Clearly my brothers and I have suffered great loss when both of our parents passed at such young ages. If you really think about it, most of us become orphans at some point in our lives, but for most it doesn’t happen until we are much older. I remember thinking about that after Mom died….we are orphans now. I was in my 30’s, why should that matter? Honestly, it matters because I wasn’t done needing my parents. Besides, it wasn’t “FAIR”! Why were Joey, Jimmy and I being robbed of having parents and our children grandparents? At the time of their deaths, I could not conceive of an answer that made sense or justified their loss. However hard it has been to come to terms with their deaths, the greatest thing for me is that they are no longer suffering, and in my heart I know they are living with our Heavenly Father. But let me tell you about the heartache and grief when they passed, it was quite different for each of them….
Pops
My last post was about my dad and his death, that was a very tough time in my life. John and I hadn’t even been married for a year when Dad died, and I had spent the last few months living with my parents, not my new husband. And all I could think, over and over again, was that I needed to be with my dad. I’m sure you’re asking yourself, “well, how would you do that?” I would kill myself. Simple as that. It was my thought. Over and over again. In my mind it made more sense for me to have died than my dad. Everyone liked my dad. No one liked me. I mean, my own aunt blamed me for his seizures and his death (not seeking the treatment that might have bought him 3 months extra). At least that was my interpretation. She probably doesn’t see it this way.
So, the day he died after the funeral home came to take his body away, Mom, Joey, Jimmy, Uncle Donnie and I went to the funeral home to make arrangements. I remember Mom picking out his suit and tie, and underwear. She said he’d be mortified not to have underwear on — makes no sense, he was dead, but whatever. Anyway, we get to the funeral home, which happens to be the exact same one our grandmother used when my grandfather died in 1978. It’s located in Falls Church, Virginia off of Route 7. It’s a 3-story building (this is kind of important). We park in the back of the building, which is the bottom floor — where the “refrigerator” is for the bodies and the office of the Funeral Director. The Funeral Director invites us onto the elevator so that we can ascend to the third floor to pick out a coffin. If anyone knows my brother, Joey, you know that he is a bit of a “class clown” and he likes to make people laugh, especially in stressful situations. So, here we all are standing in the coffin-shaped elevator (yes, it truly is shaped long and skinny like a coffin) with the Funeral Director, when Joey decides to “entertain” all of us. Joey suddenly grabs his pointer finger, and starts moaning that it hurts really bad. Then he turns to the Funeral Director, sticks his finger out to the poor man and says, “I think I jammed my finger, can you pull it?” Jimmy, Uncle Donnie, my mom and I realize all at once exactly what Joey is trying to do! I think all 4 of us were thinking the same thing, “Don’t you dare!” And we are all trying desperately not to laugh out loud. Of course, the Funeral Director had absolutely no idea what Joey was up to….thank goodness! He very politely said to Joey, “Oh, no, I’m not a doctor, I don’t think I can. You should definitely see a doctor for that.” Yeah….nothing was wrong with his finger. (As an aside, if Joey ever asks to to “pull his finger” be sure to decline). Joey likes to say that Dad was watching this moment and laughing hysterically as we all road in that elevator.
Suddenly the doors open the the third floor. The “Coffin Room” for lack of a better description. This is where you pick the model you want to bury your beloved in. I think while doing this “selection” and finding out how much the coffins and burial will cost, my mom was freaking out. Funerals aren’t cheap! Of course, Joey and Jimmy chose the oak coffin, which was very expensive. But Dad was a carpenter, so it made the most sense to them. Dad would have an appreciation for the quality of the wood. The Funeral Director calculated the cost of the coffin, two viewings, the memorial service, the hearse to transport the coffin to the cemetery. (The cemetery is a separate set of fees for the plot, the headstone, the internment). All told it was over $10,000 to bury my dad. Sure there was life insurance to cover these expenses, but that wouldn’t be available for a while, and the funeral home wants their money now. At the time, I believe my mom’s credit card limit was about $2,500. So, we stood there in the Coffin Room as she called the credit card company to see if they would increase the limit to $10,000. It was an awkward moment. I mean, it’s not like we budgeted for his funeral?
