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Day 3
Friday was the first day of viewings. I don't remember much about the morning, other than my sister calling me to see if I would pick up my grandmother from the nursing home. Which was not a problem. The family had to be at the funeral home before the first viewing at 2 p.m. I got grandmother all packed up and ready to go; it didn't take long.
I love my grandmother, but she's become such a bitter, jaded person that sometimes it's hard to remember the person she used to be. Still, she loves me fiercely, so I try to let most conversations with her roll off my back. But she never stops talking. Ever. She'll read road signs out loud. She'll ask questions, then answer them herself. She'll repeat the same conversation over and over. She'll complain that no one else is talking.
You get the picture. It was a long 30 minute drive to the funeral home. Plus, because I'm so rarely around, it was my turn to look after her.
Fun.
We got to the funeral home, got granny in her wheelchair and inside. There were flowers everywhere. The casket was at the front, made of a medium brown wood.
And inside lay my mother.
I parked my grandmother, and walked up to the casket. Mom look exactly like I had seen her last. She was dressed in the dress she wore for my brother's wedding a few years ago, and truly looked as if she were only sleeping. It was hard to remind myself that she was not going to open her eyes and say hello. I walked away, feeling nothing. No sense of loss, no pain. Just a weird sensation of unreality.
Grandma had me wheel her up to the casket. She said a few words, patted my mother's arm, and I wheeled her back. Then I looked at all the flowers. Many were from people I didn't know; many were from people I did know. I found a bouquet from my coworkers, and for the first time got a little choked up, which surprised me. The card said, "From your Journal/Ranger family." Later on, I found out that a number of people were trying to figure out who the Journal Ranger family was. "Who is Mr. Ranger?!?" *sigh*
People began to arrive for the viewing. Of everything I expected, what I didn't anticipate was how much pressure I was going to feel. I mean, I was there to mourn my mother. But for the viewings, I also had to act the host as well, greeting people, making small talk, etc. Even so, I was thinking to myself, "I can handle this. I'll be fine."
My favorite uncle and his wife arrived. She gave me a hug and asked me how I was doing. And suddenly, I wasn't fine any more.
For years, I've fought hard to be able to control my emotions. For better or worse, it's just what I've needed to do, and usually, I don't have a problem. But now I did. I didn't break down completely, but I couldn't talk; couldn't do anything but hold on to my aunt. Finally, I was able to say to her, "I thought I was fine. But I guess I'm not."
Then it gets blurry. I know a number of people came and went; I know two of my friends from High School came and gave me their condolences; one of whom I haven't seen since I took her to the senior prom. And it was lovely to see them. But most of my energy seemed to be taken up with keeping my self in check, choking up every now and then, and smiling politely whenever I was told my mother was in a better place now.
My brother brought his children. The youngest is only 7 months old. The other boy is 3, and really didn't understand what was happening. When he saw mom in the casket, he asked his mother, "Why is grandma in there?" She said, "She's sleeping."
"But when will she wake up?"
"She won't, honey. She's sleeping with Jesus."
(At the time, it seemed a good enough way to handle the situation, especially with their religious beliefs. In retrospect, the unfortunate wording makes me laugh a little.)
The viewing lasted until 4, I think. I could look it up, but the exact times really aren't important right now. We all loaded up in our various vehicles and headed to my sister-in-law's parents' restaurant for dinner. Just our luck, we got a brand new waitress. She seemed a little overwhelmed. She took our drink orders, and I ordered my food along with everyone else. I felt like I kind of sternly barked my order to her; once she left I asked my sister-in-law if I had been rude to the waitress, because it felt like I had been rude to the waitress, and I didn't want to be rude to the waitress. She assured me I hadn't been.
The waitress returned with the beverages, and began to ask who had gotten which drink. Next, she began to pass out the salads to those who had ordered them, once again asking who ordered a salad and with which dressing.
"Funny," I said. "I thought that's why you were writing it down." She finally got everyone the proper orders, and left again.
"Ok," my sister-in-law Janet said. "That was a little rude."
"mmmhmm. Well, obviously, Timmy needs his medicine!" and I went outside for a smoke.
Smoking is one of those things I do that I kinda hate and kinda like and give up every so often and start up again every so often and during this entire time I was so glad that I did smoke, because it gave me an excuse to escape when the pressure was getting to be too much for me.
I got back, and everyone had their food. Except me. My food arrived about 15 minutes later, just when everyone else was finishing theirs. But it was good, and it was free, and I wasn't going to make a scene about it. And since no one was in a hurry to get back, I ordered dessert.
Because I could. Because peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream is damn tasty, even at the worst of times. And I enjoyed every bit of it. I enjoyed it with attitude.
Back to the funeral home we went. Again, the evening was a blur of people to me, most of whom I did not know, the rest I hadn't seen in nearly 20 years. I frequently received "So you're the other brother!" when introduced. Finally, thankfully, the viewing came to an end. My grandmother was staying at my sister's house that night, as was I; my father had a friend of his own staying at his house. I was more than ready to go to bed for the night, even though I was not looking forward to facing the next day. Oddly, I found myself worrying about how my mother was doing all alone at the funeral home, and if someone shouldn't have stayed there with her, just in case she needed something.
