The Family Pecking Order -- A Memoir

Chapter 6: Funeral #2

What brought me to this unhappy place the last time? The time before Uncle Fatty's funeral? Of course, I can never forget why but find it hard to recall my feelings clearly because of the reason for being there. I remember thinking that I should feel a certain way. But it is all rather blank and vague. Everything seemed to be happening in a surreal, blurry haze.

Walking into the funeral home that day, a sense of dread filled me as I approached the shiny metal casket sitting at the front of the room. It was right in the center and surrounded by flowers of all types and colors. Some arrangements were small; some seemed almost too big. Some were ornate; others were as simple as a green, leafy plant. I learned later that these plants were intended to be taken by family members. Some of them were specifically chosen for planting after the funeral, in remembrance of the person who had died.

The padded pink satin that lined the inside of the container held an inert and lifeless body. The hollow shell I saw inside was the physical receptacle which had once held the soul, spirit, and heartbeat of my beautiful mother. The systems and organs once housed in this now empty body had pulsated and hummed for many years with the in-and-out of everyday life. She gave life to my brother, my sisters, my twin and me. And brief though their lives had been, to twin boys. Seeing her earthly remains, remembering how my mother was once so full of life-giving strength and energy, left me feeling numb.

Looking upon a dead body, you know the life force and essence of the person you once knew and loved doesn't exist any longer. What is left behind, what we do see, is only the "earth suit" that held their physical parts and pieces together. Nevertheless, it was hard for me to grasp the reality of what I was seeing. I have no concept or understanding of how this actually works, but firmly believe that our spirits live on in eternity and never die. I have always accepted this on faith and it is comforting to me. I'm pretty sure that's what I was thinking when I looked at my mother's remains.

My daughter, Mary Ryan, was just a baby, barely fifteen months old, when my husband and I came back to Indiana for my mother's funeral. It's a shame my mother and my daughter never had the chance to know one another. Mother would have loved the young woman she has become, her sweet and loving nature, and her zany Erma Bombeck-like sense of humor and fun. And Ryan would have learned a lot from having known such a wise and practical woman as her grandmother. I believe they would have had a wonderful relationship. It would have been a joy to watch them together, and I know I would have also learned a lot from my mother about how to be a mother.

I will never forget mother saying to me one time, "People who don't have children don't really know what life is all about." 

I've learned what she meant by those words as I have now experienced the joys, fears, and challenges of parenting. It is clear to me that one never stops being a parent, and a child never stops needing their parents. It lasts throughout your life and should never be thought of as anything other than a lifelong commitment. Even though my child is now a grown woman, married to a wonderful young man and raising four beautiful children with him, there are still many times that she needs her momma. We talk every day, sometimes more than once, and I treasure every conversation that we have.