Anyway, as I said, we had two viewings, if you want to call it that…Mom opted for a closed casket for a couple of reasons. One being that embalming someone costs even more money. And two he didn’t look like the Joe Leckert we all looked up to — he was rail thin and emaciated — she wanted people to remember him the way he was when he was healthy with dark hair, strong hands and blue-green eyes. The funeral home did open the casket for us (family) before the first viewing so that we could see him. I had a framed photo of my mom on their wedding day that I placed on his chest — I did this because every time my mom would walk in the room over the last few months, his face would light up! It was beautiful to see that he loved her so much, even when he wasn’t sure who she was.
Then people started to arrive to show their respects. I remember clearly Mom telling me to stand with her in the lobby area (2nd floor) of the funeral home to help her “greet” folks. We thanked people for coming. Hugged strangers. People signed the guest book. There was some crying and laughing — Mom and I tried really hard NOT to cry in front of others. I know some people thought that the laughing was in poor taste, but what they fail to realize at the time is that we were wearing a “mask” to get through this horrible time. It’s not like we were “cutting up”, but if someone said something funny, we’d laugh. And most people who said something funny were trying to bring some light to our day. It’s a whole thing that maybe you have to live through to understand. I think at that point we were just going through the motions, I mean I don’t remember much, just a few things, images really. Like the day of the funeral…
I don’t even remember how we got to the funeral home that day, I guess John was probably driving Mom and I. The memorial service was held at the funeral home and our family friend, Paul, conducted the service (Paul was an ordained minister who had worked with my mom for years at New York Life, and he had married John and I the year before). The one thing that stands out the most to me about the service is when Paul read the song lyrics to “I Can Only Imagine” by Mercy Me. (If you have not heard this song or the lyrics, look them up, they are very powerful.) I remember crying at that moment. I vaguely remember John driving us to the Cemetery in Fairfax. We had been to the Fairfax Memorial Park off of Braddock Road just a few days before to pick the plot — it is located on a hill at the back of the cemetery under a large tree.
To me it’s more like an “out of body experience” at the cemetery, like I can see things happening around me, but I’m not really a part of it. Firstly, the pallbearers have to carry this massive casket about 20 yards, up a slight hill, over other graves to be placed on a “rack” for lack of a better word. Well, wouldn’t you know it, one of my uncles almost dropped the casket as they pulled it from the hearse. I can only imagine how heavy an oak casket with at least a 170 lbs man inside was. Paul again said some prayers, read from the Bible, then we were “dismissed”. [Note: if you’ve never been to a funeral, it’s NOT like the movies, they don’t “lower” the casket into the grave while you stand and watch — after you leave, the “rack” which is hooked up to a machine, lowers the casket into a cement box (like an underground crypt), then a cement lid is placed over top to seal it closed, then the dirt is filled back into the hole. And the grave marker, which is ordered when you pick the plot, is then “installed” weeks later.] As John and I walked away, back to our car, my grandmother (Olive) asked me to remove a couple of the flower arrangements from my dad’s graveside and put them on her best friends son-in-law’s grave which was about 20 feet from my dad’s grave. She felt that Bill’s grave looked too bare compared to my dad’s. John and I were flabbergasted to say the least. In her defense, she was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s so that likely played a role in her irrational request.
After the graveside service we all went to Joey’s house for “refreshments”. I don’t know what this part of a funeral service is called, but I tend to think of it as a “reception”. People tend to tell stories and reminisce. I remember a few things from this….people asking my brother where the alcohol was (hint: we weren’t serving any); my grandmother was hitting people with her cane; and three of my younger cousins tried to “mess” with me. I’m not sure of the motivation of my cousins, if they were trying to be funny, bring levity to the moment, I don’t know, I’ve never asked. I just told them to “please leave me alone. I just buried my dad. You can fuck with me any other time.” I don’t remember much else from that day, except hugging my Uncle Donnie and thanking him for his help and support — since he and I don’t get along and never have, this is a big deal. Again, I feel like I was watching it all from an outside perspective.
