The Parting Ceremony
The best way out, is through. — Frost
The funeral was as difficult an experience as I can imagine. It was lovely, as lovely as my dead sister would have liked. To say she was prissy is the wrong phrasing... 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 of her life, 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'd 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 with whom we've been friends for 30 years 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, second to 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.
I have my complaints about a few things and my wife's sister would wholly embrace my gripes and agree. I failed to adequately manage the seating and there was a fair amount of unnecessary drama over the flower arrangement. As maestro, I only have myself to blame.
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), it's kind of divided by momma+baby and my wife+middle sister. It's an emotional dichotomy of sorts. They are all together naturally and support one another, but within the ranks, there is an organic division of thinking and support. Mom and baby are there for each other, but my darling now only has me.
That's not completely true, of course. She has LOTS of support from her friends and her family is expressing their love for her. But the sister she lost is the only other person 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.
This is especially important to me, that she have that pressure release. I do not. Even with her, there is so much that I just don't, won't, and cannot let out. Maybe that's the male psyche, maybe that's a lack of intimacy with friends, or a lack of trust. I read that real love is giving someone the tools to destroy you and trusting they won't use them. Her sister and I understood this about her. Now, only I do. Which is both sweet and heavy— after 33 years, she should have that openness with someone. I know she feels this loss more deeply than most understand.
Thursday night before the funeral, we were in the studio trying to trim photos and video down to the final 10m of the memorial video (which originally ran 4 hours, btw) and she wanted to read to me something she had written the night her sister died.
Let me preface this by saying that my wife doesn't cry. Not like you think of people weeping. She will get a tear in her eye from time to time, but in all our years together, she's just never been a crier. And I've given her some reasons to cry, let me tell you. But that Thursday night as midnight rolled around she unlocked her phone and proceeded to try to read how she'd felt that night after we learned her little sister had passed away.
It was heart-rending. She couldn't get through it and neither could I. When she finally managed to press to the end, she was in a state of tears unlike I knew she was capable. We embraced for a long long time and then spent an hour on the couch crying together. I am so glad. She really needed to let that out. It is quite likely that this will change her and maybe in the future, she'll come more easily to tears. It is healthy even if it isn't desired.
So, the funeral went well. The memorial reception went well. There were no dramatics or unbecoming outbursts; it was incredibly modest, and my sister 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 with a large fountain echoing 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 hate 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.
Thanks for reading and sharing my beautiful lie.
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