June 19, 2012
The morning of Ron's funeral I was awake by 7, well to be honest, I was awake most of the night but I chose to get out of bed at 7. My sweet little Alexandra was snuggled in by my side, safe and protected by her mama. We got up, she had breakfast and I had my coffee. I still wasn't eating, not like that would harm me in any way, I have padding to spare. Food was still bitter and chalky in my mouth and I would only eat in the afternoon when I was too exhausted to resist those pushing food in my face. The house was again full of people, I wasn't even sure what everyone was doing. I just knew that in the past 5 days I had no clue if Alexandra had been fed, bathed or changed clothes. I certainly hadn't been doing any of it. She was alive and clean - that's all I knew for sure and for now, it was good enough. As for her emotional status, I was keeping a closer eye on that.
At bedtime each night since Ron died, I would take Alexandra upstairs myself because she refused to sleep unless I was right there with her, holding her, and we would talk. This was our "daily debriefing" our time to go over the day, talk about who had been visiting us and what we were feeling throughout the day. To get the conversation going, I started the ritual of sharing our "Three feelings of the day" with each other. First, she would come up with her 3 feelings and we would talk about them and how she was able to process through those emotions, then I would offer my 3. I would always throw in one unusual feeling like "Scared", "Angry", "Frustrated", "Confused". She would look at me with surprise to see that I was verbalizing these different emotions and not just sticking to the obvious mad, sad, glad. "What are you angry about?" she would ask me. "I am very angry that Dada didn't take better care of himself by eating better and exercising. I'm angry that he died." I told her. And I WAS angry, scared, frustrated and confused. I still didn't know how I was going to go on without him. There was so much I needed to sort through with my life now. Work, the house, the kids, money, the business, Alexandra's school. Certainly not things I was going to go into detail with a 6 yr old! We would talk about our feeling words and how sharing these feelings helps to work through difficult situations like losing someone you love. Just like crying helps to get the sad out. Alexandra would fall asleep in my arms, snuggled into me without the fear and anxiety I had expected so soon after losing her daddy. Night time was our time, away from the hustle of the day with so many visitors. For her, the daytime was like this amazing non-stop playdate! All kids were welcome to come visit when their parents stopped by. She was grieving too, in her own way, and needed her peers by her side, just like I needed my friends.
By 9:30 am, I mechanically went through my shower, hair and makeup routine not really thinking about how I was doing it, just taking the same steps I had for the past 30 something years. Soap this, rinse that, dab here, mascara, curl, hairspray... whatever. Not like I was needing to impress anyone, just that I wanted to look my best for my Ron. Finally, I reached for my black dress. Black, the traditional color of the grieving and I was being so cliche. Black dress, black jacket to cover my shoulders in the chapel and black shoes. So much black, but it was the color of my mood so I suppose I was color coordinated for the day. I glanced at myself in the mirror and thought "Wow, you are WAY too young to be attending your husband's funeral.. this is so wrong". I helped Alexandra with her hair and her dress telling her she was so pretty and Dada would be proud of her. Funny, I can't even picture which dress she wore. My eyes were seeing, but they just didn't process the images into my long term memory. I was finding this to be true of many things, my memory was completely shot. After a last glance in the mirror, I carefully descended the stairs on wobbly legs and joined the group of our children waiting below.
The driver arrived with our limousine and half of us crawled into the back. Jon drove my car with the rest of the group and off we went to the cemetery. Again, this was another trip I don't much remember. I think it's a great idea to have a limo or other car take you to the cemetery because you really can't see much out the windows. I remember staring at the row of champagne glasses with little white napkins folded in the cups thinking how badly I wanted a shot of something much stronger than champagne.
The limo finally arrived at Mt Sinai and we pulled up in front of the chapel at the top of the hill. I just wanted my kids to be with me and wanted Alexandra close by my side the entire time. I didn't want her subjected to anyone's thoughtless comments or feeble attempts at cheering her up. I had no idea what people would say, just that it was nearly 100% likely someone would say something stupid. It's amazing what people will say when someone dies. Why are we so compelled to want to "fix" the situation? I have heard so many comments after a death that seek to undo the hurt. After a miscarriage; "You can always have another". After a long illness "At least they are at peace". After a sudden or tragic death; "At least they went quickly". As if the "at least" preface makes the permanence of the death more bearable. No, We the Grieving do not feel better when you say those things. We the Grieving feel like crap, do not comprehend the loss and do not want to feel better about how it went down. My advice? Just say you are sorry, sad, frustrated, angry, confused and grieving with us. And - be there. Don't disappear soon after the body is in the ground, that is the loneliest time.
We were guided through the funeral by a tall thin man wearing a yarmulke - he was the funeral director I think. The immediate family was given a black cloth button/pin with a black ribbon attached. The ribbon was torn by the funeral director to show we were in mourning. In ancient days, Jews would tear their actual clothing to show their grief, but in modern times things are done in a more civilized fashion. The men were given yarmulkes to wear in the chapel and we were all given little packages of tissues. I took several packets. They also had bottle water with little Mt Sinai labels on them. How strange, private labeled funeral water - but it came in handy.
In a Jewish funeral, there is no actual "viewing" of the deceased. I learned that this was the tradition because it is considered rude or disrespectful to look upon the dead as they cannot look back at you. Instead, they have an "identification" where the immediate family only look at the deceased and confirm that indeed this is the correct body in the casket. Gruesome sounding for sure, but it is the last opportunity to say goodbye and I was not gong to pass it up. Alexandra being only 6 was a little nervous about this part. We had a discussion the night before about the whole process of her dada's funeral and everything that would happen. I repeated much of it that morning to make sure she felt completely comfortable with what was going to happen. I promised her when the time came, I would look at her dada first and if he still looked like her Dada, then I would tell her it was alright for her to see him. If he didn't look like "him" or was gross or scary looking, then I would tell her that and let her decide if she wanted to see him and say goodbye.
