I find that funerals are really interesting places to go. They are infinitely more interesting if you aren’t very close to the person who has died. When you are very close to the person who is died, you don’t really pay attention to anything because you are usually overcome by grief. I haven’t really had that funeral yet. My granddaddy's funeral was closest, but he had Alzheimer's for several years before he finally died, so we had several mini death moments. Mini deaths to those unfamiliar with my theory are those times when you care called to visit someone in the ICU or the hospital because they had some sort of serious attack that threatened their life. At that moment, you face the realization that that person could actually die, and you begin to grieve the loss of their immortality. After having several of those episodes, then when death finally comes, you are sad, but you aren’t in shock and you’ve prepared yourself better for the moment. My granddaddy's mini-death moments were not only ones of health but of mind and soul. There was the mini-death when he didn’t recognize me when he first saw me. Then the mini-death when he didn’t recognize me and nothing could help him bring me to mind. And the mini death when I went to see him and I didn’t recognize him any longer. So when he finally died, the body in the casket was really a stranger to me. But i mourned all of him that I remembered, all the good parts that he was.
Funerals for me now are a collective mourning of everyone who has passed. Driving to my Aunt Jennifer’s funeral last week, I remembered my Granddaddy Walker, and Aunt Martha, and Aunt Betty, and Granddaddy Broadbent. And then I thought about the fact that my Grandma Walker is 90, and my mom is 66 and my dad is 68, and all the golden girls are starting to die off, and well if that doesn’t make you misty eyed and a bit maudlin then nothing will. And then I arrived at the funeral home outside Nashville and had to mental adjust to a non-Cadiz funeral. Who knew they would be so different. Instead of a large chapel type room with rows upon rows of pews, there was a little viewing room set up like a living room. There were pictures of my aunt about, though not as many as you would think for someone who was 54. And of course, the only people I knew were my mom, dad, Jodi and Isaiah, and 3 of them were in my car. My other aunts, Jill and Jacque, were also there, but I can’t consider a face book friendship and funeral meet and greets really knowing. And being the smart preplanned, I had dressed Isaiah in a nice vest and shirt, so all awkward social situations could be diverted by his general cuteness. (I believe I have mentioned that I have no social skills. My idea of being social is to attend an event, find a corner and a chair and watch everyone as they come in and mingle.) And of course, Isaiah was also an asset because he needed to go to the restroom, and wanted to have everything explained, etc. It’s nice to have something to do, and a child is really much more acceptable at a funeral than say a book or a Nintendo ds, or mp3 player. The funeral itself was also a little odd. In Cadiz, funerals are really a church service with a casket prop. For the most part, I don’t think I’ve gone to but one funeral where the preacher really new the person who died and could tell good stories about the person who died. I guess that comes from long term debilitating illnesses that keep people from going to church - - and out of sight, out of mind. I think should I have a funeral, I’d like people to tell stories about my life. But seeing as I have no life, and really no luck throwing parties, I’m not sure that would be such a good idea…i envision the sound of crickets, and creaking furniture as people shift uncomfortably and wait for someone else to talk – and since I’m dead and can’t succumb to the pressure, then no one ever will…who would fill the uncomfortable silence but me? Anyway, at Jennifer’s funeral, there were several people who got up to talk. One man tried to accomplish the story telling thing, but ended up sharing a short history of Baptist Hospital neonatal ICU unit, and seemed to be making sure he didn’t say anything to offend Jennifer’s coworkers. The music they played was also, very odd. The sound quality was horrific, but the choices themselves were strange. Which made mom’s pre-funeral request to pick her bon voyage as funeral music make so much more sense. Perhaps it was only odd because I don’t listen to country music, and these seemed very country music-y. I listened closely to see if beer or dead dogs were mentioned, but was unable to focus long enough to do so, as I was busy pondering the history of Baptist Hospital’s neonatal ICU unit.
