Graveside
Friday April 04, 2025
I worked all night—finally crashing about 6am. It was part memorial video, part chatting via text with family about found video of my dead sister-in-law and part writing about the day. Who am I kidding, it was mostly writing. It seems I'd rather do that or draw than anything else these days. But I need to produce something.
Sleep came hard this morning and did not last. I was back at the keyboard by 10am when client work drifted in. It was good; I need paying work to keep this fantasy alive. That wrapped by noon, it was time to dress and pick up brochures from the printer. It poured today. Fitting for a funeral. And the temperature required dragging out the cardigan (sans Harley Davidson logos) and shiny black boots for traipsing around the graveyard. I felt very handsome in my kit today. Too bad no one took any pictures. It's rare I can layer up in casual dress. It's usually a suit if it's dressy. I was complimented nicely in my tan drover hat. I'm very proud of that hat. It was all very fitting for the graveyard.
Funny word that. Graveyard... it feels cartoony but describes such a heavy place. What human of the billions who have lived have not known of that place in one form or another? For sailors it meant sailcloth, a cannonball and a stitch through the nose. The Greeks and Vikings did their fair share of funeral pyres. But by and large, we all plant our lost ones in a hole in the ground. Or a tomb in the case of those with very shallow water tables. Looking at you, New Orleans.
We arrived early, but not early enough. Cars were lined way back. No one ever thinks to pull PAST the funeral and then work back. They stop at the site and force everyone to walk the same direction, instead of spreading it out. I should have arrived early, then I could set the bar. Fail again, Mister Wolf. The boots were a good choice as the field was muddy and soft. The heavy rains really soaked the place down.
And the wind was crazy. We were almost sideways. I guess my former comments that this was not a hill or crest were wrong. The slight rise and roll of the land means that in inclement weather, a slicing and bitter wind cuts right through you. I can see some did not anticipate the temps and so came only in shirt sleeves. I bet they are envious of my delicious sweater and corduroy jacket.
The rain has stopped, so my bright yellow umbrella with little happy bees is just an ornament as opposed to functional tool. This is my favorite umbrella. Picked up at a museum in Roanoke, VA last year, I have only been able to use it to ward off the sun. Such is the style of rain here. Intense, but brief. A ten minute wait means you rarely need to carry an umbrella. Even very keen ones.
Everyone has the appropriate countenance for a funeral. It is difficult for me. Even as a very dark and sometimes brooding mind, I deal with stress and confrontation in the same manner: A smile and a bright face. That is until I snap—then I'm Mister Hyde. But today, I'm sunshine and rainbows on the outside and bats in the belfry inside. I need to let the bats out so I fit in. Even though we have 10m before the ceremony (right word here?) everyone is in stone silence. I initiate a few conversations, but they are too afraid of violating this mob-induced culture of speak-none. So, I sit in silence next to my wife on the front row. Next to my wife, her sister and their mother. My brother-in-law (RV) is officiating this afternoon. He is VERY nervous. His energy is probably where the drama is coming from. Even on the best of days he has a stern look. I call it resting troubled face.
The casket is polish mahogany with another splendid splash of roses. Are they the same from last night? Probably. I can't tell though. I didn't make a note of the arrangement beyond the floral aroma. Roses smell so delightful. I don't like that I am beginning to associate them with death. I noticed that when I walked into my mother-in-laws house. Roses wafted out of the front door and I immediately thought, 'it smells like the funeral home'.
The ceremony starts promptly at 3pm. The crowd has a grown to about 60 people. Respectable considering the weather, the day and the time. The speaker offers simple words of condolences with little about Chris, the man who was the body in the coffin. A bit about the promise in John of a resurrection, and some reminders of Revelation's conclusion where we can no longer suffer this indignity called death. Ironic that the corporation that we are paying for all of this has 'Dignity Memorial' printed on nearly everything.
His words, as I said, are brief. 8 minutes in and out. He is like that, Terse and to the point. Personally, I like a little more performance. But no one asked me. I hear him start to break when he reads Revelation 21:3, 4. His mother died about 20 years ago and I imagine he has as sudden stab thinking about her. But, he recovers by adding more force to his voice. Then, concludes with a thoughtful prayer asking for comfort and peace for the attendees.