It was time for the identification and I asked to go see him alone first. I think one of the boys or maybe a couple of them came with me to hold me up. The funeral director lifted the pine cover to expose Ron's body. There he was... clothed in the simple white linen shroud, his shoulders draped with the blue and silver threaded tallit. His hands were not visible which was disturbing to me. I wanted to see his hands...even though I knew he wasn't wearing his wedding ring, I wanted to see his hands. The hands that held me, stroked my hair, scratched my back when I couldn't sleep or lovingly caressed my body when we made love. It wasn't fair that his hands were now concealed. At that moment, I was so relieved that Jon was able to get his ring off soon after he died. I was so surprised he was able to since his hands had been so swollen. I was wearing it that day, his ring, as I had since Jon handed it to me in the Emergency Room. I looked upon the face of my love, my Ron. He looked serene, although a little grumpy. His lips were pressed together as though in deep thought, and a little pensive like he wasn't exactly thrilled with his situation. I can imagine his thoughts "This really pisses me off and I do NOT like my shoulders touching the edge of this box!" I know people would think me nuts, but I wish I had a picture of him like that. For those moments when I absolutely don't believe he is actually gone - to look at and remind me that this was indeed REAL, he really did die. Ron looked good, considering, well considering he was dead. I remember all the funerals I have been to in my life - mostly open casket, Christian based funerals, where everyone who walks past the casket whisper to each other "She looked good, didn't she?" or "Oh, he REALLY didn't look like himself...." Funny how people must qualify the quality of the dead.
I went out and spoke to Alexandra. I told her that her Dada looked very good, not scary at all. I said to her "I really think it is OK to come see him. We will be with you the whole time. You need to say good bye to your Dada". Oh that sweet brave little girl! She walked in and peeked into the casket. She wanted to have me hold her, but I had no strength. I had Chris pick her up and she leaned down and said quietly "Bye bye Dada!" OH MY HEART WAS TORN INTO PIECES!!!!!!!! I completely lost it. She should not be doing this at 6 yrs old! She should be laughing, skipping and holding our hands saying "Swing me! Swing Me!" as we walk together. Will she remember how much he loved her and enjoyed every minute with her?
The funeral proceeded as most do, a couple songs, a prayer or two, his friend and sister came up and gave a eulogy, then all 7 of our kids went up on the stage. Each child had a moment to say goodbye in their own way. It was funny how it naturally came together, they went from oldest to the youngest, each showing up with their unique personalities and their personal relationship with Ron. Some had written a speech while another may have jotted down a few notes and some just got up and spoke from the heart. It was silent in the chapel except for the occasional sob that someone could no longer stifle or the blowing of a nose here and there. Every once in a while you could hear someone getting up and walking out, no longer able to handle the overwhelming sadness hearing the kids speak about their dad and step dad. I just sat in the front row, squeezing my tissue in my hand, laughing at some of the funny stories and crying when something stabbed at my heart. Even Alexandra at 6 yrs old had written about her Dada, but when it came time for her to read it, she got shy and asked her sissy to help. Honestly, there wasn't a dry eye in the place after that.
I knew I would never be able to stand up in front of everyone without breaking down so I wrote my letter to Ron ahead and had the Cantor read it for me. My heart poured out in a letter to Ron, our lives together and my promise to him to go on, care for our daughter and family and to LIVE.
After all the speeches, songs and prayers the Cantor invited the group to walk past Ron's closed casket to pay their last respects. I had not really looked to see who was there in the chapel so when I saw the endless stream of friends and family walk past me, I was completely overwhelmed. So many people I hadn't seen in years! Friends from far away, work associates, Girl Scout families and their kids. It went on and on. Over 300 people were there! I couldn't hold back my tears and racking sobs. "Oh my G-D!, Oh my.. OH MY!" Thank you all, thank you for being here.. Thank you for being a part of our lives and his death.
The graveside service was short and simple. The Cantor offered information to those attending who were unfamiliar with Jewish tradition about the burial process. Susan placed a bottle of wine into the ground on top of the casket then we began the internment. The Jewish way is for each of the immediate family to start shoveling dirt into the hole. Then, another person comes and takes the shovel and continues. It is considered a Mitzvah (good deed) to assist with burying the dead. One by one, people stepped forward to take their turn. I watched as my beautiful husband became more and more a part of the Earth again. Then, I was amazed to see my little Girl Scouts surrounding Alexandra helping her with the shovel as she tried to move the dirt into the hole. She was struggling with the weight of the dirt so her friends all grabbed a part of the handle and helped her. It was the most amazing sight to see those little girls working together helping their friend bury her daddy! This was another point in which I wish we had a camera. It was glorious and gut-wrenching at the same time. Children can be so pure in their love. They don't edit or qualify, they just BE.
Finally, it was over... Everyone began getting into their cars and driving off to the house. I just stood there looking at the partially filled hole in the ground. I didn't want to leave him here, all alone. How could I leave him behind? How could I take these steps into my life without him? Each step was an admission that I was no longer a part of a couple, we were no longer a "WE", I was a widow. With tear soaked eyes and a final "I love you", I turned and walked away from my husband's forever grave and took the first steps into what would become my "New Normal".
No comments:
Post a Comment