The Entry about My Aunt's Funeral

[chochiyo_sama]

I suppose I must write this entry—I don’t feel much like it.

 

You already know my favorite aunt, Darla, passed away on Tuesday, December 12, at about 3:15 pm. Apparently she had had two or three bad days—I don’t know whether it was Saturday or Sunday, but she had needed to go to the bathroom, my uncle helped her onto the toilet—and then, all at once, she just went limp and wasn’t able to move or even communicate. 

 

He went and called my other uncle (Jerry, brother to my mom and Darla) and Andy Lerberg. They came over with that chair they use for carrying people downstairs and brought her back to her bed.   According to what my mom said, she never got up or spoke again. She had very bad nights after that, and slimy stuff drooled out of her mouth since her lungs were filling up with liquid.

 

Apparently toward the end, my two cousins, Brenda and Kari, held her hands and told her it was okay to let go, stop fighting it, and go home to Heaven.

 

I was in a meeting right after school, so didn’t get my mom’s message at work and from school I went to my friend Ingrid’s house for supper. I left my cell phone in the car as I do not Ingrid (my stalker) to know I have a cell phone—if she knew I had a cell phone she’d be calling me two hundred times a day on it, and I’d have to kill myself. Therefore, I did not hear my sister-in-law’s attempt to call me on my cell phone. 

 

The end of the tale there is that I came home clueless, called my brother’s house for some reason that I can’t remember now, and learned that Darla had passed away and that mom was at their house. She was just getting set to go home when I called. So, I talked to Jack and Kari for a little while, then hung up since mom had said she would call me when she got home.

 

Mom figured visitation would be Thursday and the Funeral Friday—so I planned to be gone from school those two days. I told my boss in the morning, and he was so kind. He told me to take all the time I needed and not worry about school. I knew I’d really only need Thursday and Friday for the family things and the funeral, but I will tell you, I’d LOVE to take this whole next week off….just because I am emotionally and physically exhausted. Arg.

 

I had hoped to go to bed early on Wednesday night and get up early on Thursday morning and get some work done around the house so that I could rest easy about stuff being done at home so I didn’t have to think about it. Instead, I was up till three talking with Chrissie and DK on IM about a variety of things. So, I slept late, got up feeling exhausted and overwhelmed, and didn’t get a freaking thing done except to pack my bags. ARG.

 

Anyhow—I took some fabric and stuff with me because sewing my little dolly things relaxes me. And I was feeling very stressed and anxious. I stopped at Culver’s on my way to mom’s and got a two scoop bowl of ice cream—one chocolate and one vanilla. Good thing I did too, since mom had NOTHING to eat in her house. We had a bag of nasty greasy (extra butter) microwave popcorn for “lunch.” My sister Tammy came home at about 2 pm. We chatted, watched a Bonanza rerun on TV land, and I sewed. At about 5:30 we went to the funeral home. The place was packed.

 

My cousins and my uncle all seemed to be holding up pretty well, as did the grandchildren of my aunt. Alyssa, Kari’s daughter, gave me a big hug when she saw me. I used to baby sit her and play barbies with her when she was a little tyke. She is the most beautiful girl you can imagine.

 

She has been making some not-so-good life choices involving men who are users (in the sense of they lay around on their lazy ass and she goes to work, then they take and spend her paycheck) and drugs and alcohol. My aunt Darla worried a lot about her. I have heard that Alyssa is going to go to college, and I hope that is true. She is beautiful inside and out and very intelligent. I want her to have a happy life with a GOOD man who will treat her like she deserves to be treated. Someone who will SHARE her life and not STEAL her life from her, using her like a slave or a toy or a pet.

 

Anyhow—I love the girl, and I want the very very best for her.

 

I was scared to look at my aunt in her coffin—she had suffered so much, I was afraid of what she might look like, and afraid the image might haunt me forever. But, when I got up to the coffin, I was shocked at how beautiful she looked. She looked just like a princess under a spell that made her sleep.  The undertaker had done a beautiful job of making her up. She was wearing the pink fuzzy hat that Karen K had made her instead of a wig (she was bald from the treatments), and they had bought her a pink sweater set to match the hat. She was wearing dainty pink earrings and pretty pink lipstick. She looked like at any moment she would wake up and smile.

