The odyssey of dying, part III
Mar. 19th, 2008 04:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hazliyaThis post covers my last two days of burying a family member. It's been an hour since I was parted from the enormous crowd that is my extended, so I'll write while my thoughts and emotions are still fresh.
.
Last night I came home and cooked comfort food for my family as they suffered through the wake.
.
I say "suffered through" because Suzanne's daughter went against her mother's wishes and made everything as melodramatic as possible. Suzanne wanted to be cremated and have her ashes scattered in some random places (although a few on her parents' grave) and then throw a turkey dinner. Sounds pretty chill and up with the healing, right?
.
Wrong. L. Virginia (little Virginia, since there's always been a Virginia in every generation) deemed a morose wake, enormous funeral procession, catered lunch, and a generally tears-immersive atmosphere completely and unquestionably necessary. At least the luncheon place had a bar. We are Damians, after all. Alcohol plays a pivotal role in the way we function as a family.
.
Anyway, the wake nearly took up the entire funeral home. Friends, hyper-extended family, and former acquaintances crawled out of the woodwork and flooded the viewing room. From what I heard when my parents and Whitney sat down at the table to eat, a good number of socially ostracized people managed to make it through the receiving line and let out all their emotions at crucial moments. This did not help the grieving for Suzanne in any way, but I can see why someone in their situation would be reassuring to see braving the family. I, however, did not regret missing the wake one iota. I got to clean the house, cook chowder, bake brownies, and clean the fireplace for my mother in the two hours I had before she got home. It was a good feeling of accomplishment.
.
This morning, I slithered out of bed (I really did spend a petulant ten minutes on the floor, demonstrating to my father just how unhappy I was to be woken up at 7:30) and managed to put on clothes, makeup, and jewelry. Having been removed from the goings-on of a funeral for some time, I wasn't sure what the fashion etiquette for such occasions was, so my entire family threw on jeans and nice shirts before heading out the door (promptly followed by running back in for umbrellas and my mother staying behind to force my brother into the shower).
.
When my father and I arrived at the funeral home, I immediately headed toward the inner-family clique that is generally known as "the cousins," consisting of myself, Whitney (21), Morgan (25), Brian (27?), and Jason (30). Anyone younger than that in our generation are known as "the kids." So the older group tend to hang out at family functions, and we've gotten closer over time. I was the only one out of our generation that Brian and Jason didn't torture as a child, since I've always been close to them, so I tend to gravitate in their direction when in the massive familial collective. We stood around (joking about the futility of telling someone to "talk to the guy in the black suit" and playing the "Who do we actually know here?" game) before filing into the car procession.
.
At the church, we met up with my father's sisters, who had come for the service, and found my mother, who had beelined past the funeral home in an attempt to bypass the inevitable bawling episodes that happen in front of caskets. Dad sat near to the back, the Damians sat in the front rows, and my mother sat in the farthest pew, in the farthest corner. TJ and I joined her, supporting her when needed and making her laugh so hard that bits of tissue practically shot out of her nostrils. Things like the cheesiness of the homily, the prospect of replacing the communion wafers with something like cheese or bacon or cookies, and generally snarky remarks were all part of our plan to keep her together, for which she showed her appreciation by hitting us in an attempt to keep the both of us from making her laugh. I'll share quotes later. Nevertheless, she decided near the end that she couldn't stay too long, and so TJ followed her out to the car to keep her company and entertain her with his PSP.
.
After the sermon was the trip to the cemetery where my maternal grandparents are interred. After a quick ceremony and a few words spoken by one of my other aunts, friends were asked to leave so that the family could have time alone with the remains. I ran out to the beemer my mother calls a car (in the rain under an umbrella. I shall have it written in my will that if I am cremated on a rainy day, there must be a tacky umbrella contest - none of this all-black hooey) and suggested gently that she head inside for last farewells. She did so, albeit begrudgingly, and proceeded to lose composure whenever she saw another family member all bleary-eyed and drippy-cheeked. Then, as the ashes were brought to the grave site, she zoomed back to her red chrome rollerskate of a BMW and watched from a distance.
.
The burial was completely unnecessary, in my opinion, and seemed to only serve the "salt on a wound" purpose. The grave had been dug, the urn placed in a marble case, and a floral arrangement was waiting atop the headstone. People were then invited to say a few words and/or bring flowers from the arrangement into Suzanne's vault, and several people proceeded to walk up to the urn and utterly break down amidst sobs of "I'll miss you" and "I'll always be your sister/brother/what have you" and "watch over me." This was all well and good, but it was turning everyone else into an emotional wreck who had otherwise been doing well in their grieving. This had to stop; I don't know about anyone else, but I'm usually fine until I see someone else sobbing and then I'm treading on thin ice. I walked up with my brightly-colored Canadian flag umbrella and simply said "The next time my mother can't find her glasses and they're on top of their head, I'll make a polac joke at her for you." That did the trick, and people laughed with a few clapping and saying "Yeah, she'd love that." L. Virginia came up then, hugged the urn while violently crying (undoing a good chunk of the onlookers) and the cemetery staff lowered it into the earth. I hate to admit it, but it unnerved me to see the men of a strongly military family crying. Even with something as powerful as losing a sibling, it was still a bit of a tug.
