A Funeral

Until my Mom died, I had never really needed a funeral. I've been to a few, including my paternal grandmother's, whom I still miss very much eight years later. But she had had Alzheimer's for years and, though it was very sad, quite frankly I was lucky to have my grandmother around until I was twenty-five.

I expected to have my mother around until I was sixty or so. Hell, her mother is still around.

So every step of the funeral process that I did, I needed to do. I wrote the obituary (more of a novella: part one; part two), then traveled home to Halifax to be with my mother's entire family (my brother, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins), which, of course, is where you need to be. There was a wake in a packed room full of love and stories.  My brother and I visited privately with Mom to say goodbye and surround her with items so important that it surprises me that they have no monetary value. And then the service itself was very special; it wasn't full of bible readings and hymns, which aren't us at all, but stories, poems, music played by my young cousins Meredith and Cameron, and even some film from when Mom was young. Again, the room was full.

The day of the funeral was bitter cold and a snow storm blew in as we stood at the cemetery. It was such a perfect example of pathetic fallacy that later my cousin Ashley and I put some effort into trying to remember the term. Leaving that place, leaving my mother there on that cold night, was possibly the hardest thing I've ever done.

After it was all over, the family went back to my grandparents' house for sushi (my Mom's favorite) and Jim (her very good friend, as Mom called him) brought a bottle of scotch (another of my Mom's favorites) and we had sushi and toasted Mom with the scotch and told more stories and were all together and that was good.

Mom was diagnosed almost exactly four years ago, so I'd been anticipating this experience for a long time. Of course I didn't like to think about it, and when I did I simply thought the saying goodbye to my Mom would be simply horrible. Parts of it were. But I didn't ever ever expect that there would be wonderful parts too.

Immediately Mark's parents were so loving and supportive that they gave me a little glimmer that things would be alright some day. And then my family is close and is full of amazing people too, so just being with them, and knowing I could turn to anyone for a hug or anything was so comforting.

But other things happened as well. In Mom's obituary, we asked that everyone do something nice for someone they love, in Mom's memory. And they did. Lots of people did. People that didn't even know my mom, including a guy from Maine who, for some reason, reads the Nova Scotia obituaries online. One woman at the wake - I have no idea who she is - read the obituary and immediately got in her car, bought a bouquet of flowers, and took them to her mother.

And so special was that my best friend through high school and college, Chantel, with whom I had fallen out of touch for a few years (I'm really crappy that way), just happened to read the obituaries on the day of the wake, after she just happened to have moved back into town, and came. What an enormous gift that was.

And some funny things happened too.

My friend Tiffany came by the day before we left for Halifax with little wrapped presents - toys to help keep the kids entertained on the long plane ride - and a book for me, in the hopes I could be distracted for a little while. As Mark and I went to bed that first night in Halifax I started to read it. And the first line of chapter one (page 5) read: "When Margaret Hughes found out she had a brain tumor..." It stopped my in my tracks and I rolled over and said to Mark, "Tiffany got me a book about a woman with a brain tumor." There was a moment and then we both just cracked up. (And not a word about it on the back of the book.)

And then, at the cemetery, as we stepped out of the limo, Mark had to leave me to be a pallbearer. I froze to the spot and didn't want to move any closer and was in those first moments of panic when suddenly my grandmother took my arm and said, "Don't worry, she won't be alone for long," referring to the fact that she and my grandfather have adjacent plots. Well, I didn't exactly laugh, but that comment snapped me right out of it and I answered, "Dear God Nana, not now." And I was able to step forward. (Look, it's kind of funny. What did you expect when you saw the title of today's post?)

And also, on my mother's last day, with the room full of people who love her, her breathing began to slow. My aunt Sue called for a nurse, and the woman who came right in listened carefully and then announced, matter-of-factly, "This isn't good." And then she quickly left the room. Everything was quiet for a moment, and the my brother commented, "There goes the Don Knots of nursing." And everyone was able to laugh.

And then we came home and my friends rallied around me. I'm not sure how I got so lucky, but my friends are some of the most wonderful people in the world.

So I think we did well by my mother; I'm sure she'd be pleased knowing how many people love her, and how much, and also how much those of us left here are loved. And that feeling is not something I ever expected.

So do me a favor and go love somebody today in an extra-special way.* I'm sure you know who it should be. And for god's sake don't wait.

*Mark says that sounds bad, but you know what I mean. Of course, you can go ahead and love people any way you want to.

Comments

[Jim]

It is sad to lose a parent, I lost my Dad when I was 21, I still miss him at times and I am sure you will always miss your Mom and you know, that is the way it should be. She is so worth the grieving and the memories. I will never forget your Mom, I will always miss her, it hurts to lose someone you love and I know 20 years from now, if I am still around, I will think of her, our adventures, and wish to turn back the clock, but won't be able to. Some say life is a prison, I am beginning to understand that now.
I wish the best for you and your family Kathy - yes the hurt does heal and there will be plenty of laughter and goodness in the future. I would like to thank the Brown/Weir Clan for accepting me and supporting me throughout these past four years.

[Amy]

How tough that must be...and, how blessed you are to have such a supportive and loving family (with such a tremendous sense of humor). My thoughts are with you and yours.

[leah hendriks]

I love you always and forever oox

[Katherine]

That's my cousin, if anyone's wondering. ; )