 

It breaks my heart to think she is gone from this world forever. She was such a beautiful person—kind and generous and loving.

Anyhow, we stayed there till almost seven when the wake was over.  All the Catholic relatives were meeting there at seven to do a rosary.

My brother's kids were acting like they were possessed, leaping around and mauling my mom.  My brother didn't help any as he ordered his son to go and give Dave Hagen "a karate chop," which I thought was a dumb thing to do.  The boy went right over there and gave Dave a hard chop in the gut.  Dave looked embarrassed and a little appalled.  I thought it was very inappropriate to do at a funeral--but I don't think my brother meant any harm by it.  He just blurted out something that occurred to him.  Sigh.  I don't like it when parents tell their children to hit other people.  

Perhaps it is because my father used to hold me with my arms pinned to my side and order my sister Kim to punch me.  It lead to her beating the shit out of me my whole childhood since she was both taller and stronger than me (and still is, but we are close friends now).  It ruined our relationship as sisters for many years  though.

 Kari and Jack took Cora and went to mom's house, leaving Caleb to ride home with us.  Caleb was pretty sweet, wanting to sit on my lap and be close  to me.  We stayed a little longer and talked to Lily and Jerry and Jon Neitzell, who'd come from Wisconsin with his wife and kids.  His kids are just adorable.  The little girl was sure a little talker.  Nothing shy about her!

When we got back to mom's house, Kari and Jack had made supper--sloppy joes, potato chips, and frozen corn.  The corn was the stuff we froze this summer, and it was particularly good.

After that, we adjourned to the basement where I had to watch Caleb play nintendo and eat plastic waffles Cora "cooked" in the toy toaster.  Ha ha.

Mom and I went to bed fairly early on Friday night--I was tired, not having had very much sleep the night before.

We were at the church by 10 am.  The funeral was at 11 am, but the Catholic church in Ellendale is so small and Darla had so many friends in addition to the large families on both sides of her marriage that we figured we'd better all get there early enough to get a seat.

The funeral was pretty standard, as funerals go.  It was the first Catholic funeral I'd ever been to.  I hadn't realized that the priest was Vietnamese.  I guess he's been there for a few years too.  Interesting.  He was just a small man, but he had a beautiful voice.  After the funeral, of course, I had to listen to the anti-Catholic, anti-other race bullshit from my mother and my brother.  The United States has never been a one-race country.  Get your xenophobic asses over it.  

"I didn't get that story he told," said my brother.  

"I didn't either," chimed my mother.  Of course if my brother ate a dog turd and proclaimed it chocolate, my mom would rush to grab the next one that dropped out of the dog's ass.  

"I understood it perfectly," I said (thinking, you must both be complete blockheads if you didn't, but I didn't say that part out loud).  

The story was about a little boy in a monastery who went up into the attic of the monastery where there were lots of statues of the saints.  He came across a life-sized crucifix and started talking to the statue of Jesus.  Jesus talked back to the boy.  The boy went up there day after day and got to know Jesus more and more through their conversations.  

Finally, the boy said, "I want to be where you are.  I want to be with you."

Jesus replied, "If you want to be with me, you must lie down and go to sleep."

So the little boy went to bed and fell asleep.  And as he slept, death took him, and he went to Heaven to be with Jesus.

Now, granted, it was not a typically American story--but the meaning was fairly obvious to anyone who isn't as obtuse as a block of shit.  If you want to be with Jesus in Heaven, you must first die.

The point was, that Darla had to die, but now she is in heaven with Jesus.

I don't know what was so freaking difficult about understanding that.  I suspect that if the priest had been Norwegian, they'd have understood it perfectly.

Sometimes, I get so irritated by my homophobic, ethnocentric, anti-Catholic, xenophobic family that I could cheerfully desert them all, never to see them again.

Yet, they are my family, and I love them despite their homophobic, anti-Catholic, ethnocentric, xenophobic ways.