.
The reception was a buffet, and it seemed like merely leaving the cemetery brightened everyone up immeasurably. The Cousins beelined for a table close to the food, talking and laughing and pulling up extra chairs. We were teasing L. Pat (13) for attempting to grow a mustache ("Hey, Patrick - you got something on your lip there. Oh, it's just a little peach fuzz." "Hey Pat, been drinking chocolate milk?") and chatting about Sue while raiding the only open food - dessert. Whitney bemoaned the fact that she'd had nothing but Portuguese food every time she visited RI, and that she was convinced it would pack on pounds. While we ate, my aunt Lizzy came around to take pictures, and L. Virginia gave out things that Suzanne wanted everyone to have. She'd picked out tumbled gems and crystals for each family member, as well as divvied up her jewelry amongst the girls. Whitney got a gold ring, I got a small heart pendant and bangles, and one of the Kids, Dominique, got a ring and simple pendant of a mother and child embracing. At this, she cried again and slid the ring on her finger while we all tried to remember seeing Sue wear these pieces. We were interrupted as the Damians were all called into the bar to do shots in honor of Suzanne, so we crammed into the bar area and liquor was passed to those of age (juice to the minors). Jason prayed it wasn't Sambucca, but one sniff made him wrinkle his nose in sad confirmation. He wasn't alone in this sentiment, but Sambucca had been a Damian woman drink of choice for as long as we could remember, and this was for Sue. L. Virginia toasted her mother, and down the hatch it went.
.
The rest of the time was rather cheerful. Aside from the occasional flurry of tears, people were in much better spirits. Our family historian was there (One of the Fredrickses) who revealed that I may be related to a friend of mine (by marriage some years ago). I drove home with Whitney and Dad, talking about the long day, and after dropping Whitney off, we went straight back to the house. At this point, I started to polish up the gold bangle bracelets Sue had left me, and to my (and everyone's) surprise, they turned out to be stamped silver. Extremely tarnished silver, but toothpaste and an old toothbrush brought out their antique shine. My mother also thought this an appropriate time to hand me a v-shaped diamond ring with 14 stones, as long as I promised to clean it. I do, it shimmers, and I love it. That done, my parents collapsed for a nap in their room, and the plan for the rest of the night is to rent a movie, get takeout, and light a fire in the fireplace so that we can decompress.
I'll post my thoughts and reflections on it later, but that's just an account of my last few days for now. It might be best to post later, after at least a few hours to process and reflect before I let the verbal arrows fly.
-Haz
.
Last night I came home and cooked comfort food for my family as they suffered through the wake.
.
I say "suffered through" because Suzanne's daughter went against her mother's wishes and made everything as melodramatic as possible. Suzanne wanted to be cremated and have her ashes scattered in some random places (although a few on her parents' grave) and then throw a turkey dinner. Sounds pretty chill and up with the healing, right?
.
Wrong. L. Virginia (little Virginia, since there's always been a Virginia in every generation) deemed a morose wake, enormous funeral procession, catered lunch, and a generally tears-immersive atmosphere completely and unquestionably necessary. At least the luncheon place had a bar. We are Damians, after all. Alcohol plays a pivotal role in the way we function as a family.
.
Anyway, the wake nearly took up the entire funeral home. Friends, hyper-extended family, and former acquaintances crawled out of the woodwork and flooded the viewing room. From what I heard when my parents and Whitney sat down at the table to eat, a good number of socially ostracized people managed to make it through the receiving line and let out all their emotions at crucial moments. This did not help the grieving for Suzanne in any way, but I can see why someone in their situation would be reassuring to see braving the family. I, however, did not regret missing the wake one iota. I got to clean the house, cook chowder, bake brownies, and clean the fireplace for my mother in the two hours I had before she got home. It was a good feeling of accomplishment.
.
This morning, I slithered out of bed (I really did spend a petulant ten minutes on the floor, demonstrating to my father just how unhappy I was to be woken up at 7:30) and managed to put on clothes, makeup, and jewelry. Having been removed from the goings-on of a funeral for some time, I wasn't sure what the fashion etiquette for such occasions was, so my entire family threw on jeans and nice shirts before heading out the door (promptly followed by running back in for umbrellas and my mother staying behind to force my brother into the shower).
.
When my father and I arrived at the funeral home, I immediately headed toward the inner-family clique that is generally known as "the cousins," consisting of myself, Whitney (21), Morgan (25), Brian (27?), and Jason (30). Anyone younger than that in our generation are known as "the kids." So the older group tend to hang out at family functions, and we've gotten closer over time. I was the only one out of our generation that Brian and Jason didn't torture as a child, since I've always been close to them, so I tend to gravitate in their direction when in the massive familial collective. We stood around (joking about the futility of telling someone to "talk to the guy in the black suit" and playing the "Who do we actually know here?" game) before filing into the car procession.
.
