Our Mother died in Sept of 2010 and we buried our mother ironically nine months after her death. This was fitting since she gave birth to the four of us who handled her ashes. I expected this to be a somber, sad, and somewhat solemn affair and it turns out it was anything but.
While other people's deaths are deeply sad, one's own is surely a bit of a joke.
James Cameron
Mom asked to be cremated,[yeah Mom] and then she asked if "you would take my ashes and put them on top of Dad's grave." "O, well, of course." we all said. See, she wanted us to put those ashes on top of our father's grave which resided in a big cemetery in the heart of Chicago. I thought, "that might prove to be an interesting proposition. Did they have security, rules, penalties for misbehavior?" Undaunted, we agreed and met at sister Trish's house in June.
The day of the 'Ashes to Earth' ceremony, Sally, Trisha, Kathleen and I gathered around Trisha's little kitchen table where the ashes were in a black box. Trish made a lovely altar for Mom, complete with candles and flowers. Then the ceremony began. I pictured we would say a prayer, tell stories or read poetry about the death of a loved one. No, we took to the task at hand, dividing the ashes into four zip lock bags so we could carry Mom in our purses into the cemetery. It is hard to be solemn when you have 1/4th of your mother and a trowel in your purse. This was our "strategery" [as W would say] to sneak passed the guards.
We loaded up into two cars: Trisha, her daughter and grandkids in one car; Kathleen and her husband Steve, me and my husband and Sally in Steve's van. Off we went to the place where, not only my Dad but also where our four grandparents were buried. Once there, we carefully dug up the sod around Dad's gravestone [looking over our shoulders all the while for fear of incarceration]. Trisha had not only provided trowels for each of us but also a bigger baggie for the extra soil. That girl is smart. We then unceremoniously, holding our breath, dumped Mom all around the perimeter of Dad's gravestone and quickly replaced the turf on top of Mom's ashes. Then the coup de grace, Stevie had brought beers "I figured since we tailgated your father's funeral we should tailgate Jane's." Good logic. We used those beers to pack down the sod and to wash off the headstone. We took tons of pictures, and then as is common with most funeral experiences we went back to Trisha's house for a huge lunch.
Celebrations of death often end with the celebration of life: talking, laughing, telling stories of the loved one and eating. Being from a restaurant family we are all of the "live to eat" club as opposed to those who 'eat to live'. We don't understand those folks and they don't understand us. My observation is that if you want to be really, really thin become very, very old, you will then be quite thin. I didn't notice tons of obesity in the Assisted Living crowd. This is also contrasted by being with my baby grand niece LJ who was eating mashed banana for the first time in her life. The wonderment, the joy, the delight as she savored each mouthful. We should all keep those experiences about food, to taste, to savor, to celebrate.
Our mother was know for her voracious appetite. She used to say when Dad was still alive and people would ask her, "Jane, how do you cook for two now that your family is grown?" She'd answer, "It's simple I just buy meals that say 'serves 4' and we eat the whole thing." That appetite only waned in the last couple years of her life. She lived fiercely, artistically, colorfully and then when she was done with all of that fierceness she "ebbed away".
Later that day we went up to sister Trisha's cottage on a Lake and Sally and Trish took turns reading the love letters that Mom and Dad sent to each other during World War II when my Dad was in Okinawa. The letters were tender, dear, filled with love and longing. We all had tears in our eyes to think of these two young married people with a new baby [Sally] separated by war. I never knew that my father was so passionate or my mother so heart broken by their separation. It was a touching and grand afternoon sharing their love for each other. Such a good idea after the burial and reuniting of two great spirits.
I loved so many things about Mom, most of all her wit and her modesty. No gravestone* for her and she certainly did not want to be encased in an urn. Her grave is now surrounding the man that she loved from the time she was a teenager, my father. He got from her stability and someone he adored, she got from him a sense of adventure, tons of laughter and a wonderful, loving husband.
Mom was solid and so forthright, you could always count on her blunt truth and I used to call her frequently to ask her opinion about anything. Here's how much she meant to me, on the morning that she died my sister Sally called at about 5:30 AM. She related the story of Mom's death and then the other sisters told me how it was for them. My recurrent thought that I had as they talked was "I've got to tell Mom about this." We would have had a good old talk about everyone's reaction to a death. Of course I still can talk to her, but only in my head and heart. If you are listening Mom, I love you still.
In my fantasy she is not only listening but she is with Dad and the four grandparents, my baby and all of our old pets, loving and cuddling beyond the stars. I like that.
magicfeather copyright 2011 Susan R. Grout all rights reserved.
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