The funeral was as difficult an experience as you can imagine. It was lovely though, as lovely as my dead sister would have liked. She was not prissy... though she liked things neat and tidy and preferred to present to the world fully assembled. She wasn't so fastidious as to be bothersome. My sister just preferred things presented as elegantly as possible.
I think we delivered.
We began at 12:50 and watched a memorial video summarizing her life, and followed that with a chairman's reading of her much-reduced obituary. The original obit, regular readers won't be surprised, was over a thousand words long. We gave the presenter a heavily redacted 3 minute read. That was followed by a lovely and succinct 30 minute explanation of my sister's hope based on the Bible. She would have really like that part. She was an avid Bible student and loved talking to others about it. If she'd been able to deliver her own memorial discourse, she would have said the same things. Only with a few jokes inserted because she loved to laugh. It concluded with a prayer and song and we watched the video again. Everyone loves a movie. Then it was an hour of tears and embraces.
My mother commented yesterday how impressed she was that matters came together so rapidly. My sister passed away Feb 1 and seven days later we had 500 people together for an hour long service followed by a cafeteria full of mourners eating and consoling one another for another four. A testament to her many friends, I say. About 30 drove in from distances up to five hours away. One family came from North Carolina. Another couple was coming from California, but was delayed. I am astonished, though not surprised, that so much effort went into coming to say goodbye and support her family.
Her memorial video was tremendous and, after the people, my favorite part. It was 10 minutes celebrating her life and those who loved her. It spanned the gamut of her six decades, including as many of us as was possible. And a healthy dose of her dancing, which elicited some much needed giggles amid our tears.
Having lost some family very dear to me over the years, I expected to have a lot of the same emotions as I have in the past. But something was different this time. A lot different. Maybe it's my age, maybe it's my struggle with depression or bad decisions the last few years... or maybe I just loved this woman more than I do most. For certain, I fear for my wife. In fact, I fell apart when a friend of mine stated as much.
“This is hard isn't it?” He asked as he embraced me. “You're sad because you lost someone you love. But you are likely sadder because she did.”
And I was in shreds.
We embraced for what seemed an eternity, the harder he squeezed the more I hitched in tears.
I knew this, but was having trouble putting my finger on it. It is especially true because of the four women in my wife's immediate family (mom and 3 girls), there is an emotional dichotomy where mom and the baby prop each other up and my wife and her middle sister did the same. Naturally, they are all support one another, but within the ranks, there is an organic division of thinking and support. She will miss that comfort.
That's not completely true, of course. She has LOTS of support. Her friends and her family are expressing their love for her. The person she lost though is the one of those who would sit with her in quiet moments and just let my wife talk. Rant, rave, spiral crazy conspiracies, be angry... whatever the moment needed. It is especially important to me, that she have that pressure release.
So, the funeral went well. The memorial reception went well. There were no dramatics or unbecoming outbursts; it was incredibly modest, and my sister-in-law would approve.
I went for a walk downtown the day before the funeral. It was a brisk and bright winter day in North Texas, and as I walked up a hill past an enormous modern Baptist church with massive west-facing stained-glass windows and a beautiful courtyard surrounding a large fountain that echoed off the walls, I thought, Someone like my wife’s sister deserves a state ceremony in a place of this poshness.
But she’d hate it. She would find distasteful what all that pomp and circumstance represents, not to mention the duplicity and hypocrisy in most religions today. She would much prefer the modest yet beautiful venue where we met.
Now we are here, Monday morning where one week ago, we were trying to understand the reality of our new dynamic and accept that she really was gone. My god... two weeks ago, we were talking about going with her to see the Friday Kahlo exhibit. We will move on because that's what life does. Time waits for no one.
Though, I think we won't jump right back on the treadmill just yet.
