Journal to a Muse

A Wealth of Rituals

My proudly modern family (stereotypical Californians) did what they could to escape from old fashioned rituals. It was mostly OK. Except when each of my parents died, I had no clue what to do, how to behave, or when I'd done enough. No closure.

MIL's family, being in the center of the country, and Catholic, and conservative by nature had plenty of traditions and implemented all of them.

Most were orchestrated by the funeral home. MIL and FIL had selected a burial plot years ago.

So this morning there was visitation. Genetic and behavioral traits common to all these relatives were on display as siblings, cousins and their children gathered for the second time this week. (MIL's brother's memorial service was Thursday.)

Ianni tapes played in the background. "She listened to Ianni in order to get to sleep."

The closed casket was surrounded by flower arrangements, and flanked by a photograph of MIL when she was a coquettish young woman. My DH had never seen her that way, but it was the way FIL wanted to remember her. I'm not sure anymore whether there can be too many flowers.

The priest said a few words.
"Well, that didn't take too long, did it?" blurted the new widower.

Then we were in a motorcade. That was new to me. Hazard lights on. Following the white hearse. Running red lights! Having people in this small town pull over and stop... in respect I guess. I don't know that people would do that in Dallas. My husband said when his time comes he'd like a hundred limos hired to have a motorcade to snarl traffic for miles around. I think all of us would like to know our departure will "make some waves."

The Mass was barebones Catholic. THe priest warned that only Roman Catholics were invited to communion. The altarboy cracked his knuckles throughout communion. There was no offertory or collection. (My first DH's grandfather wrestled the collection basket out of the usher's hands at his wife's funeral Mass. It was embarrasing at the time, but made a great story later.)

Another motorcade to the grave site.
There was a headstone with the name CAIN carved into it. "No raising CAIN here," we observed.
A few more prayers. Dispersal of the crowd by the widower after the funeral director told him "We won't be lowering the casket until you are all gone."

SIL made sure that MIL's only surviving sister had one of the carnations from the casket spray. I encouraged DH to take one for his lapel. He balked at first... but then chose a red one.

"Good bye, Mom," he said. "Good bye."
Those words touched me more than any others of the day.

No motorcade, but a meandering to SIL's house in the woods. The great grandson finally got to be "out loose" rather than in the children's room. The two month old great granddaughter was cooed over. As was SIL's chocolate chip cheese cake.

DH re-acquainted himself with family members he hadn't seen for decades. We both spoke to those we'd seen during the past months to visit his mother at the hospital.

Then it was time to go.
We had one more ritual of our own: A bookstore visit. There are prescious few sources of reading material in this town! (Wal Mart and the campus book store). We chose the campus store. DH found a geology text that was "just the thing." And I found a thiller/mystern and a literary prize winner that I planned to read while he watched football back in the room.

As soon as we lay down we were fast asleep. Exhausted emotionally.
I'm bouncing back.

Glad to know that we did what we were supposed to.
Closure