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Abstract

grees, and it was difficult to breathe. Even at that temperature, she was always chilled.My grandmother was a very stubborn person, and her determination to be independent sometimes served her well. For her, getting ready to die was practical and necessary. There was nothing very emotional about it.She had the stomach to deal with details that would otherwise fall to someone else. She passed this trait along to my mother.As Mom aged, she took cues from her mother’s preparations. She told me what undertaker to call, she handed me the photo she wanted in her obit and she asked me to write her obit several years before her demise so that she could correct it and approve a final draft. I complied.She, too, wanted a wake, and when it came to the outfit she would wear, she told me she wanted to wear a beautiful long blue dress she wore many years ago for an anniversary celebration. I said nothing but knew it was far too small to fit her at this stage in life.“Don’t worry. Larry can cut the back and wrap it around me, making it look like it fits. They do that all the time, you know,” she reassured me. Larry was the undertaker who knew our family well.My stomach dropped to the floor.“I don’t want my makeup to look unnatural. Less is more. Tell Larry,” she continued. “And, take off all my jewelry. It’s silly to bury anything worthwhile with me. Other than my glasses. I’d like to be wearing my glasses, which won’t be of any use to anyone else, anyway.”I didn’t like this mantle of responsibility. Not now. Not ever.Although I love to get my ducks in a row and be prepared for what is to come, I wasn’t ready to break through the cloud of denial I constructed when it came to the reality of losing my mother.When the time came, every single instruction she gave me came back to me. My heart was swimming in grief, but my head was clear because of her directions.She was right. She looked beautiful lying there in the open casket at the front of the church. My only failure was to get a new pair of shoes fo

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r her. Since her legs were covered by a white blanket, it didn’t matter much.The gift of that experience was how my mother prepared me for what was to come. Her blunt directions helped me keep my emotions in check for this part of losing her. In many ways, she helped me through the process as much as she could.If I got emotional during these talks, she stopped me immediately. “Please, don’t mourn me while I’m here,” she would say. “ It hurts too much.”If I became overly concerned about details regarding the wake or the funeral, she would tell me, “ It’s just a shell. This body is nothing more. Remember, I won’t be in it anymore.” Though she intended to comfort me, all I felt was loss.I thought I would dread this process of her leaving.But she was right.Her wake was lovely. In many ways, it felt comfortable and right.Mom had a full life, she was finished suffering, and she was ready to let go. I loved hearing my mother talk about finding those who went before her, my father, my sister, and her siblings. She was at peace with her ending, and that transferred to others. Even me.At some point soon, I, too, need to prepare.The answers I come up with will differ from those who have gone before me. I know what I don’t want. It may be time to consider what I do want.It is not lost on me that I’m next in line. I would like to provide those I love who will survive me with similar comfort by preparing and communicating my wishes.Do I want a memorial service? What would it be like? Whom do I want to perform it? Are all my finances in order? Did I make my footprint on this earth as light as possible?Though I recognize that funeral services and memorial services are not for those who have died, but, for the living, I also know it helps to make many of the decisions myself.When I remember what a relief it was to have plans made ahead of time, I can begin to step into the uncomfortable questions with a bit more certainty. One small step at a time.</article></body>

THE WIND PHONE

How the Matriarchs in My Family Got Ready for Their Funerals

Dressed up and ready to go

When Nonni moved in with us, she was ready to go.

For as long as I can remember, Nonni had the outfit she wanted to wear when she was laid out in the coffin chosen. It hung in her closet, separated from the rest of her clothes, and she told everyone who needed to know about it that it was there.

A simple powder blue dress hung on a cushioned hangar, with a white cardigan draped over it. Attached were two bags: one containing new nylons, bloomers, and an undershirt (she stopped wearing bras long ago) and another containing her shoes, dress shoes that she only wore for weddings and anniversaries.

