Notes from a Funeral
One person can collect an enormous amount of possessions in a single one-bedroom apartment. It was hard to clean out my grandma’s home; we didn’t know the stories behind many of the little mementos and personal items we found. “Why on earth did she keep a shoebox full of prayer cards?” We’d ask. “Do you know any of these people? What about the rock collection? Should we save this?” At the beginning of the first day, we’d find a photo tucked into a book and everyone would come to have a look and try to identify the squinting man or the baby that grandma was holding. By the end of the second day, however, we were dumping out entire drawers of quilting material into the Goodwill bags while my aunt frantically spurred us on by shrieking, “Everything has to go! Are you sure you don’t want this end table? Why don’t you take the cats? You like cats, don’t you?”
The family trickled in through the weekend. In our hotel suite, we set up all the china and personal items that family members might want and let them pick it out. I don’t know about anyone else’s family, but this was an exercise in decision-making that can be compared to carefully picking your way through a field of half-buried landmines. With broken glass spread out between them.
Did I take too much? Did I take something that Aunt Heloise always wanted, before she had a chance to pick anything? As a granddaughter, am I entitled to select expensive things, such as her garnet jewelry? And if I take something expensive, should I take nothing else except a few crocheted doilies? At the same time we were all were asking ourselves these questions, my Aunt kept threatening to throw away anything that was left behind - or donate it to a thrift shop. Should I take these things just so that strangers aren’t goggling at her embroidered placemats some day in a Salvation Army window? Are the others looking at me and thinking I’m being too greedy?
I said at the beginning of the trip that I was there to help out and work hard, not fill my car. And yet, I came home with the table and chairs we bought for Grandma six weeks ago, along with her sewing machine and a few pieces of china. Little One is crazy about the idea of making her own clothes, and although I remember my Home Ec project that was supposed to be a blouse but became a pink monstrosity of fabric that could only fit Quasimodo, by the time I got home I was seriously imagining myself happily measuring and snipping and sewing at the machine.
So we put many members of my family all in the same room, and I realized that family events magnify people’s behavior. In the case of my larger-than-life relatives, who conduct themselves with the decibels and drama of a Spanish soap opera, this meant ringing ears, lots of arm-flailing and incredible stories that have become so embellished over the years that there’s only a nugget of truth left to the whole story. This also meant heckling, sniggers and jokes during the services and burial. Conversations started out at loud and then went upward into shouting as people became animated (all except for my mother, who starts out on the “shout” setting and goes on from there). In fact, there was a bachelorette party going on in the hotel at the same time, but I felt sure that we were much more likely to be sent packing than that demure group. If I hadn’t been suffering from a bad cold and cleaning exhaustion, I would have had a great time.
While there were plenty of tears and genuine regret about losing our Therese, I think it is a more fitting tribute to her that we could laugh together. She was the Queen of Larger Than Life, with her own ways of adding giggles and drama to everyday life. And clearly this gene has been passed down through the family.
When they lowered her into the grave, I tossed a lily and all my regrets onto the coffin. I won’t hold onto my sorrow that I didn’t see her as often as I should have. I saw once again over this weekend that I have a chance to live a life with no further regrets, and I intend to fully enjoy all that I have now. The future will take care of itself.
Published by angelawd on April 23rd, 2008 tagged Healing
April 23rd, 2008 at 10:36 pm
I’m proud of you. xoxo
April 23rd, 2008 at 10:47 pm
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April 23rd, 2008 at 11:45 pm
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April 24th, 2008 at 12:16 pm
Sounds like a great experience with your family. I married into a ‘larger than life’ family, so I can relate. Sorry for the loss of your grandma. I pray that the pain gives way to the wonderful memories. God bless angelawd.
April 24th, 2008 at 1:11 pm
Good for you!
April 24th, 2008 at 9:59 pm
Thanks, all! It was a healing time in spite of it all.
April 25th, 2008 at 3:11 pm
I remember only too well when my great aunt died. The things that my father didn’t keep went into a drawing. My sisters and I took turns choosing until it was all distritubed. It’s so hard to do….scattering lives that were vibrant and meaningful into such thin little pieces.
Of course I much prefer that to the way it went down when my father died–stepmother just kept it all and said “go away”. THATs a book waiting to happen, Angela, I feel strongly I’m meant to help other children of divorce bring this up to protect their family’s estate. My father wouldn’t have wanted it this way. Okay….way off track, sorry.
But I had to mention that sewing machine–you’re gonna love it! My first one came from my grandmother and I wore that thing out making Niki’s little sundresses! xoxo
April 26th, 2008 at 5:05 am
What a lovely tribute.