Preparing for Charon's Ferry

According to the autopsy, my Mom died of a massive heart attack. Apparently, she had blockage in two major arteries and never knew it. Hopefully, this means she died quickly and with little pain. We'll never know.

(The Buffy episode "The Body" keeps running through my head.)

Yesterday, my brother and I went to the funeral home to "make decisions" about our mother's funeral arrangements. We were both under the impression that Mom had already made her own selections, but in fact all she did was designate which funeral home would handle her arrangements, a sort of funeral "letter of intent." She chose the same place that my Grandma used a few years back.

My brother, his oldest son Josh, Josh's friend, Tim and I met with the Funeral Director aka the undertaker. The undertaker (though the title hardly seems appropriate for the man) was a 30-ish guy named Russ, the last family member still in his family's business. He wore a polo shirt and dockers and seemed to genuinely emphathize with our loss. The cynic in me wants to say that makes him good at his job. The grieving son in me was thankful for his easy smile and flexibility.

My Mom was somewhat under-insured, so as much as it pained us to think of it that way, some of our decisions came down to dollars and cents. Tom, my brother's name is Tom -- isn't that too 60's cute, Timmy and Tommy -- and I agreed on many of the decisions. I wrote a preliminary obituary without knowing any of the real details. It was simple, befitting my Mom's fairly simple life. We tried to embellish it, but it still came down essentially what I wrote.

I originally thought we would do a small, closed casket memorial service at the cemetery, followed by internment. I based this on two factors: my belief that creating a huge spectacle was not in keeping with my Mom's life -- she had few friends, was not active in a church or any social organizations or clubs. Also, I personally hate funerals. I never know what to say after "sorry for your loss," or "let me know if there's anything I can do."

Tom, on the other hand, wanted calling hours and a memorial service at the funeral home with a minister so that his friends and co-workers could pay their respects. Whatever. I managed to talk him into doing just one hour of calling prior to the service, immediately followed by a trip to Mount Peace. Tom wanted a specific minister, a guy who grew up a few doors down from my grandparents. He spent the better part of an hour tracking the guy down to ask him if he would officiate at the memorial.

Then came the fun part: selecting the guest registry and memorial cards, followed by choosing a casket and vault. The latter two were influenced primarily by finances. With only $5K to work with, we went pretty simple.

At one point, my brother asked if we could include in Mom's obit a request that in lieu of flowers, people contribute to a fund to help with any lingering financial obligations she might leave. I was aghast. If he wanted to have people donate to the American Diabetes Association or the American Cancer Society, that would be fine. I wouldn't have any part in asking people for money. He immediately followed this by asking if we could get one last look at Mom before the service. Two hours earlier, we had agreed that she would not be embalmed and that the service be closed casket. After looking at Tom like an oak tree sprang full grown from his forehead, Russ and I got him to relent.

Of course, when it came to signing paperwork, I got to be the oldest son. After completing that chore, we had to go to the cemetery to sign some more papers. There, a terse woman with a know-it-all attitude told us (i.e., me) to sign on the highlighted lines and hand over a check for $750 for "opening the grave." Russ had warned us that might happen, so we told the woman all of that was being handled by the funeral home. Egad.

After signing some more papers that will probably come back to haunt me, Tom, Josh and I went to see where the grave would be and pay our respects to Grandma. Mom will be buried close to, but not beside, her mother.

We left Mount Peace, went to Rockne's for a late lunch, and then went to my Mom's apartment to start the process of cleaning it out and parceling out her belongings. I stripped her deathbed, bloody pillow and all. Then, I spent most of the next two hours going through old photos so that we could put together a photo collage to display with her closed casket.

Today, Tom and I are going back to her apartment to clear out some more. Tomorrow is the funeral. So many feelings; so few words.