Good Grief

The first funeral I remember attending was that of my paternal Grandmother, who passed the December of my freshman year of college. I was 17 and living at home, and I got the phone call from my uncle, letting me know that she had died. She had been sick for a long time, but as a typical teenager, it didn't occur to me that she was going to go anywhere, and so a combination of sadness over her being gone, and guilt over not seeing her more often overtook me. The service was going to be the next day and my mom, my grandma, and I would go. Later that day I got a call from my biodad telling me the news. He was annoyed his brother had beat him to the punch, but asked me how I was. I said, "I've been better" and he lost it. He started hollering at me that I didn't deserve to be sad, I didn't have the right, that it was his mother who had died, and I didn't care about anyone, and he was the only one who had the right to be sad. Shocked, I stopped crying, turned into my normal "Ariella talking to biodad emotional fetal position" and just got quiet. He calmed down and asked if I had directions to the Temple...and I made the mistake of mentioning that my mom was planning on coming and that she knew how to get there. More hollering about his ex wife and how she didn't deserve to be sad either. More quiet Ariella. That night I went out with 2 very good friends trying to cheer me up and while at the Fatburger across the street from the Beverly Center, my purse got very dramatically stolen from the counter right in front of me. The man came in, wandered, snatched my beautiful Italian purse, a gift from my exes parents, which happened to contain all of my tip money from the month, over 400 dollars in cash, which was to be turned into Christmas presents that weekend. Bummer. The funeral was pretty uneventful after all of that. I mourned under the protection of my mom and more importantly, my grandma, who no one would ever mess with.

My next 2 funerals were hard. My boyfriend was killed in a car accident. His funeral was the largest I have ever been to, but I was in such crushing grief I couldn't leave my pew I was crying so hard. Then my brother in law died, which had been expected, as he was sick, but having my sister and her 2 young boys be robbed of his life was heartbreaking.

I was then fortunate in that the next 2 funerals were for people who had lived their lives well and for whom death was a welcome passage into the next stage. My great grandmother, who had made it an incredibly long time, finally succumbed to age. My dad had been raised by her, so it was too hard for him to say anything, and I was asked to read his eulogy, and give my own. I somehow managed, through the tears, to speak with pride and love about this incredible woman. Michael's grandma was next, after battling Alzeimers for a very long time, and I honestly cannot remember more about the service than the color of the church. Seems fitting. Alzeimers is a cruel, cruel disease.

After that I had a break, and it wasn't until a few years ago that I was touched by death again. My very good friend's mom was battling cancer and lost. I helped him clean out her apartment then hosted a reception for him at my house. It was the first time I was so involved in the process, and while I knew her, my participation was because of him. Having become a mother, and caring for my friend who had lost his own, was an intense but incredible experience. During the reception, it was discovered that one of our baby chicks had been, um, played with by our eager dog and hadn't made it. I was very upset for about 3 seconds, until I realized we were basically at a funeral, albeit without a service, and in my backyard, and that being upset about a month old chicken was perhaps insensitive. I went to tell Magnolia the news, and as a toddler, she handled it exceptionally well. Her little face got very pensive and she asked "will we bury her?" and I said yes. Her face then lit up and she said "oh good, then Marble can become a flower!". Done and done.

My father in law battled with Muscular Dystrophy for years before I met him. Once I became part of the family, he very quickly won my heart with his spirit, his sense of humor, his patience, and his kindness. When he died the day before Magnolia turned 4, my heart ached not only at my own loss, and that of the world, but for my children who would never grow up knowing this incredible man, their grandfather. His funeral service seemed to last for days, mainly because it did. There was the rosary said the night he died, the rosary/mass before the funeral, the funeral service the next day, the burial, then the reception. Everything was a flurry and there were plenty of times to talk about Tommy, about his pain in life, and his release into death and into heaven. I remember looking through tears at his very plain casket dressed in the quilt I had made for him, which he often told me was his favorite gift ever. I remember being surprised and touched at the fact that my own family and friends came to the funeral to support me and Michael, and I feel like it was my first funeral as a grown up, in a manner of speaking. I didn't consider that it would just be the beginning. Tommy was taken before his time, but was well warned. We knew it was going to happen, it was just a question of when.

I can't talk too much about my Aunt's passing yet. Last year, at this time, I had just started my musical theater class and we had the news. Pancreatic Cancer. We were expecting to have 8-24 months, and I was ready to pack my bags and go wherever Mimma wanted, as soon as she wanted. I was ready to give up everything so I could be with her for whatever time she had left. Within a week, we realized it wasn't going to be that long. Within 2 weeks, we didn't know how much longer it would be, but it was going to be quick. 5 weeks later she would be gone. After some deliberation, we had the service in my backyard a week later. It was quite beautiful, and painful, and at one point, problematic, but that passed and everyone agreed that it was a good tribute. I am still recovering from the experience as a whole, and the loss, but the funeral itself is practically no part of that.

Yesterday, I went to a funeral for a friend of mine whose dad had passed after battling cancer for several years. I didn't know him, except through the stories, but I wanted to go and be there to support my friend. It was very hard for me, as he was about the same age as my aunt, and was leaving behind a devoted wife and 2 adult children very much not ready to lose their father. I cried a lot during the service, and ended up having to meditate away from the funeral to go to my happy place so that I didn't turn into a blubbering mess. It made me think a lot about funerals, and why we have them, and why we go. I realized that now I may go to as many funerals as I go to any other kind of life event, and the importance of grief. I thought about my own funeral, and hoped that it would not come for a while. While I have every intention on living as long as I can, I recognize that with my health history, I will probably go younger than most of my friends, and I think I am ok with that. Let them plan the party. But in a very weird way, it felt good to be there. It felt good to be able to support my friend and her boyfriend and her brother, even if it was just with hugs and smiles. It felt good to cry and be sad about loss, recognizing that life does go on. I rarely say die anymore. I say pass. I am not sure what we pass into, but there is something oddly comforting about talking like a southern african american woman.