Death can be difficult to accept in your heart, no matter how easily you can in your head.
I love my grandmother, but she's become such a bitter, jaded person that sometimes it's hard to remember the person she used to be. Still, she loves me fiercely, so I try to let most conversations with her roll off my back. But she never stops talking. Ever. She'll read road signs out loud. She'll ask questions, then answer them herself. She'll repeat the same conversation over and over. She'll complain that no one else is talking.
You get the picture. It was a long 30 minute drive to the funeral home. Plus, because I'm so rarely around, it was my turn to look after her.
Fun.
We got to the funeral home, got granny in her wheelchair and inside. There were flowers everywhere. The casket was at the front, made of a medium brown wood.
And inside lay my mother.
I parked my grandmother, and walked up to the casket. Mom look exactly like I had seen her last. She was dressed in the dress she wore for my brother's wedding a few years ago, and truly looked as if she were only sleeping. It was hard to remind myself that she was not going to open her eyes and say hello. I walked away, feeling nothing. No sense of loss, no pain. Just a weird sensation of unreality.
Grandma had me wheel her up to the casket. She said a few words, patted my mother's arm, and I wheeled her back. Then I looked at all the flowers. Many were from people I didn't know; many were from people I did know. I found a bouquet from my coworkers, and for the first time got a little choked up, which surprised me. The card said, "From your Journal/Ranger family." Later on, I found out that a number of people were trying to figure out who the Journal Ranger family was. "Who is Mr. Ranger?!?" *sigh*
People began to arrive for the viewing. Of everything I expected, what I didn't anticipate was how much pressure I was going to feel. I mean, I was there to mourn my mother. But for the viewings, I also had to act the host as well, greeting people, making small talk, etc. Even so, I was thinking to myself, "I can handle this. I'll be fine."
My favorite uncle and his wife arrived. She gave me a hug and asked me how I was doing. And suddenly, I wasn't fine any more.
For years, I've fought hard to be able to control my emotions. For better or worse, it's just what I've needed to do, and usually, I don't have a problem. But now I did. I didn't break down completely, but I couldn't talk; couldn't do anything but hold on to my aunt. Finally, I was able to say to her, "I thought I was fine. But I guess I'm not."
Then it gets blurry. I know a number of people came and went; I know two of my friends from High School came and gave me their condolences; one of whom I haven't seen since I took her to the senior prom. And it was lovely to see them. But most of my energy seemed to be taken up with keeping my self in check, choking up every now and then, and smiling politely whenever I was told my mother was in a better place now.
My brother brought his children. The youngest is only 7 months old. The other boy is 3, and really didn't understand what was happening. When he saw mom in the casket, he asked his mother, "Why is grandma in there?" She said, "She's sleeping."
"But when will she wake up?"
"She won't, honey. She's sleeping with Jesus."
(At the time, it seemed a good enough way to handle the situation, especially with their religious beliefs. In retrospect, the unfortunate wording makes me laugh a little.)
The viewing lasted until 4, I think. I could look it up, but the exact times really aren't important right now. We all loaded up in our various vehicles and headed to my sister-in-law's parents' restaurant for dinner. Just our luck, we got a brand new waitress. She seemed a little overwhelmed. She took our drink orders, and I ordered my food along with everyone else. I felt like I kind of sternly barked my order to her; once she left I asked my sister-in-law if I had been rude to the waitress, because it felt like I had been rude to the waitress, and I didn't want to be rude to the waitress. She assured me I hadn't been.
The waitress returned with the beverages, and began to ask who had gotten which drink. Next, she began to pass out the salads to those who had ordered them, once again asking who ordered a salad and with which dressing.
"Funny," I said. "I thought that's why you were writing it down." She finally got everyone the proper orders, and left again.
"Ok," my sister-in-law Janet said. "That was a little rude."
"mmmhmm. Well, obviously, Timmy needs his medicine!" and I went outside for a smoke.
Smoking is one of those things I do that I kinda hate and kinda like and give up every so often and start up again every so often and during this entire time I was so glad that I did smoke, because it gave me an excuse to escape when the pressure was getting to be too much for me.
I got back, and everyone had their food. Except me. My food arrived about 15 minutes later, just when everyone else was finishing theirs. But it was good, and it was free, and I wasn't going to make a scene about it. And since no one was in a hurry to get back, I ordered dessert.
Because I could. Because peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream is damn tasty, even at the worst of times. And I enjoyed every bit of it. I enjoyed it with attitude.
Back to the funeral home we went. Again, the evening was a blur of people to me, most of whom I did not know, the rest I hadn't seen in nearly 20 years. I frequently received "So you're the other brother!" when introduced. Finally, thankfully, the viewing came to an end. My grandmother was staying at my sister's house that night, as was I; my father had a friend of his own staying at his house. I was more than ready to go to bed for the night, even though I was not looking forward to facing the next day. Oddly, I found myself worrying about how my mother was doing all alone at the funeral home, and if someone shouldn't have stayed there with her, just in case she needed something.
Death can be difficult to accept in your heart, no matter how easily you can in your head.
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