Saturday, October 29, 2005
The Business Of Death
Before Dad had even died, I called the funeral home in Oklahoma where my grandparents, great-grandparents, various relatives and my brother are buried, warned them there would be a call, and requested they take care of everything for me.
Since they've been burying my family for nearly a century, they agreed, and Dad was containerized and flown back to Oklahoma as hurricane Wilma was bearing down on us.
It came to me that, through a series of mishaps, Dad had no clothing. In a way, this was fortuitous. I had a grieving aunt who was going nuts by degrees, and obtaining Dad's measurements and getting him a suit kept her busy and on a mission she dared not fail.
I also burdened her husband, my uncle, with several tasks I should have handled myself, but he was on-scene, and I knew he'd pass some of them to her to keep her even busier. They did well, considering I'd lost track of who I'd notified, and they were the last to find out Dad was dead.
I have a headphone on my regular phone and my cellular, and was often wearing both headphones and alternating conversations on both phones at once, while emailing and Instant Messaging at the same time. I was flooded with condolences, offers to help, and a terribly large amount of people letting me know they could identify because they'd lost one or both parents recently. I tried the bargain places for a round-trip flight from Orlando to Tulsa and back, and the cheapest I found was $1500. I called Delta directly, and got one for $512. The next morning, I was standing in line when my flight took off, so I rescheduled for the following day and drove home through the north end of Wilma. Seems my flight was the last one out. I got home, and Dad wasn't at the funeral home. A few desperate calls, and he was hung up in Oklahoma City. The funeral home would go fetch him Tuesday morning. My aunt could go shopping. All was as well as it could be. I got up at 3:00 to catch my 5:30 flight and would have missed it if not for a helpful Delta guy, who got me into the security system and onto my plane two minutes before departure.
Once in Tulsa, I rented a car and got lost. I also discovered I'd left my cell phone in Florida with all my critical numbers in it. After several sets of bad directions, I found a cop, who got me to my aunt and uncle's store. It's a Piggly Wiggly. Don't ask.
I also didn't have a suit, and Dad's viewing was that night. The Men's Wearhouse solved all my problems for only $500 and change. I've never owned a $400 suit before. I'm going to be buried in this one, even if I get too skinny for it. I want my money's worth out of that sucker. I rediscovered that I have a huge and loving family back there. I also discovered I don't want to live back there. Looks like traveling is in my future.
I'd written Dad's Obituary, emailed it to my uncle, who forwarded it to the funeral home. It was printed in several area newspapers verbatim, which amazed the uncle. "I AM a writer," I reminded him. Maybe he'd always thought that was a family joke, I don't know.
I was furious at the funeral people for demanding money up front until I saw the bill and noticed they'd knocked over a thousand dollars off the bill. Uncle paid it with a credit card and I wrote him a check.
At the viewing everyone was a little disappointed. Dad didn't look like Dad. Dad looked like an old, worn-out version of himself. They hadn't seen him deteriorate to this. I saw it.
The funeral was held on a bright, crisp Wednesday afternoon. I did the eulogy without preparation or notes. There had been some concern over whether I'd be upset with my cousin Chuck delivering the closing prayer, since he's Catholic. I assured everyone that I despised all organized religions equally, and I'd be happy to have Chuck handle that. I believe in God, just not churches.
We got through it, saw Dad placed in his vault and sealed in, then we all went away. I flew out the next morning. Delta got me home ok, and even found and delivered my luggage six hours after I got home.
As I pulled into my driveway, there were six huge bags of trash out by the road. Once in the house, I had a Twilight Zone moment till the dog came up to greet me, then let me know what he thought of people who disappeared for days. The floors were mopped. Things were organized. Junk was missing. Weeds in my side yard were hacked down. My buddy Brian, tasked with caring for Basher the Wonder Dog before and after work, had taken it upon himself to do my first 24 hours of housework for me. THAT is a friend! His wife also made me a great and healthy dinner the night after I got home.
I've been cleaning off and on ever since.
I know it's not over, the grieving process, the adjustments. But I'm going to be ok. I'm sure of it.
