Family of One Goes to a Funeral

There are very few things in life that I have dreaded as much as the start of the demises of my three immediate family members—Mother, Dad, and Aunt Louise. Having to cope with the inherent drama, the myriad of details that surround an illness and a death, the unknown grieving process—I just wasn’t sure that I could handle it well, if at all. I am happy to report that, with the passing of Aunt Louise, I now see that, as one ages, death becomes an entirely natural process and is not at all unwelcome. Because we had so much time to prepare for Aunt Louise’s passing (two months of being in critical care), I had the opportunity to work through a lot of my grief. And, thank goodness, I can look back on this trying time and be content with the choices that I made on her behalf. I do enjoy a good session of second guessing myself, but this is one area of life where I am totally at peace.

In planning her funeral, I was on new ground, not having anyone with whom to really consult. Thankfully, Aunt Louise had pre-paid her funeral, but she had also given me a very specific list of directives for her service as well as what she wanted in her obituary. I begged and pleaded with her to put this in writing, but she never would. She loved the control of telling me. For example, she wanted butterflies released at the end of the service; she wanted the local cardiologist’s wife to play the flute; she wanted a luncheon in her memory with sandwiches and iced tea. As Mother said, “even John D. Rockefeller has not discussed his funeral in such detail”. When I started investigating the logistics of her requests, they were going to be such high maintenance requests plus she had never written them down, so I wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted.I just decided to plan the service with input from Mother, the pastor, and a couple of her friends.

I don’t know how much experience you have had with planning a funeral, but I have had basically none. My only real experience was when G’s father died in a tony suburb of Hartford and I had to go with him to plan the service. Mr. W was a real character—about 5’ 4”, read Evelyn Waugh, asked me to play “Massa’s in the Cold, Cold Ground” on the piano every time I visited him, and hit on me constantly. He passed fairly peacefully in his late 80’s. A handsome, if unctuous, funeral director met with G and me to plan the service. He asked very traditional questions to which G responded in a most unusual way--- “What music would your father like to have played?” “None, he objected to all music and felt it was frivolous”. “To what charity would your father like to have memorials sent?” “None, he did not believe in charitable organizations.” “Whom would your father like to have as a speaker?” “No one, he was an atheist and did not want anyone spouting aphorisms at his service”. I was very puzzled because, basically, none of this was true.

Suddenly, G asked the funeral director-“Does my father have to wear pants in the coffin?” The funeral director looked very stricken. Even though Mr. W. was being cremated, there would have to be a coffin because G insisted on an open viewing. “I have never had anyone ask that question before”, the F.D. said, looking imploringly at me. I suddenly lost control and began laughing hysterically a la Mary Richards at Chuckles the Clown’s funeral. I did have the good sense to immediately bow my head and act as if I were crying. “Well,” G said, “my father disliked wearing pants intensely and I had promised that he would not have to wear them to eternity.” Not bothering to point out why an atheist would think there was an eternity, the F.D. said, “I suppose anything is possible” and he agreed to a nude below the waist corpse. I was horrified. I knew that Mr. W had recently flashed the woman delivering Meals on Wheels, but I had never heard this kind of request or the other nonsense from G. When I asked him what was driving his answers, he replied, “I’m not spending that kind of money for some aging queen to play Rock of Ages on the organ or for some elderly hack to read Thoreau. And, I’m damn sure not going to sacrifice a perfectly good pair of pants that I can give to the Goodwill next week. I’m mad enough that I have to pay for the coffin and waste a good shirt and coat.”

So, with that experience hovering at the edge of my memory, I travel to High Point to execute the memorial service. It was a wonderful experience, more poignant and moving than I could have imagined, but with a great deal of warmth and humor. The funeral director in High Point could not have been more helpful or more gracious. I had envisioned a portly man with a bad comb over, but instead Mr. B went out of his way to make sure that all of our requests were handled with respect and grace. Several cousins appeared on the scene and this made for a nice reunion of sorts. These cousins are all in their 70’s and 80’s, so I had never gotten to know them well, but they were lovely and respectful to Mother and Dad. And, the folks at Aunt Louise’s church came together to create a very lovely service with a choir of about ten and a reception of about fifty. There was much laughter, a fact that I don’t think Aunt Louise would have particularly appreciated. I think we had all been under so much stress caring for her that we were joyous that she, along with us, was out of such misery.

I gave a brief eulogy and it was such a moving moment to stand at the pulpit and look out on so many folks who had given so generously of their time and energy to keep Aunt Louise in her apartment for so long. And, to see my parents, 90 and 88, as they observed and listened to everything going on. I mentioned the fact that, just last summer, Aunt Louise had told me that her favorite movie was “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”, which got a huge laugh, but was also very poignant because, as I said, how many other facts were there about her that we simply did not know. No one would have guessed that was her favorite movie. I mentioned her delight when the church organist played “The Wells Fargo Wagon is A ‘Coming” (from The Music Man) when she led in her Sunday school class as she had directed him to play something appropriate and they had just been to see the musical. I thanked the three women who had been the most consistent caregivers for Aunt Louise and told them that they represented the ideal to which we should all aspire, churchgoers or not. I closed by talking about how, when she came to visit me in New York City, her hotel room was directly across from the street from my apartment window and how we stood in our respective windows before we went to bed, just looking at each other. Even though she could never really tell me how special I was to her, I knew it and those evenings in New York were part of the reason I understood. Her favorite proverb was “I live in a small house, but it looks out onto a big world” and, indeed, Aunt Louise was a fabulous observer of life, much more than a participant.

In the days after the service, I gradually learned to not dread the sound of my cell phone ringing and giving me the latest update on her increasingly serious condition. I lost my voice for a few hours one day and gave myself the gift of just being still and letting others do the talking for me. I savored all of the wonderful things that I so enjoy. And, I realized with a hint of bittersweetness, that I am now prepared for what lies ahead as I face the funerals of my remaining immediate family. I think what was most affirming to me were the many unanticipated acts of kindness from my friends, my colleagues, and folks who just happened to cross my path.