I was probably in Denial (the first stage of Grief) that whole week between his death and the funeral service. And here’s the thing that isn’t listed in the Stages of Grief list….trying to go back to your “normal” life. I mean, I had up-ended everything over the last few months. I lived with my parents. How could I now leave my mom? She was all alone now. She “kicked” me out sort of, she really just insisted that I go home with my husband. I felt so guilty leaving her. But she wanted to move forward, go back to work full time and figure out her new normal. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for her. I can only tell you how hard it was for me…
As you may know, there are 5 Stages of Grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. I can honestly say that I skipped right over the Anger portion and went straight into Bargaining and Depression. By mid-August my job wanted me back full-time. I couldn’t do it. Work seemed pointless to me, and when I was at the office, I couldn’t focus. So, when they asked me to come back to full-time (remember I had cut my hours down to less than 20 hours a week), I ended up turning in my letter of resignation. Mom helped me find employment with an insurance colleague for about 30 hours a week. I lasted a month. I just couldn’t make sense of the job when all I wanted to do was go be with my dad. Or better yet, trade places with him. I cried all the time. I was still going to therapy once a week, and on one occasion my mom joined John and I….the entire session was about my desire to kill myself and the desperation I felt to be with my dad. My mom and I cried a lot during that session. She didn’t realize how deep my despair was. She thought that I could just “will” myself into positive thoughts and feeling better. I feel bad that it hurt her to hear the things I was thinking, but the thoughts were so intrusive, even obsessive most of the time. I needed more help than therapy alone could give me. At this point we are in mid-October, my dad had been dead for almost three months, and I was getting worse. So, my therapist sent me to a psychologist.
John went with me since I was terrified. I remember sitting on the couch in this woman’s office and just balling my eyes out. She asked why I had come to see her, and the tears streamed down my cheeks before I could even get a word out. It was the kind of crying where you are choking at the same time, and you can barely speak. She wanted to put me in the hospital immediately for mental evaluation and intensive therapy because of my suicide ideation. Clearly I needed medication to “boost” my serotonin levels to get me out of this deep depression. And John told her, “you are not putting my wife in the hospital.” He wanted to try the meds first, then if they didn’t work, we’d consider the hospital stay. Well, within a couple of weeks I was “better” — I had a new job as a Kindergarten Teaching Assistant and the crying jags had subsided. But I was still depressed. I still wanted my dad back. It was years before I actually entered the final stage of grief: Acceptance.
Over time I just “accepted” that there was absolutely nothing I could do to change the outcome. He was gone. I remember not long after he died, asking John, “who’s going to take care of me now?” He said, “I will.” And while John does take good care of me, it’s not the same. But I digress….
Mom
Grieving my mom has been a lot different than grieving my dad. While I skipped over the Anger Stage with my dad, I am still wallowing in it with my mom. Am I angry that she died? No. I’m angry with the decisions she made in the last couple of years of her life. Even 15 years later. And I know my brothers are equally angry with her. Which sucks because she was our confidant, our friend.
Let’s start with her death. She too died on a Sunday morning. The funeral home came to pick up her body from the townhouse that she and her husband (yeah, she remarried and he’s a POS — a post for another day) had bought 2-years prior. Well, if you are familiar with town homes in Northern Virginia, they tend to be 3-levels. The basement level is the garage with a living area, then a middle floor with the kitchen and living room, and finally the top floor with the bedrooms. Well, since this town home was relatively new at the time, the staircase was massive because of the high 10 foot ceilings on every floor. Let’s just say it was a very good workout to climb the steep stairs in their house. So, imagine the challenge of getting her body down the staircase….the funeral “people” brought a gurney up the outside staircase, easy enough. Then it was time to descend with her body on the gurney. We all watched in horror as they almost dropped her!
Since she died in the morning, the rest of the day was, for lack of better phrasing, “wide open”. Marilyn, Jane and I were put in charge of the funeral arrangements for the service and the “reception”. Remember, Mom died 6 days before her 55th birthday, for which I had been planning a party. So, we had to change gears very quickly as we knew my aunt and uncle’s house would not accommodate the number of people that would attend her memorial service. The first thing we decided to do was to gather photos of Mom and make displays to place around the funeral home.
