FUNERALS, FRIENDS, AND FISTS

When you've been married twenty seven years there isn't a lot of difference between your relatives and your spouse's anymore. The lines are blurred, the words in-law don't mean what they once did and in fact, we drop that designation many times, for it is seemingly unnecessary, almost offensive at this point. My mother in law many times calls me her daughter, my brother has for years and years called my husband his brother. It goes on and on. The words are useful still; "in-law", but alas only to explain to a freshman to the fold which one belongs to which and then, how the association came about.

Earlier in the week my handsome husband's step-Grandmother passed away. "Step" is sort of the same as in-law. I never got to meet handsome husband's Grandmother. She passed away a year or so before we met, and his Grandaddy remarried shortly after. He was married about eleven years to Nell before he passed away but Nell remained Nell or Grandma Nell to Grandaddy's nine grown children, their kids and their kids for the balance of her life. She was kind and generous and she was a loving Southern gal. She was a hoot and a half. She was a story for another post.

A relative of Nell's was responsible for the arrangements of her funeral, and apparently there were either misques that resulted in Nell's wishes not being carried out or Mr. Relative was not particularly sensitive toward said wishes. At any rate the end result was a fairly egregious error of callousness in my humble opinion; not on the level of the Rock Springs Crematorium debacle clearly, but a heavy load to carry nonetheless. It isn't a correctable error should Mr. Relative develop a conscience.

I came home with a heavy heart. Besides the kind of heavy heart you normally leave a funeral with I mean. The kind Mr. Relative will feel should he develop said conscience. Everyone is entitled to a perspecific beautilicious send off, and if they have requested something by golly that means its important to them. If a human person of the humankind goes to the real trouble of writing something down, something they want specifically done after they die, at their funeral, when they don't even truly know it, you better believe it's a MUST. Come onnnnnnnnnn.

There weren't but two things she wanted, and one was a blanket of roses on top of her casket. She didn't get that and in fact she didn't get any flowers or anything on top of her casket and it looked so bare and so spare and I thought about that blank, bare casket all evening and every time I woke up in the night. Nell's first name was Rosie. Y'know I didn't know that, all the years I knew her I feel so bad about that it's so funny the things you don't know about someone. I did know how she loved roses, had them everywhere EVERYWHERE except the top of her casket like she wanted them.

So I was talking to a few friends about it. . . . and here's what one friend said back to me in an email:

I feel bad for her that she didn't get her roses like she wanted. I just sent a big ol' bouquet of imaginary pale pink sweetheart roses to the cemetary and had them put right where she would know they were there. And the thing is, they will always be there and she can always see them.

Hope your day is gu-ud today!

Thanks Beezie. I bet she knows they're there, too. Why didn't I think of that? When I read it I was standing up at the island in the kitchen and as soon as I got to the word cemetary the words began to get slightly fuzzy, my arms locked straight by my sides, my hands balled up in fists, and I stomped. By the time I got to the end I could barely read the words at all and I was stomping HARD. Like a spoiled child. That was right before I melted into a big heap. A big blubbering heap. A gu-ud day indeed. That's an understatement. My heart is light today.

Bee and Nell would have been great friends. There's a blog post in there somewhere. : ^ )