 Anyhow, when it came time for the mass, the priest asked that only Catholics come forward for communion.  The priest said something along the lines of, "We are unable to offer communion to our brothers and sisters of other faiths at this time, but we keep praying for that time to come."  I thought that was very telling and thoughtful.  Of course, my family bitched about that too.  I can't remember their exact words, but it was a kind of "who do they think they are to exclude other Christians?" rant.

I said, "Well, if you read between the lines, you could see  that the priest thinks it's stupid that he cannot serve communion to all Christians--I think it was kind of him to make it clear to us before communion that he would love to serve it to everyone if the Church didn't forbid it."  

My mom held up pretty well until the very end when they rolled the coffin out and the congregation was singing "How Great Thou Art."  Then she started sobbing.  I put my hymnal down and hugged her, but she was stiff as a board and let her arms hang at her side.  My friend Ingrid says she was probably just overwhelmed with grief.  I don't know.   I mean, I am sure she WAS overwhelmed with grief--but she didn't have any trouble hugging my brother back at the cemetery when HE was hugging her.  

Sigh.  It never changes.  I'll be the shit kid till the day I die.

Anyhow--after the funeral, we went to the cemetery.   I was glad that the ground was still soft enough that we could bury her now and not have to put her in a vault until spring.  That would have been awful to have to go and go through all of that again.

The ceremony at the graveside was quick.  The priest prayed.  My cousins and their children all put yellow roses on the casket.  The casket was beautiful.  I will come back and haunt my family to death if they spend that much money on my casket when they bury me.  But I understand that in the heat of grief, people want to give their loved ones the very very best.  And that's why undertakers are rich.

My aunt's casket was solid oak, a beautiful honey color.  it had her name in gold letters on the side, and a 6 or 8" angel figurine on each corner in a cream color.  I didn't look close enough to see what they were made out of.  The lining was cream color, and my cousin Kari said they got the softest, cushiest one they had.

When I die, put me in a cardboard coffin.  I am going to be creamated anyhow.

Do NOT waste $10,000 buying me a gorgeous coffin that will go in the ground and rot along with me.

(But I will not rot, since I am going to be nice, clean ashes.  No future archeologist will be digging me up and dissecting me--In fact, I think I will compose a letter to the future archeologists which says, "Ha ha, you ghouls!  You don't get to examine my bones!!!")

I refused to go to the dinner afterwards.  It has always struck me as ghoulish that everyone goes and eats after a funeral.  I understand it--people want a chance to unwind and visit with relatives that they don't see very often--but I get very anxious and can't breathe when I am at those things, so I had my mom and my brother take me to my mom's house where I spent a quiet, happy couple of hours sewing my dolly clothing and unwinding.

And that's about it for that episode of my life.

I will miss my aunt Darla tremendously.  She was my favorite aunt--the only one who was a really really good person.

We'll talk about the others another day.

Comments

[enteryouruserid.livejournal.com]

Cho, thank you for sharing, you write very well, even if you aren't focusing on it. The part:
"I didn't either," chimed my mother. Of course if my brother ate a dog turd and proclaimed it chocolate, my mom would rush to grab the next one that dropped out of the dog's ass.
was particularly amusing and the observation that "I'll be the shit kid till the day I die." was very sad. I wish some people weren't so inflexible and resistant to changing. Best wishes and treat yourself well, don't work if you don't have to, take the time off that's given if you can. God bless (from a fellow Catholic who understands anti-Catholicism but not from my family).

[the_godiva]

The Egyptians would have a feast after the funeral. Maybe that's where it comes from.

Or affirming you're still alive by consuming mass quantities.

I'm glad you skipped the dinner. Time to start looking out for number one. It's very telling when your friends look out for you more than your blood family. It says a lot about the character of your family. But it also says a lot about you, that people who are no relation and don't *have* to love you like family. More than family. You need to embrace that. And you need to let go of the blood thing. If your family are shits, then treat them courteously but don't beat yourself up doing for them, especially if it is at your own expense. They're not going to change. You're not going to *get* anything for it. If anything, they'll just take advantage and expect Aunt Cheryl to do whatever...cheerfully and for free.

Time to look out for number one and learn to say no. "No, I'd rather not." "Nevertheless, I'd rather not." No explaination required. Repeat as needed.