Initially, it was unsettling to see this outfit. I judged it as morbid and got creeped out every time I saw it. It was even harder to listen to her talk about it. No detail was forgotten. A small round pin with multicolored gemstones was attached to the sweater. That was her jewelry for the day.

When Nonni reminded us that this outfit was ready to go, she also reminded us that she paid off her funeral costs. She didn’t want any of her survivors to repay a debt she already handled.

When it was time, and Nonni couldn’t take care of herself and live alone, Dad converted the downstairs to a one-bedroom apartment so that she could move in with us. She would still have her own space and could easily be cared for as her needs increased.

Holy pictures and family pictures were placed on every surface she could find in the apartment. Family members would come to visit her frequently but couldn’t stay very long because the temperature of the small apartment hovered around 82 degrees, and it was difficult to breathe. Even at that temperature, she was always chilled.

My grandmother was a very stubborn person, and her determination to be independent sometimes served her well. For her, getting ready to die was practical and necessary. There was nothing very emotional about it.

She had the stomach to deal with details that would otherwise fall to someone else. She passed this trait along to my mother.

As Mom aged, she took cues from her mother’s preparations. She told me what undertaker to call, she handed me the photo she wanted in her obit and she asked me to write her obit several years before her demise so that she could correct it and approve a final draft. I complied.

She, too, wanted a wake, and when it came to the outfit she would wear, she told me she wanted to wear a beautiful long blue dress she wore many years ago for an anniversary celebration. I said nothing but knew it was far too small to fit her at this stage in life.

“Don’t worry. Larry can cut the back and wrap it around me, making it look like it fits. They do that all the time, you know,” she reassured me. Larry was the undertaker who knew our family well.

My stomach dropped to the floor.

“I don’t want my makeup to look unnatural. Less is more. Tell Larry,” she continued. “And, take off all my jewelry. It’s silly to bury anything worthwhile with me. Other than my glasses. I’d like to be wearing my glasses, which won’t be of any use to anyone else, anyway.”

I didn’t like this mantle of responsibility. Not now. Not ever.

Although I love to get my ducks in a row and be prepared for what is to come, I wasn’t ready to break through the cloud of denial I constructed when it came to the reality of losing my mother.

When the time came, every single instruction she gave me came back to me. My heart was swimming in grief, but my head was clear because of her directions.

She was right. She looked beautiful lying there in the open casket at the front of the church. My only failure was to get a new pair of shoes for her. Since her legs were covered by a white blanket, it didn’t matter much.

The gift of that experience was how my mother prepared me for what was to come. Her blunt directions helped me keep my emotions in check for this part of losing her. In many ways, she helped me through the process as much as she could.

If I got emotional during these talks, she stopped me immediately. “Please, don’t mourn me while I’m here,” she would say. “ It hurts too much.”

If I became overly concerned about details regarding the wake or the funeral, she would tell me, “ It’s just a shell. This body is nothing more. Remember, I won’t be in it anymore.” Though she intended to comfort me, all I felt was loss.

I thought I would dread this process of her leaving.

But she was right.

Her wake was lovely. In many ways, it felt comfortable and right.

Mom had a full life, she was finished suffering, and she was ready to let go. I loved hearing my mother talk about finding those who went before her, my father, my sister, and her siblings. She was at peace with her ending, and that transferred to others. Even me.

At some point soon, I, too, need to prepare.

The answers I come up with will differ from those who have gone before me. I know what I don’t want. It may be time to consider what I do want.

It is not lost on me that I’m next in line. I would like to provide those I love who will survive me with similar comfort by preparing and communicating my wishes.

Do I want a memorial service? What would it be like? Whom do I want to perform it? Are all my finances in order? Did I make my footprint on this earth as light as possible?

Though I recognize that funeral services and memorial services are not for those who have died, but, for the living, I also know it helps to make many of the decisions myself.

When I remember what a relief it was to have plans made ahead of time, I can begin to step into the uncomfortable questions with a bit more certainty. One small step at a time.