Twas Brillig

Archive for September 1st, 2007

Sep 01 2007

We Put the “fun” in Funeral (SOS, part one)

Published by Brillig under Soap Opera Sunday

Soap Opera Sunday!

Almost exactly a year ago, I found myself at a funeral with the most bizarre group of people you’ll ever meet–my family.

Well, my mom’s family, to be a little more precise. I guess that makes them mine. But, sadly, this was the first time I met many of these people. My mother’s mother’s death brought us all together, so to speak.

I was eight months pregnant. I’d left my hubby and three kids behind in Utah while I flew with two of my siblings, J and Laura, to Ohio. I had a letter from a midwife (not MY midwife, but a midwife nonetheless) stating that I was safe to fly. She lied about my due date–sorta. What she said was true–my baby wasn’t expected until the first week of October, because all of my babies had been born well after their due dates. But technically, I was due in the middle of September. No airline would have allowed me to fly if they’d known the truth. But it was important to me that I be there. I was representing my mom.

My mother chose not to attend this funeral. She was on a luxury cruise in Europe when she received word of her mother’s death. She had already said her goodbyes, knowing that the end was near, so she felt no need to attend the funeral ritual. Still, her siblings resented her for her decision not to come home, and they brought it up over and over again.

My mother grew up in a home where her father was an alcoholic. I don’t mean he drank from time to time, I mean he was a drunkard. Mean, ruthless, out of control. My mom’s mother was also unstable–perhaps equally so–her conception had been an accident and she’d been told by her family every day of her life that she wasn’t wanted. She was emotionally unwell and being married to that man didn’t make it better.

My mother was the oldest of their four children. As many oldest children, but especially children from dysfunctional families, she became the mother hen. She cared for everyone, including her parents. She saw that everyone ate, that everyone went to bed, that everyone woke up in the morning. And, understandably, she became bossy and controlling.

Her childhood was filled with such chaos that she spent much of her life being perfectionistic and demanding–controlling what she COULD control, because her life had been so out of control. But the very people she’d intended to help became very frustrated with her. They couldn’t stand her anymore.

They all grew up, they all went their separate ways. My mom’s anger and confusion and all the other residual anguish from her childhood came to a head and she sought help. She was brilliant, driven, accomplished, but she NEEDED HELP. And she received it. She made great efforts to turn her life around. She overcame most of her anger issues, and she mostly stopped trying to control everyone. She found peace and happiness and she led a beautiful life.

But much of the damage had already been done. And her siblings, who also needed help desperately for their anger and pain, never sought it. They never changed. And they resented her happiness and the life she created for herself.

So I, in my insanely huge pregnantness, and my sister gripped each other’s hands as we made our way towards the funeral home for the viewing, wary of the welcome we might receive. (And wary of what these people might say about my mother. We were NOT going to allow anyone to slander her.)

It was bizarre to walk in that night and look around and see the reception line–the family. Some we knew a little bit, some we recognized, others we’d never seen before. And yet, we all looked alike. We were clearly family, though total strangers.

It was a pleasant evening. My grandma was beautiful in her casket. Her children gazed towards her lovingly. Everyone was on their best behavior.

I met two of my cousins for the first time–the daughters of one of my mother’s sisters. These cousins of mine were incredible girls–full of life and energy and beauty. One was just older than me, the other just younger. After talking for a few minutes, one threw her arms around me and told me, through impending tears, “we should have been great friends!!” We held each other for a moment, not needing to say anymore. The great loss that we were mourning was not my grandma–no, she was old and had suffered a long and difficult life and had survived cancer four times before finally losing the battle on the fifth. We did not mourn the loss of her. We mourned the loss of each other. We mourned for the pettiness and selfishness and silliness of our progenitors, and for all that wasted time.

As I said, everyone was on their best behavior. Some even seemed like they weren’t faking it. One, the one I was most concerned about, avoided me. Her “best behavior” was to not speak to me. After all, if you can’t say something nice…

It wouldn’t be until the next day that she would choose to inform me just exactly what she thought about me, in a most inappropriate moment…

(to be continued…)

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1. Dedee