On Monday, Mike (her husband), Joey, Marilyn, Jimmy, Jane, John and I arrived at the funeral home to make arrangements for the memorial. By the time Mom passed the cemetery in Fairfax now had a funeral home on the same property, which we thought would make “life easier” for those attending the funeral. When we arrived at the funeral home who should greet us but the exact same Funeral Director that was in charge of our dad’s funeral at the Falls Church Funeral Home — you know, the one Joey asked to “pull his finger”. It was bizarre! Joey, Jimmy and I recognized him right off the bat, but never said anything to him about burying our dad just 5 years prior. I mean, how do you have that conversation with someone? So, of course our first stop is to the Coffin Room where they also have urns — no elevator this time, the Funeral Home is single story. Choices are limited when it comes to urns, but I chose a beautiful wooden box with a heart-shaped lock. I remember there being a discussion about other boxes with my brothers and their wives. I had to leave the room to cry. John and Joey came to find me hiding in another room crying. “What’s wrong?” Joey asked. I said, “I wanted to be the one to pick out mom’s urn since you and Jimmy picked out Dad’s casket.” In hindsight, it’s a silly thing to get upset over, but in that moment it was so important to me. Joey said, “of course you can pick the urn, we’ll go with whatever you want.” It had a heart-shaped lock and key. It was lovely.
Since Mom was being cremated, we were at the mercy of when they run the crematorium. Just an FYI, it doesn’t run every day (who knew?). Well, we had hoped that they would do this so that we could have her funeral service on Saturday, March 19th, her birthday. But how would we do the “viewings” before hand if the ashes weren’t going to be available until Thursday? We had to compromise to having one “viewing”. Well, the only time available to use the chapel at the funeral home on Saturday was 3pm. Ok. We’ll make it work. Mind you, we are trying to accommodate up to 200 people since our mom was very popular. Now we just needed to hop over to the cemetery offices to be sure they could bury her on Saturday around 4pm. Nope. No can do, they don’t do burials after 3pm on Saturday’s. But they can do a private family memorial graveside on Monday morning around 11am. Ok. Let’s do that. Next we had to decide how we were going to inter her ashes. Where on the property? I personally wanted her interred with my dad, but that was “rude” considering she had remarried a couple of years prior. So, down the hill from our dad’s grave is a wall (for lack of a better description) where you can place urns. We found a corner niche that was perfect, and if you stepped out from behind the wall you could see the tree where our dad is buried. It was a good compromise.
Now Marilyn, Jane and I had a ton of work to do. We had to find a location for the “reception”, find a caterer, and put together posters all while taking care of our children. Thank goodness my friend, Lynn stepped up and took Jakob and our dog for the week. Mike had pretty much told John and I to go home Monday since his family was flying in to town for the funeral and he needed the bedrooms for them. We quickly found a caterer. My Aunt Garnett helped us make arrangements for renting an amenities center in Burke Centre for Saturday evening. It was a chaotic week. You know, when you are planning a funeral, at least for me, you have to tackle it like a business function, there is really very little time to dwell on what has happened, let alone cry. You just have to get through it.
So, Thursday evening came and it was time for the “viewing”. Obviously there was no body, no open casket, just a small box of ashes. Marilyn, Jane and I placed posters with photos around the room. And I stood alone at the door to greet those who came to show their respects. Remember, at my dad’s viewings, I stood alongside my mom, but here no one stood with me. The worst part of that evening was when my grandmother arrived. She was somewhat lucid that night (remember she had Alzheimer’s), and as she walked towards me she asked, “What happened to my daughter? Did she die?” My aunt and uncle who had brought her had stopped to speak with someone, and Granny kept moving with the group of people heading into the viewing room. I had to walk away at that moment. I had to hide behind a door to cry. Some people saw me. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to cry in front of people. I wanted to be “strong and brave”. I felt it was my job to thank people for coming, shake hands, hug, make them feel better. My grief was to be private.
