Is this all there is... Helen's Funny Funeral

Helen’s Funny Funeral

Is this all there is?

Helen's things on the freeway

Helen's health began to fail. My brother had died the previous year. And he was unable to keep the promise to look after our mother's needs while we served a Mission.) I had very mixed feelings because, as time passed, she became increasingly difficult. Had I done enough? Did I do my daughterly duty? Is what I am doing what she would have wanted? Am I honoring her wishes? She was born in 1916 and almost made it to 100 yrs. old. Did I do enough to make her last days happy and comfortable? 

Yes, to some of those questions...not so sure for some others. I think that is how any child feels when she cares for a parent who has become a child. No matter how she treated me through the years I still felt the wrenching obligation to have things nice for her during her last days; to honor her because she was my mother...not as easy to do as to say, but I felt I managed most of the time.

So, after they took her away, I was left with my eldest daughter Colleen and her very kind boyfriend (who later became her sweet husband) Max. We were deciding what to do about Helens' little room packed with lots of trinkets.  Every piece of jewelry she brought had disappeared months ago. We figured many of the staff had "light fingers." 

She had lived in her suite for a year and a half, and I felt like the things she brought with her had multiplied. I'm not sure how that happened but I swear it did. I remembered when I cleaned out her condo; it took over three weeks. Neighbors had asked if she was a hoarder. I started to agree with them because it felt like her house was a clown car. As soon as you thought a closet was emptied something else popped up and you found hidden boxes under a couch or a bed or the back of a cupboard. The 10 bottles of ketchup in her pantry had turned black. Every expiration date on the things in the refrigerator was more than a year passed. 

We sorted through some of her things and after a while I wanted out of there. I didn't care. The facility put a big lock on the door and gave me a key. I had until the end of October to clean her place. On Impulse, I took the cow I had sent her for her birthday that was two days ago. Max went back to work; Colleen and I went to the mortuary.

Glen Haven Mortuary opened in the 50's and Patrick's parents bought 6 plots there. There are two left. We're considering getting planted there one day as both sets of parents are there. I called the mortuary months ago to assure Helen's plot was still there next to my dad.   Mother had attended both of Patrick's parents' funerals and liked the mountain setting where they rested. Mom buried Dad there and had purchased the space next to his. I had not been up there for almost 24 years. I have never been one to visit graves. I prefer to remember loved ones by looking at pictures when they are happy and well. 

As we drove up to the cemetery, we noticed several garbage trucks on the narrow road. I vaguely remembered some fuss over the trash dump along the canyon that led to the cemetery. At the time I didn't think about it being near Glen Haven. We topped the hill and looked for the green tranquil place we remembered. Colleen and I both gasped at the sight. The once pretty little valley was brown and most of the flowers were dead and gone. I remembered a white shinning building with columns and a wide stair up to the carved wooden entrance. The mortuary walls were cracked and stained with grey and rust streaks down the sides.  Every wall was chipped and in disrepair. I looked up the hill to where I remembered my dad was buried and realized most of the graves were decorated with plastic flowers and garish shinning pinwheels. We were hesitant to go up the stairs and see what was beyond the peeling front door.  

We were greeted by somber music and outdated worn furnishings. We pushed a button and heard a doorbell chime. We waited for several minutes before a woman limped out from the depths of a darkened hall. She had a cast on one leg from foot to hip. We introduced ourselves and said we were there to plan things for Helen Herles.

The woman named Maria said, "Oh yes, she's already purchased a place next to her husband." She spoke with a Hispanic accent and invited us into an adjacent room where she had a book on the table and some printed pages listing various services and costs. I asked, "Don't you have a room with, umm, you know, sample coffins to pick from?" 

"Oh No," Maria responded, "that kind of a set-up just raises the cost for everyone."

I told her my mom wanted a simple grave-side service, no embalming. "That's what we did for my dad, and my mom wanted the same. My husband will dedicate the grave and I don't think many will attend. All her friends and most of the family have passed on." Maria, the cemetery lady quietly turned the book on the table over to the back page and said, "Back here is more what you're looking for if you want economy." Colleen and I leaned forward and peered at the last page in the book where three coffins were featured. One was a shocking pink the other was turquoise and there was also a black one. All were priced at a little over two thousand dollars. I was now holding back tears, "I'm not sure any of these would be right. What do you think Colleen?"

