As soon as I had digested the news, I got on the phone with a couple of airlines, trying to find a bereavement fare. Of course, while my left hand held the phone, my right hand was mousing, looking at fares on Orbitz. I wasn’t too surprised that Orbitz fares were cheaper than any bereavement fares the airlines offered, but I was stunned that the airlines claimed they couldn’t get me on a plane until Monday while I was finding flights that left on Saturday evening. So, I finally hung up the phone, booked on Orbitz at about half the price the airlines were quoting, and waited out the next 24 hours until my flight left Portland.
Waiting mainly consisted of floating in the swimming pool, drinking large amounts of margarita. Pool water provided a great excuse for red eyes, and it gave me plenty of time to think. Frankly, I took some comfort in the way Mom died. Within the past few years, I’ve watched my grandfather and uncle die. Both suffered through long, lingering illnesses that ravaged them mentally and physically, in a way that I would wish upon very few people. By contrast, my mother’s death was lightning fast, certainly too fast for her to suffer, and perhaps even too fast for her to know what was happening and to fear it. She was doing a job she dearly loved, and that coincidentally meant she had immediate access to exactly the right kind of medical attention and care. I don’t have to worry about “If only we had gotten her to the ER faster” or anything like that. Everything that was possible to try, was tried. And I had just seen Mom about a month ago on the roadtrip, a wonderful visit filled with a lot of laughter and fun, surrounded by kids and family. None of us had a clue that would be the last time I would see her alive, but we couldn’t have planned a better time if we had tried. So, all things considered, it could have been a lot worse. If you gotta go, this wasn’t a bad way to do it. But sheesh, it coulda been 10 or 20 or 30 years later, couldn’t it?
Floating in the pool, I started thinking about the rest of the family. Frankly, this was gonna hit my aunt worse than anyone. Mom was much more than Phyliss’ big sister, she was also her best friend. Mom had been a source of emotional support during my uncle’s illness over the past two years and had a lot to do with helping my aunt survive his funeral. Additionally, Mom provided the insistent voice Phyliss needed to attend to her own medical issues. She had a quad bypass about a year ago, and still hadn’t gotten her wind back at all. And worse yet, Phyliss had recently quit her job to be able to stay home with my grandmother full time. Physically, my grandmother is quite strong, but mentally she has begun to slip just enough that she can’t really be left alone for any period of time. So, Mom was also financial support for that household, keeping bills at bay on her salary as an RN.
Once I got to Memphis, it felt like there was an unending list of chores to face. Coming straight from this roadtrip, I didn’t have anything in the way of suitable clothing with me, so I had to purchase a suit and gear for the viewing and the funeral. I also spent lots of time going through Mom’s finances with Phyliss. As I guessed, there wasn’t anything left that would justify the term “estate”. No life insurance, no massive savings account, nada, zip. Still, she had a nasty stack of credit cards that needed to be canceled and to which I would have to send death certificates to get the balances voided. Mom’s car was in the shop from a recent bit of bodywork that seemed to have evolved into engine repairs, so that had to be dealt with. And I bought a scanner so that massive quantities of photos could be gone through and divided up among various family members.
And I had to visit the funeral home to make arrangements. Thankfully, my folks had bought plots and services several years ago back when they were still married. It took a little doing to separate the two plots, but nothing too traumatic. But I still had to think about what the “service” should consist of. Mom wasn’t at all religious, so it’s not like there was a preacher or pastor who was on tap to conduct a eulogy. And I couldn’t picture having one of the people at the funeral home do a canned speech. The absolute last thing I wanted to do was to stand up there myself and say something; I couldn’t picture anything I wanted to do less during a time when I expected to be doubled over with anguish. But, I just didn’t see any viable alternative, or at least not one that I wouldn’t regret for many years down the road. I spoke to one of my cousins who was particularly close to Diane, and he agreed to speak as well. So, I also spent a lot of late nights working on a eulogy.
The viewing was Tuesday afternoon. I got there early enough to get about 20 minutes alone with Mom, or with her body. The service was planned to be open casket, and I was anxious about how she would look after all of the harvesting from the tissue donation we had signed off on. But, there were no visible signs, and overall she looked okay. Too pale by far, but okay. With her hands on her chest and glasses perched on her nose, she looked for all the world like she had fallen asleep on the couch. If I had slipped a paperback book under her hands, it would have completed the pose. The rest of the family came in next, and as I expected, it seemed to hit my grandmother and aunt the worst. Lots of tears and grief and hugs and tissues and not a lot of words. When the doors opened for everyone else, I was astounded and gratified to see the number of nurses who showed up. Mom had been working as a traveling nurse for so long, most of the friends she had made in nursing were scattered across the US. But there were still a great number of people local that had known mom that came to say goodbye and to express their condolences to the family. Even a couple of nurses who had known her for as little as six months came by to spend some time with us.
The funeral was the following morning. I don’t really know what to say about it, except that I got through it. I was okay with how the eulogy came out, and I mostly managed to hold myself together through it. Strange thing, eulogies. You work so hard on them, but you know you’ll never get an honest criticism of them. It’s not like anyone will ever say, “Dude, weak job on the eulogy. Is that all you got?” My cousin followed me, and as I expected, he had me sobbing openly from the first paragraph.
I followed the pall bearers out to the gravesite, retrieved a dropped flower from one of the sprays, placed that on her casket and said goodbye one last time.
I hardly know you, i know. But I do still read your journal. So I wanted to say…. I am so sorry. And thank you for sharing all of this.
Hugs and listening ears here, dear.