The Funeral

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The limo stopped in front of my home at precisely 5:00 pm.  A well-dressed and solicitous young man rang the bell.  When I opened the door, he opened an umbrella and escorted me to the long black car.  We chatted and made small talk as he drove me to the final act in the play “My Mother’s Life.”

Everything went as near according to plan as is possible in my life.  In fact, we even got a few breaks.  The funeral home furnished a priest to celebrate the mass.  In addition, Father Thomas, the priest I recruited from a Parish near the Oklahoma border, arrived in time to assist and offer words of comfort to the assembly of family and friends.  Just before the Mass began, the head priest approached me.  He asked if there was anyone there who might offer a few words about my mother.

“Father, you are in luck,” I told him.  “Come with me.”

I lead the priest over to my nephew, Jason.  Jason is an imposing 6’4” and a uniquely qualified speaker.  He is Pastor at a Baptist church somewhere in south Texas.  In addition, he recently earned his Doctor of Divinity at Baylor University.  Oh, he is also a very nice person and a good husband and father.  He instantly joined the line-up of the Clergy.  I was certain my mother would not be denied entry into Paradise based on lack of clergy at her funeral.

Candles were lit, incense burned and prayers offered.  The Mass began uneventfully.  After a few minutes, I began feeling a little tug at my coat.  It was my granddaughter, Sophia.

“What are they doing, Grandfather?”   She asked in a stage whisper.

“They are praying to God to let Grandma Lottie into heaven.”  I answered.

Before long, coats and skirts all over the church felt tugs and innocent and profound questions found voice in stage whispers.  After a little more than half an hour, the Mass ended with “The Mass has ended.  You may go in peace.”  And we did.

We stepped out into steady rain and dark skies.  It was a comforting rain.  There were no winds and lightning never flashed.  It felt as if we had permission from the heavens to feel a sense of loss and sadness.

Our little group piled into Limos and rode the hundred yards to the little tent covering the final resting place.  The casket rested above the grave and the chairs under the tent filled quickly.  A few found standing room.  There were more prayers.  “Dust to dust,” and all that.  At the end, the funeral director suggested we could have the flowers piled high on mother’s casket.  I picked one and handed it to a guest.  I repeated this act until everyone had a flower as a reminder of the fragile nature of our lives.  We stood about for a while, chatting, consoling and catching up with those who remained on earth.

Then, it seemed it was time to go.  I found the limo and began the swift trip home.  On the way, I reflected on the times I spent with my mother.  There was the time I dropped a raw oyster into a gallon pot of spaghetti sauce.  I was a mere teenager at the time and I channeled some of my rebelliousness into practical jokes.  (Spaghetti was my mother’s favorite food in the world.  Raw oysters were on the other end of the spectrum.)  Out of a gallon of sauce, stirred and divided among five family members, what were the odds my mother would find “the prize?”

The answer?  100%.

In fact, I think she found “slimy” the oyster on her first bite.  Oh sure, I received a large beating, despite my protests of innocence.  I guess choking with laughter took some of the credibility from my plea.

As I grew, mom sought more effective methods to keep me in line.  Merely hitting me with her hand began to leave her bruised and crippled, so she resorted to whacking the rowdy disobedient with a broom.  It did not work out as she expected.

Once, I did some niggling thing that annoyed her.  Furious, she called my brother to “Bring me my broom!”

“Why?  You going someplace?”  I countered.

Luckily, she dissolved into laughter and the broom dissolved into history.

I must have a hundred or more memories of her that will always make me smile.  I shall cherish (and possibly publish) them as long as I live.

I want to thank all the friends, relatives and neighbors who attended one or more of these services.  It meant a lot to me to see you there.  For those who sent food or flowers, thank you ever so much.  I actually gained a little weight eating better cooking than my own.  The plant I received is flourishing on my patio, even as I type.

May God bless and keep you always.

Hank

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