At the church, we met up with my father's sisters, who had come for the service, and found my mother, who had beelined past the funeral home in an attempt to bypass the inevitable bawling episodes that happen in front of caskets. Dad sat near to the back, the Damians sat in the front rows, and my mother sat in the farthest pew, in the farthest corner. TJ and I joined her, supporting her when needed and making her laugh so hard that bits of tissue practically shot out of her nostrils. Things like the cheesiness of the homily, the prospect of replacing the communion wafers with something like cheese or bacon or cookies, and generally snarky remarks were all part of our plan to keep her together, for which she showed her appreciation by hitting us in an attempt to keep the both of us from making her laugh. I'll share quotes later. Nevertheless, she decided near the end that she couldn't stay too long, and so TJ followed her out to the car to keep her company and entertain her with his PSP.
.
After the sermon was the trip to the cemetery where my maternal grandparents are interred. After a quick ceremony and a few words spoken by one of my other aunts, friends were asked to leave so that the family could have time alone with the remains. I ran out to the beemer my mother calls a car (in the rain under an umbrella. I shall have it written in my will that if I am cremated on a rainy day, there must be a tacky umbrella contest - none of this all-black hooey) and suggested gently that she head inside for last farewells. She did so, albeit begrudgingly, and proceeded to lose composure whenever she saw another family member all bleary-eyed and drippy-cheeked. Then, as the ashes were brought to the grave site, she zoomed back to her red chrome rollerskate of a BMW and watched from a distance.
.
The burial was completely unnecessary, in my opinion, and seemed to only serve the "salt on a wound" purpose. The grave had been dug, the urn placed in a marble case, and a floral arrangement was waiting atop the headstone. People were then invited to say a few words and/or bring flowers from the arrangement into Suzanne's vault, and several people proceeded to walk up to the urn and utterly break down amidst sobs of "I'll miss you" and "I'll always be your sister/brother/what have you" and "watch over me." This was all well and good, but it was turning everyone else into an emotional wreck who had otherwise been doing well in their grieving. This had to stop; I don't know about anyone else, but I'm usually fine until I see someone else sobbing and then I'm treading on thin ice. I walked up with my brightly-colored Canadian flag umbrella and simply said "The next time my mother can't find her glasses and they're on top of their head, I'll make a polac joke at her for you." That did the trick, and people laughed with a few clapping and saying "Yeah, she'd love that." L. Virginia came up then, hugged the urn while violently crying (undoing a good chunk of the onlookers) and the cemetery staff lowered it into the earth. I hate to admit it, but it unnerved me to see the men of a strongly military family crying. Even with something as powerful as losing a sibling, it was still a bit of a tug.
.
The reception was a buffet, and it seemed like merely leaving the cemetery brightened everyone up immeasurably. The Cousins beelined for a table close to the food, talking and laughing and pulling up extra chairs. We were teasing L. Pat (13) for attempting to grow a mustache ("Hey, Patrick - you got something on your lip there. Oh, it's just a little peach fuzz." "Hey Pat, been drinking chocolate milk?") and chatting about Sue while raiding the only open food - dessert. Whitney bemoaned the fact that she'd had nothing but Portuguese food every time she visited RI, and that she was convinced it would pack on pounds. While we ate, my aunt Lizzy came around to take pictures, and L. Virginia gave out things that Suzanne wanted everyone to have. She'd picked out tumbled gems and crystals for each family member, as well as divvied up her jewelry amongst the girls. Whitney got a gold ring, I got a small heart pendant and bangles, and one of the Kids, Dominique, got a ring and simple pendant of a mother and child embracing. At this, she cried again and slid the ring on her finger while we all tried to remember seeing Sue wear these pieces. We were interrupted as the Damians were all called into the bar to do shots in honor of Suzanne, so we crammed into the bar area and liquor was passed to those of age (juice to the minors). Jason prayed it wasn't Sambucca, but one sniff made him wrinkle his nose in sad confirmation. He wasn't alone in this sentiment, but Sambucca had been a Damian woman drink of choice for as long as we could remember, and this was for Sue. L. Virginia toasted her mother, and down the hatch it went.
.
The rest of the time was rather cheerful. Aside from the occasional flurry of tears, people were in much better spirits. Our family historian was there (One of the Fredrickses) who revealed that I may be related to a friend of mine (by marriage some years ago). I drove home with Whitney and Dad, talking about the long day, and after dropping Whitney off, we went straight back to the house. At this point, I started to polish up the gold bangle bracelets Sue had left me, and to my (and everyone's) surprise, they turned out to be stamped silver. Extremely tarnished silver, but toothpaste and an old toothbrush brought out their antique shine. My mother also thought this an appropriate time to hand me a v-shaped diamond ring with 14 stones, as long as I promised to clean it. I do, it shimmers, and I love it. That done, my parents collapsed for a nap in their room, and the plan for the rest of the night is to rent a movie, get takeout, and light a fire in the fireplace so that we can decompress.
I'll post my thoughts and reflections on it later, but that's just an account of my last few days for now. It might be best to post later, after at least a few hours to process and reflect before I let the verbal arrows fly.
-Haz
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