. At the funeral we all kind of held off -- wondering if we should clap and not wanting to get on Dad's nerves. Then, like magic, HE began to clap. The soloist who was singing beamed with a smile that was contagious -- and she clapped to the rhythm. We all began clapping and what started as a mournful song transformed into the joyful celebration of Christ's resurrection. That is what it was supposed to be. I think Mom was proud of us that day. We clapped, sang, and cried. In the bittersweet moments God is with you.

The music was amazing. "Just a closer walk with thee" is an amazing song. My Mom had asked for this song at her funeral for many years. She loved the sound and the words. I sang from the heart -- the act of singing bringing me comfort. I sang louder and sweeter than I ever have. It brought me comfort and light. I felt her with me and I sang for her and for me.

The procession from the church to the cemetery was amazing too. There were 154 cars! My Mom would have been embarrassed, but we thought it to be a great tribute to her life and the many people she has touched. Waiting in the car behind the hearse was difficult as everyone left the church and got in line for the procession. It seemed odd to smile at the people you know, but worse to cry over our loss. Tinted windows would have been nice.

As we drove I had forgotten the arrangement we'd made at the funeral home a few days before. We turned to do the drive by my parents house and I cried with joy. I was SO happy Mom would go by her house one more time. I was told later by everyone how touching this was to them too. What was great was when the hearse stopped at the house and just let us have a moment. The pause was so nice. Taking stock in the life she had with us and the wonderful home she made for us was so important. We then drove on through the center of town to the cemetery. As we turned on Main Street we cracked up that there were policemen directing traffic! It was noon and the whole city came to a complete halt as 150+ cars crawled through downtown. Again, my Mom would have been embarrassed and appalled, but we loved it. I know she was laughing with us at the spectacle. I'm sure she got a kick out of the fact we got such a kick out of it.

As we drove toward the cemetery we joked about how it would be funny if we were blocked by a train -- that would REALLY back up traffic all through town! Well, not 10 cars passed the track when a train came! We laughed and shook our heads. It was sunny and warm -- we got out of our cars and said "Can you believe it!" to each other! My uncle later told me that the train came to a stop and backed up out of our way. How awesome that Mom stopped the train. The procession that had crossed the track waited, and we were joined by the majority who had been caught by the train. As we got to the last traffic light before the cemetery the police again blocked the road with their cars and directed us through. Many of us joked afterwards about how all of the city came to a halt for my Mom. She was a quietly charismatic person with countless friends. She never had to be the center of attention or life of the party -- she was just warm and loving to those around her. How great it was that our little part of the world stopped to honor her that day.

At the cemetery it was amazing watching all of those cars try to find a place to park. It was also stunning to see all of those people try to cram into the sanctuary at the cemetery. It was a cold day so we did the final blessing inside vs. outdoors. I'm certain the people in back couldn't hear, but they stood there anyway. The priest again stunned me with his inspiring words. He is from Samoa and was new to our church at the time. Usually he is pretty hard to understand, but we understood him clearly that day. Strange how the Lord works when we need help like this. It got really sad, and when we seemed lost in despair my nephew (who was about 6 months old at the time) decided he needed to add his 2 cents. He babbled and chatted to himself and filled the silence with the lovely sound of baby. It was almost like God was saying "Look at the baby! Life will continue! Trust me!"

It is hard to trust and understand when you have lost your guide.

The lunch was a blur. I didn't feel like I could eat -- I felt like I needed to spend time with my cousins since my siblings were not. One asked me about my sister's wedding (which was planned for 6 months from then). I was not up for that conversation. I didn't care about her wedding right now. I didn't want to talk to anyone, but I wanted to listen to all the conversations going on around me. I wanted to listen, I didn't want to participate. I was asked by a friend of my mom's what to do with the flowers and I think I was rude in the way I told her to ask my sister. At that point I was feeling like she wanted to be in charge so I was happy to push a mundane thing like that onto her. I look back and wish I hadn't been like that. Sometimes you don't act the way you wish you would.

We found out later that Mom's book club (The Book Chicks) had a little tiff with the church people over alcohol they intended to bring to the luncheon. Funny the little turf wars that can happen when people want to reach out in love. All was well in the end.

Going back to my Dad's house was difficult. I felt no desire to change my clothes -- but clothing change seemed like a huge decision for us all. My brothers watched TV with my Dad and I bravely headed to the basement. My sister was dismantling the picture boards from the funeral home. It was tense enough to suffocate a person! My sister lost her mind in a snippy way and I nearly killed her. I didn't tell her off, but I did stand my ground. Later I learned that her issue was that she was looking at my brother's wedding photos and it hit home for her that my Mom wouldn't be in ANY of her wedding photos. Lose of the future is as painful as the loss of the present. I understand that. I just wished she had not lashed out at me. I didn't like being her target.

In the months to come we worked hard to make talk of her wedding pleasant. We busted our butts to make every wedding event a happy one. Looking back at these events I now feel nothing but pain. This absence of my Mom hurts more now than it did then. Not having her there was a fluke at the time, it didn't seem real. Looking back at the photos I feel all the hurt of what we lost and all the hurt of the words I bit back. My sister was the center of the universe. Her loss was treated like it was bigger due to her wedding, but the reality is we ALL lost a key piece of our lives. We ALL lost. Looking back at how we tip toed around my sister makes me resent her and I hate that. Looking back on how she got away with acting and how oblivious she was (and is) to the sacrifice of those around her just plain hurts. I wish it wasn't so.

When my sister left Dad's house that day I got to bond a bit with my sister inlaw. I came to realize that we have a lot in common. I also came to realize that I was important too. It is strange what you discover at the oddest of times. MB saw how we tip toe around Kathleen and she couldn't understand it. I still don't understand it, but I tip toe less now (10 months later). I want to get my relationship back to where it should be with my sister. I know my Mom would want this for us. I hope it happens, it is difficult. Sometimes (okay, most of the time) I think my sister wishes she didn't have a sister. People have made comments to me that reinforce this belief. Hopefully this will change. I wonder if she realizes this is the impression that she gives...


More to come.... I seem to add more each time I revisit the memories. It has been a year and I still can't believe that much time has gone by...

(10/05, 12/05, 04/06 Revisions)

08/06
Interesting how my sister was such a focus then. I was so very hurt by her. I am not so much hurt by her now; I've come to expect it from her. I still hold out hope that our relationship will slowly improve. Presently I can deal with her in phone conversation. In person she still is slighting me and must be the center of attention. I have come to realize that she tears me down in order to build herself up in front of others. This is a pattern that I should have recognized long ago. Now that I see it for what it is, it does not hurt me so much.

I'm glad I took the time to write down the memories of the funeral. They are important. I can grasp the good moments and hold them close again as I reread. I love that I noted the happy whispers, the small comforts. Looking back, it is these small moments which mean so very much.