Make your own arrangements in advance and you won't have to worry about your family. They're not going to pay for a casket and plot if you've already arranged a cardboard box and cremation. Arrange to have the ashes scattered too and they're completely off the hook.

They've got something called the Neptune Society here that does cremations. That's probably the way I'll go. Shit-kid to shit-kid: plan to outlive them all. (I'm planning to outlive my brother and my sister. My nephews will do as I say.)

[mistress-laurie.livejournal.com]

the_godiva is right - you're not going to change your family's attitude and behavior toward you, but you can change yours toward them. Sure, they'll treat you like crap for doing it, but what's different about that? They treat you like crap already - is one kind of crap worse than another?

Same goes for The Stalker...

I find it fascinating how easily a 3 year-old can say "'NO!", yet how difficult it is for an adult. A study in learned behavior for sure.

Andrew Greeley, a Catholic priest who is also a sociologist and a novelist, says there is one thing above all that people find appealing about Catholic Church services: the stories. I think Catholic priests, more than most other ministers, have followed Jesus's method of telling stories (parables) to illustrate points of doctrine. (PS - you'd like some of Greeley's books. Check him out at the IBDoF)

You know why?

[the_godiva]

An adult is taught to be polite and considerate of others feelings before blurting out something. A 3 year old just blurts out the obvious.

I didn't say it before, but think of the stalker's part in this. You would have known about your Aunt's death in a more timely manner if you had your cell phone. (The cell phone you bought for this express purpose.) Why didn't you? Because you had to leave it in the car so the stalker wouldn't know about it. (Which is WHY you bought the cell phone.) Why are you letting the stalker control your life like this? Is she *really* that good a friend? And if she were, why is she controling your life like this?

I think the value of the relationship with the stalker needs to be re-evaluated. Sure she may be fun at times. But don't you have other friends? Can the "gap" be filled if you never saw the stalker again? Would you really miss her company that much? OR....would it be a tremendous relief; a burden lifted if she never talked to you again? And...if you bluntly told her exactly what impact her behavior is having on your life and forcefully laid down the law with the stalker, would she never talk to you again? Or....would she accept the new rules and still be your friend? Are you willing to enforce those new rules? What would your life be like if the stalker did follow the new rules?

It's New Year. Time for a self-evaluation. Cut lose of those that are sucking you dry. (If it's me....I'll cut off contact because I want you happy and healthy.)

There is NOTHING wrong with putting yourself first. I know we're taught in Sunday School to think of others first, but I learned in my 20s that no one was looking out for me. If I thought of others first they also thought of themselves first and I was always last. If I chose first, I'd choose the little slice of pie to leave the big one for someone else. If they chose first they'd take the big slice of pie and I'd still get the little one. *^%$*$ that! I'm not inconsiderate. But I always consider what an outcome will have on me before I jump into something. Because no one is putting me first except me. So I better do it.

What do you need? (aside from money...just wait until I win the lottery.) Time? Energy? Happiness? Quiet time? Take what you need. And *you* decide what you'll give, when and how much...of your time, your energy, your self. Learn to say no.

And start being more blunt. Start saying what you're thinking. I guarantee you'll cry if you're talking to family. ("Why do you return my brother's hugs but you won't hug me?")They might start treating you with more respect. If not...piss on them. Say no, mean it and act on it. I think your Mom needs to hear how her actions impact you. Maybe she doesn't realize she is favoring one child over another. Maybe she doesn't realize she's hurting your feelings. But...if they're reaction is 'Oh, you're just too sensitive. Stop acting like a baby.' time to cut loose. When those calls come suggest they call your brother for help. You're previously engaged. And no, it's none of their business what you're doing. In what way will this make how they already treat you any worse?

As Mistress Laurie said....they already treat you like $h¡t.

And there is always the possibility that they'll treat you BETTER if you take a stand.

Remember Network: "I'm made as He!! and I'm not going to take this anymore."

Get mad.

[duchym.livejournal.com]

Cho, you are a lovely person. No matter what your family says (in either words OR actions) you are still going to be a lovely person. Remember that - no matter what they say or do to make you feel bad - you are a lovely person no matter what!