I never like condolence lines, but here I am at the front line of one. Many I do not know and they only speak spanish, so I nod and say 'gracias'. Some friends lean in for a tight hug, most reserve that for the girls though. After a particularly loving woman who squeezes me tightly, I start to weep a little. Glancing at my wife, I see she's been crying for the last 3-4 people. Glassy pools of water spill off her cheeks and down. Thankfully, not all 60 people engage us this way. Only about half. It is merciful.
We sit for a while wondering what to do next and just letting our thoughts drift until the funeral director informs us they'll be lowering the coffin and offering to let us watch. The girls all pass though I am curious about the function of the event. Since we decide to leave, I snap off one of the rich red roses. A bulbous and fat thing that looks like an overfed cat.
I snap a few photos. Not enough. No one wants to remember the funeral, but the faces... we always LOVE remembering the people. How they have changed, who we have lost. Those we love. We look at those faces especially close.
Engaging with a few people afterward, there is scuttlebutt amongst the friends about the tension between my mother-in-law and the family of my dead sister-in-law. Both parties think the other is not being attentive enough to their suffering and want. On one hand, a husband has lost a wife, the most important person in his universe. On the other, a mother has lost a daughter... arguably closer? As a non-parent I lean on the whole 'one flesh' argument. But I see why each feels like they should be the belle of the ball. Of course, my dear brother loses because now my mother-in-law has ALSO lost a husband. So, her suffering outranks his by a score of one body.
I feel bad for them both. If they would think of one another instead of themselves, they would ALL be much happier. Some personalities just wear that heart right out there on the sleeve for the whole world to see. Then the red-hot branding irons get wielded and all manner of injury occurs. :–(
The view is not breathtaking, but it is notable. Stubby mesquite trees line the back fence of the field and occasionally decorate the cemetery. Everything is turning green and I can see the violet glow of bluebonnets ringing the outer fields. A pump-jack does the non-stop work of sucking liquid gold. Dignity Memorial is making money putting things into the ground and taking them out. But I don't mind. It's not Texas if there isn't a pump-jack within eye line any time you experience an open space.
A conversation has consumed me with details about tomorrow's memorial presentation. We are going to interview my father-in-law's longtime confidant to give some spark to the talk. I welcome this. My last funeral, the oft-mentioned sister-in-law, suffered from a bit-too-clinical approach. I prefer a discussion that is about the person, seasoned with their hope and bible beliefs. Not a straight-ahead explanation of what the Bible says followed with 'oh, also so-and-so felt this way too.'. But, I'm a decent public speaker, so I can justify some criticism of my colleagues.
The family has departed as have the guests. It is only the funeral director, the tent, the casket, my wife and a cousin who remain. I let them finish their conversation while I chase down my favored drover hat that the wind has finally managed to pry off of my noggin. As I stoop to place it back on my head, I hear the growl of a tractor in the distance. Looking up, I see that the real worker of the burial is about to arrive. Gone are the days of gravediggers slogging it out in the heat and rain. A backhoe will do the heavy lift of covering the grave without breaking a sweat. And probably by burning less than a gallon of fuel. A force-multiplier this one is.
Next, we'll recover some with a steak, a beer, and a nap. My all-nighter is taking its toll on me now. As I am now post-beer and post-nap, I can write that it was a VERY effective recovery mechanism.
Tonight, I can hear my wife in her studio watching Runaway Bride while retouching photos for the final push of the memorial video. I am here penning this missive instead of editing video. But, I seem incapable of resisting the urge to just spill every blessed and cursed thought in my head. Thank you, dear reader for sticking around this long, if you have.
Having purged myself of these recollections, I will spin up an old playlist and get back to my editing. The sun will be up in a few hours. Maybe it already is where you are. What a funny thing life on this planet is in the 21st century. We all occupy the same time-space. There is no here or there, there is only us. And in this moment, I am in your mind. And to some degree, you are in mine.
We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.
#essay #memoir #death #100DaysToOffload #Writing
WolfCast Home Page – Listen, follow, subscribe
Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
— Go back home and read MORE by Wolf Inwool
— Visit the archive
I welcome feedback at my inbox