Friday we did nothing. Mike spent time with his family. Saturday we did last minute errands, making arrangements for people to help the caterers and set up candles. For my mom’s 55th birthday, I had ordered small candles to give to everyone in attendance at her previously planned party, now we were having them placed along the walls and lit in the amenities center. I don’t remember much about the funeral. Our family friend, Paul, did her service much like he had our father’s. I read a poem aloud…
Afterwards, Paul concluded the memorial service, Joey walked up to the urn and placed an orange flower on it, and we all walked out the side door. Of course, we then stood in the parking lot wondering what to do next. It’s a very anti-climactic moment, really. A very surreal feeling. Since there was no graveside to go to, we then got in our cars and headed to the amenities center in Burke Centre. I know I said that we expected a lot of people, but I was still in awe at the turnout. In my minds eye it’s a blur of faces, though I specifically remember talking with my cousin, Scott M. Mom’s memorial was really a celebration, not quite as somber as my dad’s. But we weren’t done yet, we still had to have the graveside service on Monday morning.
So, Monday morning the family showed up at the cemetery office. Besides my brothers and their families, and Mike, my mom’s siblings and their families were in attendance. I think even my dad’s sisters were there. My mom was the oldest of five, so we were a fairly large group. Of course Paul was there to run the service. We all caravanned down to the “wall”. This is where the story takes an unexpected turn….we all gathered around the “wall”, there was a drape over the hole where Mom’s urn would go. Paul says some words and a prayer, and Joey walks forward to place the urn with the pretty orange flower in the casing. Dink. Oh, maybe he needs to turn it the other way. Dink! No, turn it again. Dink! Dink! Dink! Uh, it doesn’t fit. The cemetery lady (not sure what she’s called, coordinator person. I don’t know), comes forward and says, “Where did you get this urn?” “Um from the funeral home on your property. They said that all the urns in the funeral home would fit in the niches in the wall.” “Hmmm. Let me make a phone call,” as she walks over to her minivan with the urn. Talk about your awkward moments. We all just stood there looking at one another trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Zoom! Another minivan (hearse) pulls up. A guy gets out of the car, walks up to the niche with a different box, checks to see if it fits, then goes over to the cemetery lady’s car….and they proceed to switch my mother’s ashes from the beautiful wooden box with the heart lock into some random other wooden box. I think we all stood with our mouths open, jaws on the floor. Then a maintenance man came over and screwed a marble cover over the opening to the niche after Joey was able to insert the new urn. Obviously my mom is NOT interred in the urn I chose, and just a few days prior I had made a big deal out of that wooden box. Seems rather silly, doesn’t it? After the closing of the niche we all headed to brunch at a local restaurant. And that was it. Time to get back to “normal”.
As far as grief over the loss of my mother, and I missed her every day, it was quickly replaced with anger. As much as I missed talking with her on the phone every afternoon, I was mad at her for lying to me about a LOT of things (BTW I consider withholding vital information as lying). Let me put it this way for now….within 2 months of her death, my brothers and I had to hire an attorney because her husband was trying to sue the estate for the insurance money left from our dad’s life insurance policy, and so we could get some family heirlooms from him. He’s a special kind of Piece of Shit which you will learn in a later post.
I will say this, though, one of the most difficult things for me has been to watch Jakob grow up without knowing either of my parents. They were really good grandparents, especially to JT and Christian (Joey’s boys). I truly believe that kiddos need grandparents, and Jakob has sorely missed out on this (my in-laws try, but they live in California so he doesn’t have in-person contact with them much). I think I grieve for that relationship the most. And sure I still want to pick up the phone and call my mom all the time. I have ideas that I want to run past her. Things I want to complain about. Go shopping with her. All the things we did together. And just because I’m still salty about the way she handle things at the end of her life, I do love her very much. She was my best friend. No one has ever even come close to that position in my life either (well, besides John). Remember too, I have been on anti-depressants since my dad died, so the grieving process for my mom has been much “healthier”. Sort of.
And as I watch my friends with their aging parents, I feel a sense of relief that my parents will forever be young, frozen in their early 50’s. It also gives me peace to know that “God Looked”, brought them home to be with Him, and they are no longer suffering.