I looked over to see that Colleen was on the verge of giggles. so continued on, "Are There any that are wood or something like that.?" I turned the page and randomly pointed at one that looked like cherry wood. "Is this one a lot more expensive than the ones on the back page. I think this one is nice."

She pulled the book back to her and began to fill out an order form. After a while she looked at us, sighed and said, "We can make that one the same price as the others...if you like it. and if you're having a hard time with costs, we can help you with a bake sale or a carwash or a rummage sale."

I looked over at Colleen who had gone for a run and come directly to the rest home, and I was a wreck from being up all-night driving from Tucson. I thought, “I wonder if she thinks we’re homeless or indigent. 

At that point, I didn’t care! I wrote a check and asked about flowers. “Can we order them from you?”

 “Oh, we don’t do that. You would get a better deal at a florist. I have the phone numbers of a few if you need them.” I shook my head and asked, "Can we have the service on Friday so my children will have time to get into town.  No one lives in California anymore," I said under my breath.

A few minutes later she came back with a calendar and told us, "Friday at noon is open." I asked about clothing, and she said I could bring by something in a few days. 

Colleen and I were off to the same florist that I remembered most of the flowers for proms had come from. I remembered the gold boxes with the cellophane window on top that they always arrived in. I forked over three hundred dollars for the large sized casket arrangement of mother’s favorite flower. 
I went back to the hotel and collapsed.

The next day Colleen Max and I managed to clean out and give away the few things left in mother’s room. I started to receive random phone calls and soon I realized the funeral attendees were multiplying like rabbits. By Fridays' count, my family and Tim’s kids were outnumbered by people I didn’t know, including my deceased brother’s lawyer.

The next day family began to arrive, and Thursday Patrick flew in from Gilbert.  It was nice to have family and especially the five grandkids who arrived with Megan and Michael. Friday we all had the Buffett breakfast in the hotel’s coffee shop before we left for the cemetery. 

It was a bright perfect day, and the sun warmed my face as we walked up to the open grave. Within fifteen minutes the area was teeming with clumps of people I didn't know and wondered how my brother's two ex-wives would behave. The second wife said, "Oh crap." when she saw the first wife arrive. I was hoping the rude comments flying back and forth would not end in a yelling or shoving match. I watched the exchange and accidently pushed the cow I had intended to place in the coffin. (She loved black and white cows and when I had the estate sale most of her 103 figurines were sold) The cow immediately played a tinkly version of "Old McDonald." Most everyone laughed and somehow that little tune broke the tension that had been growing.

While more people arrived, I walked to the mortuary and asked where mother was so I could place the cow in her arms. I couldn't find anyone who knew where she was or tell me if the flowers had arrived. I went back to the grave and the next thing I knew her casket was being placed on the bier. The flowers were nowhere in sight, so I placed the cow on top of the casket along with a large picture of mother that I had in the trunk of my car along with the few things I had taken from her room. People were gathering around the burial site so I crossed off the idea that I could put the cow in the casket and left it on top of the casket. Then the youngest of the grandkids ran up and pressed the cow song tummy. We were all treated to the first of many, "Old McDonald" verses. And still no flowers. Patrick called the florist and discovered they had the wrong time on the order sheet. We decided to continue without the flowers, and I felt horrible.

But I forgot about the flowers when I saw the sky filled with low flying helicopters. Once overhead they banked and dropped gallons of water on the garbage dump to the left of the cemetery. Max, Colleen's boyfriend leaned over to me and whispered, "those are the fire department's water-drop 'copters. They practiced for accuracy by dumping water on the garbage at the dump." One of the kids re-pushed the cow song right before Patrick started the service. We waited for the music to stop, and Pat jumped into his comments while I blocked another grandchild from lunging at the cow. 

Rapid fire gun shots began to fire to the right of the cemetery. Patrick raised his voice and continued with the service, and I don't think many heard when he dedicated the grave. Next to me Max muttered under his breath. "Ah, um so I heard the police academy has a firing range around here someplace." His voice trailed off.  

Then a movement on the other side of the cemetery caught my eye. I turned to see a young man running in our direction with his arms full of sunflowers. Mother finally had her flowers before she went into the ground.  Everyone was leaving as we placed them on the grave, and I called over a few and took several photos. 

That afternoon our family went to the beach. The next day Patrick and I drove back to Tucson to complete our Mission. On the way back it felt surreal. We were both now the oldest in our family We looked at each other and said, 
"Tag your it."