The Funeral − 6 June, 2004
For 3 days, I had no idea what was happening to my father's body, and It drove me insane. I hated imagining him cold and alone. I repeatedly told myself that what was lying now in the morgue or the funeral home was a shell of the man I loved, but woke up frequently in the night, running away from hellish visions of him crying out in the dark.
Repeated, almost obsessive, calls to the funeral home director were greeted first with reassurance, then with annoyance. Finally he stopped taking my calls all together. Someone else would answer and say he wasn't in or that he was with a family, or gave no excuse at all and told me they'd take a message.
We'd made arrangements for a viewing. My father's wife was going to be satisfied with a 5 minute viewing which allowed only for 6 visitors. 4 of which she'd already chosen for herself, and one of which was a friend of one her daughters that had seen my father in life maybe twice. I was absolutely seething. My then husband told me that he would allow for us to pay the difference for a full viewing. A whole hour and up to 40 visitors. My father's wife ruffled at this but agreed. She knew it meant that my mother would attend and so would my mother's side of the family. Tough fucking luck, I said. They loved him too.
As we drove up to the funeral home, my stomach not only felt like it was in my throat, but that it had actually escaped through my mouth. My limbs felt filled with cement. 24 years old and I was now opening the car door, crossing the gravel drive and entering a funeral home to view my father's body.
We were greeted by a tall man with a sympathetic face.. an expression i know he could not allow into his heart. This was business as usual. thank you, come again.
The only arrangements we made were for the length and size of the viewing. No music choices or room choices. (Coffin choices were moot considering he would be cremated. "just slap me in an old pine box" dad used to say. and they did, but only for a little while.. only for an hour.) And neither did he, before death.. but as I stood there, looking into the room, I could have sworn that he had hand picked every single thing. Whatever funeral home worker planned this out, took one look at my father and somehow knew.
The view from the isle was striking. at first my attention could not be stripped away from his body. My poor sweet daddy with a thunderous laugh and a electric smile, laying forever still in a plain wooden box. finally the desire to look away became almost as tremendous as the need to look had been and I took it all in.
It was right. I cant think of any other way to say it. The wall behind his coffin was adorned with a mural of mountains, pine trees and a lake. it was beautiful, not corny or cheesy the way it had the possibility of becoming. God how my father loved the outdoors. Mom used to call him a mountain man. it was just right. The music that was playing was absolutely Celtic, and absolutely what my father would have chosen for himself.
This is when my knees weakened.
I started walking faster, knowing that the possibility of collapse was very real. I could see his hands resting one on top of the other on his stomach. my father's face slowly dawning on the horizon of his coffin.
and then i had arrived. before i knew it I was leaning over him, touching his face. My hands told me what my heart could not: He is gone. This is no longer your father. He has shed this painful husk and moved on.
He was so very cold. I kissed his forehead and touched his hair. I murmured over and over between sobs. I love you i love you i love you daddy i love you.
A hand touched my shoulder and it was his wife. She handed me a silver flask ("here, baby") and I took the toast my father made me promise i'd take. Whiskey and a prayer.
My mother asked his wife permission to say her goodbyes. She said yes begrudingly, and my mother sobbingly kissed his lips and murmured her own words. one last secret between them.
His wife handed me a green ribbon and took me with her to his coffin. She pulled scissors from her pocket and cut a lock of his hair which I tied the ribbon around. She did the same for herself and we took another drink from the flask.
The rest is a blur and that hour alternated between feeling like an eternity and a single moment. but i realized how much i truly needed it.. How much that goodbye was worth. In the instant i touched his skin, i accepted he was gone. that overwhelming hollow feeling that is returned to your hand like caressing a surface of glass. it left no room for doubt.
Repeated, almost obsessive, calls to the funeral home director were greeted first with reassurance, then with annoyance. Finally he stopped taking my calls all together. Someone else would answer and say he wasn't in or that he was with a family, or gave no excuse at all and told me they'd take a message.
We'd made arrangements for a viewing. My father's wife was going to be satisfied with a 5 minute viewing which allowed only for 6 visitors. 4 of which she'd already chosen for herself, and one of which was a friend of one her daughters that had seen my father in life maybe twice. I was absolutely seething. My then husband told me that he would allow for us to pay the difference for a full viewing. A whole hour and up to 40 visitors. My father's wife ruffled at this but agreed. She knew it meant that my mother would attend and so would my mother's side of the family. Tough fucking luck, I said. They loved him too.
As we drove up to the funeral home, my stomach not only felt like it was in my throat, but that it had actually escaped through my mouth. My limbs felt filled with cement. 24 years old and I was now opening the car door, crossing the gravel drive and entering a funeral home to view my father's body.
We were greeted by a tall man with a sympathetic face.. an expression i know he could not allow into his heart. This was business as usual. thank you, come again.
The only arrangements we made were for the length and size of the viewing. No music choices or room choices. (Coffin choices were moot considering he would be cremated. "just slap me in an old pine box" dad used to say. and they did, but only for a little while.. only for an hour.) And neither did he, before death.. but as I stood there, looking into the room, I could have sworn that he had hand picked every single thing. Whatever funeral home worker planned this out, took one look at my father and somehow knew.
The view from the isle was striking. at first my attention could not be stripped away from his body. My poor sweet daddy with a thunderous laugh and a electric smile, laying forever still in a plain wooden box. finally the desire to look away became almost as tremendous as the need to look had been and I took it all in.
It was right. I cant think of any other way to say it. The wall behind his coffin was adorned with a mural of mountains, pine trees and a lake. it was beautiful, not corny or cheesy the way it had the possibility of becoming. God how my father loved the outdoors. Mom used to call him a mountain man. it was just right. The music that was playing was absolutely Celtic, and absolutely what my father would have chosen for himself.
This is when my knees weakened.
I started walking faster, knowing that the possibility of collapse was very real. I could see his hands resting one on top of the other on his stomach. my father's face slowly dawning on the horizon of his coffin.
and then i had arrived. before i knew it I was leaning over him, touching his face. My hands told me what my heart could not: He is gone. This is no longer your father. He has shed this painful husk and moved on.
He was so very cold. I kissed his forehead and touched his hair. I murmured over and over between sobs. I love you i love you i love you daddy i love you.
A hand touched my shoulder and it was his wife. She handed me a silver flask ("here, baby") and I took the toast my father made me promise i'd take. Whiskey and a prayer.
My mother asked his wife permission to say her goodbyes. She said yes begrudingly, and my mother sobbingly kissed his lips and murmured her own words. one last secret between them.
His wife handed me a green ribbon and took me with her to his coffin. She pulled scissors from her pocket and cut a lock of his hair which I tied the ribbon around. She did the same for herself and we took another drink from the flask.
The rest is a blur and that hour alternated between feeling like an eternity and a single moment. but i realized how much i truly needed it.. How much that goodbye was worth. In the instant i touched his skin, i accepted he was gone. that overwhelming hollow feeling that is returned to your hand like caressing a surface of glass. it left no room for doubt.