And finally, we were to move to the grave for the grave side service. My Aunt Jennifer was a large woman. Not tall, but large. And knowing that, I did feel a sort of inappropriate amusement when watching the pall bearers moving the coffin from the hearse to the stand over the grave. And when they stumbled and faltered sliding her onto the stand, I had visions of the casket opening, and her falling out, and laughing out loud, and then not offering to help put her back in because that is just ewwww… I know it’s awful that I’m this person. I try to be better, but I tell you nurture just can’t overcome nature here. And then when the red-headed man began to compare death to birth, which was not only appropriate but somewhat interesting, I got distracted by the outdoor pinwheel someone had placed on a grave. And thought, ooh, that’s pretty cool. If I were to have a grave, I’d totally want that. Oh, and balloons not flowers. And then I got creeped out because coincidentally, every time the red haired preacher man quit talking, the pinwheel quit moving. It took at least 4 pauses before that quit and by then I was pretty sure Jennifer’s spirit was there blowing on the pinwheel.
And then it was over, and no one waited to go back and visit the grave, instead we all went to eat at Loveless Cafe. Like it was nothing. My mom got a bit upset at one point, and my dad was relieved because it upset him that no one else was upset at all. And that was a bit sad. And during dinner, that is what I thought of instead of trying to make conversation with my mom’s sister’s families whom I didn’t know. My mom’s side of the family has always been emotionally non-demonstrative. My mother, and Jill, it would appear, use humor to diffuse highly emotional moments. It is a technique I use as well. Although I will say in my own defense, that I don’t intentionally use humor, I just find something funny at inappropriate times. It’s a defense mechanism I know… I just don’t want anyone to think that I giggle on purpose or that I’m actively seeking something funny to laugh about. And truly, it’s not really my fault that some people make some really funny sounds when overcome with grief, but that’s neither here nor there. And during that lunch, I learned that there are many families who don’t have AT&T commercial worthy bonds between sisters. I always felt as if I had failed in that somehow with my own sister. Not that I don’t love my sister. Not that I don’t like my sister. But we are very different in interests and never developed that best friend bond that some sisters have. And those characteristics that we worked hardest to acquire (independence, assertiveness, forthrightness, and the need to control our environments) make spending time together a little difficult. We have not done enough of it to be comfortable in that. It would appear that we are not the only ones who suffer that malady. Jacque and Jill also have some sister issues. Jacque commented 4 times during lunch that her birth was a mistake. I think that if you asked her if it bothered her, she’d say it didn’t. But it must be a deep rooted pain that made her feel as if she wasn’t wanted or loved as much as the rest. And because she was so young when Jenner died, she never had enough of the time with her to put those childish doubts to rest. And, Jacque’s never had children, so she doesn’t truly understand that any child, whether planned or not, is loved unconditionally forever by its mother, if she has a good mother. And Jill, was upset because she felt that all of her sisters always talked over her. That she was the middle, and not as important to everyone else - though she’s always been the easiest of my mom’s sisters to understand. She is most like my mom in personality and seemed to have a lighter spirit than either of her sisters. But like Jodi and myself, there is love and a bond there. And because I don’t know them, I don’t know how strong a bond. And because my mother was the half sister, not really included in that family, and so much older than the rest, we are also outsiders. My sister was no so much the outsider. Her social skills are much stronger than mine, but she’s also the one who had gone with mom to visit Jennifer many times, so she knew everyone a bit better. Me? I sat, listened, watched and ate, out of my element and comfort zone. And when I got home, I made sure that I told my sister that I didn’t resent her being first. That I had no jealousy or coveting of any of her joy or her happiness or her success ( though I am sometimes envious of her paycheck, but never envious of the amount of work she does to get it). And driving home from the funeral, it does reinforce the need to strengthen bonds with my sister and brother to become better friends with them somehow, though I don’t know how. I have few enough friends who are not family, I can’t fathom what I’d need to do with family. And they aren’t going anywhere, so it’s so much easier to get lazy and complacent and not do the work. But no excuses, it’s important and should be done. And though I may never have the AT&T commercial family, surely I could strive to have a movie of the week special type of family where despite the fact that we’re all odd, mistake making folk, we try our best and love each other, and are there for each other in the end.
