Part 1 of Funeralmageddon, Written in the Sky.
This post was written on the airplane, carrying us from SEA to PWM by way of IAD. It took me WAY TOO LONG to get online and to start writing. How is technology still this clunky?
Let us start by asking why we were voluntarily trapped in a metal tube along with a few hundred people who couldn’t seem to stop farting? Why was the man behind me wearing a t-shirt that said, “this mask is as useless as the president“? Why? Oh I know why, we were headed to my mother’s funeral.
People, I don’t think I have really felt anxiety before the weeks leading up to my mother’s funeral. I have felt anxious, sure, but this anxiety had me paralyzed. It was so big, I could visualize it. It was a big blob, dark and blue and swirly and kind of like a rock but not a real rock, a force. And it sat on my lungs like an elephant sitting on a squirrel. It took my breath away, and it made me feel… panicked.
THIS is what anxiety feels like? Holy shit! I, who don’t meditate, contemplated meditation. I contemplated all of the ways I could numb myself, including carbs and alcohol. And all I could do was wade through it step by step. And also? I had to pretend to be a normal human because we were on an airplane, and my kids were expecting their mama, not a mute zombie wearing a mask.
So there we were, on the airplane, and wow did I want to yell at the numerous people on the flight with their masks pulled under their noses. I would have pointed my fingers at them and told them to stop being such idiots, but also, I didn’t want the flight attendants to duct tape me to my seat. Have I mentioned that we were packed in there like sardines?
Part 2 of Funeralmageddon, Written in the Hotel.
I don’t know if I’m going to publish any of this. If I do, it will be because I went back and read it and thought, well, why the fuck not? In the meanwhile, we’re staying in the downtown Portland Hilton Garden Inn, and we scored a gorgeous room overlooking the harbor. It’s divine. Why did we score this room? Because I used their digital room key (knowing that Brett would approve), and it paid off. And Brett approved.
You know what else is divine? The valet. HAHA, she (yes she) is a HOTTIE. She exudes the kind of lesbian energy only found on lesbian Tik Tok, which is to say – it is amazing. She gave me her name, MAGGIE, and then did her valet thing while I stood there contemplating how to hit on her HAHA. I’m straight! But apparently I’m not that straight.
Anyhoo, we’re staying at the hotel which is weird, because when I’m in Maine, I always stay with my sister. But her house is full, so here we are. The kids are delighted to use the pool, and to wander the streets chasing Pokemon, buying Starbucks, and giving a homeless guy $10 of their mama’s money. Um, what? I let that one slip by because I was too busy checking out the valet.
But the funeral is tomorrow, and I dread it.
Part 3 of Funeralmageddon, Written From Home One Week Later.
Well, friends, we made it. We had the funeral and survived to write about it. To all who have thought about delaying a service like this for a year, I advise you strongly otherwise. This was painful. We grieved our mothers’ death when she died a year ago, and then healed slightly, and then we RIPPED THAT WOUND OPEN AGAIN. Voluntarily!
We delayed the funeral because of COVID, and because we knew that vaccines were on the horizon. And I will say that I am grateful we were all vaccinated and that we were seemingly spared from contracting one of the variants while we were all together. That said, every time I have coughed since returning from Maine, I run to the kitchen to check my temperature, haha.
I debated telling you all some of the amusing anecdotes from the funeral, or wondered if I should take a Vegas approach where what happened at the funeral stayed at the funeral. Because, people, there was some bad behavior, some hilarious behavior, and a lot of drinking involved. A lot. I think I need to plead the Vegas, so as not to get truly down and dirty. But suffice it to say, I have a vision for a few movie scenes if anyone is looking for content.
Here’s what I *will* share. The Thursday night after the funeral was over, I felt this sense of relief that flooded from my hair to my toes. Relief that it was over, that we’d finally buried my mother, and that we could move on. I had felt so much dread and anxiety over the whole thing, that I was virtually incapable of doing much beyond going through the motions and stuffing myself with croissants.
I had dreaded the readings, the personal anecdotes, and the unexpected things that might make me lose my shit. But it turns out we could barely hear when someone read something or spoke, because the microphone in the cathedral was crap. So instead we just sat there looking polite, and waiting for the next part of the program. AMEN to that. All of that heart-wrenching content was barely audible. It was even more of a blessing because my mother was not a saint, so pretending she was would have been fake as shit. Just sayin’.
And on the Saturday before we flew out of Portland, we stopped by my sister’s new condo to check it out and to say hi. She greeted us with a pile of my mothers remaining items. Pictures, and frames, and art, and music books. I hesitantly picked through it, knowing I was about to hop on to an airplane and that every ounce counted. I opened one of the frames, and found a treasure trove.
Grandmothers love their grandchildren, and happily collect school pictures of them. When I opened one of the picture frames, I realized that my mother just stacked the new pictures on top of the old, so she had a wonderful collection of F and J. Here’s a few:
XOXO, me