Tag: writing

Selecting Headstones

I Was In No Hurry To See Their Names On Granite

Nor was Dad. Yes, it took 10 months to make the necessary decision to purchase their headstone markers. Bear in mind, we had to get through all of the legalities first. It not only involved making necessary calls to the likes of life insurance companies, banks, social security, doctor offices and hospitals. More time consuming was the transfer of titles; the house, the cars, the safety deposit box, plus naming new beneficiaries. Then there was the claiming of the life insurance policies, which involved a senior attorney. This cascaded into a 5 month long will revision and family agreement. The will was a drawn-out ordeal. It was horrendous and is the focus of an upcoming post.

The Time Had Come

After letting the dust of the will settle and subside, it became apparent that we must choose a headstone for mom. For any longer a wait would become disrespectful. Months ago, my brother-in-law decided that whatever we chose for mom, he would follow suit for my sister’s headstone. We had received several postcards from a local memorial company. God knows how they received our information. I had learned during the funeral process that from one funeral home to another, when pricing a traditional funeral, the final cost is consistent. One just needs to get the job done. With this mentality, I made the appointment. When the receptionist answered, she asked me a few screening questions. The first was if the marker was for the living or deceased. I had not realized that some have the foresight to plan.

Monument Appointment

Many months before Mom died, in fact she was not at risk of dying, she discussed purchasing the opening/closing of our family plots. Just two years prior, we had purchased eight plots in our church cemetery. After purchasing the opening/closing costs, she wanted to then work on a monument. She liked the idea of a bench with the family name on it. I had told her that we should do that in the Spring with my tax return. Now, choosing the headstone for her, I had let dad know of her wishes. Dad was leery that the bench would be too costly.

Monument Office Visit

At our appointment, I took note of how informal the atmosphere appeared. Our senior representative, and his colleague were both dressed very casually. No one spoke in hushed tones. Once again, as with the funeral home visit, a potential customer just walked in and inquired about a grave marker. As with that prior incident, the customer was encouraged to schedule an appointment. Once inside the office, the first order of business; choosing the stone. The stone choice determines the price. I explained that mom loved her Irish heritage, and I thought that a green stone with gold lettering would be a real tribute to her. Quickly, he shot that down. Green stones were some of the most expensive, hard to acquire and gold lettering extremely high priced. He quickly pointed to a pink stone color (their most popular price). I’ve seen that many times at our cemetery. They can keep it. I liked the next tier scheme of blue/gray/red/black mix. Dad did, too. From there he immediately went over the standard shape for a double monument. Dad had wanted a shared marker. The thickness of the marker 8 inches down to 6 inches, the width 42 inches trimmed to 36 inches and the base from 48 inches cut to 42 inches would significantly affect the pricing. Also built into the price, but provided by our cemetery, was the foundation concrete footer. This footer is poured three foot deep 18 inches wide, with the length determined by our final headstone choice. These footers are also grouped with other orders, and when enough are filled a contractor then pours the foundations. The wait is usually 4 to 6 months. Right about the same time as our stone would be finished; after our art approval and payment.

Pricing!

Being proficient on the design program, our rep quickly filled in our contact information and on a large 3-foot screen began to design some marker concepts. Initially in grays, he added Mom’s name and dates, then dads. He zoomed in and out, repositioned until he pleasantly displayed all. He explained that built into the cost, any artwork designs could be added. Since we our Catholic, I asked about a Crucifix. He had about six different renderings, but I liked the Traditional one. He effortlessly put one in the center. Knowing that mom was Irish, he also suggested a shamrock in the corner above her name. Then came the pricing $7600.00 plus tax and $1200.00 for the footer. It was then that I mentioned mom wanting a bench which would have been even higher. But lo and behold, our rep said otherwise! It actually would be much lower, with little compromise. Quickly he made a new draft, same stone, same type style, same lettering, same art but now more room to put all of the siblings first names! After he put the final touches on the new concept, he colorized it with our stone and voile! The price was $5600.00 plus tax and $1200.00

Sold

We were very pleased, especially to get what mom wanted and the price was exceptional. From there we started the concept for my sister’s stone. Though my brother-in-law was paying for hers separately, he asked that we choose it. For she is buried directly behind mom. They died 10 weeks apart. For hers, the process was much quicker, since stone, shape, thickness, type were all chosen prior. When it came to the art, I asked about a Mary image. Again, he had several, but one with her head, shoulders and praying hands with Rosary really stood out. Our rep made it work. It’s beautiful. And the cost $3900.00 plus tax and $1000.00 for the footer. My brother-in-law approved it. He scheduled his own appointment for payment. While there, he also had his name engraved on the back side. For our plots are in the shape of the Cross, so he will be buried behind my sister. All is paid for, so come Spring, footers will be poured. Shortly thereafter, their headstones will be installed, with a small blessing ceremony by our Priest.

Eternal rest grant unto them oh Lord. And let perpetually light shine upon them. May they rest in peace, amen. May their souls and all the faithful departed through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

The Smell Of Dying

The Odor Of The Dying

Once you are hit with the scent of the actively dying, you’ll never forget it. I’ve tried to come up with some comparison, to give you an idea of the stench. I’ve decided that the best description is the nauseating combination of hospital antiseptic blended with putrid festering infection.

Prior to the actively dying stage, I did not notice any odors coming from my mom nor sister. Once informed that they were dying, with only hours or day/days left to live, that changed. During the first few hours, I barely perceived a faint breath odor. As the hours passed, the stench started to cling to their persons. As the hours waned, and I moved back and forth from the waiting room to their beds, the smell became more pronounced.

I Kept The Comments To Myself Out of Respect

The stink quickly became repulsive. It started to cling to me. It reminded me of going to nightclubs where others cigarette smoke would cling to your clothes the next morning. Or how the stench of artificial fog from concerts would remain in your hair until you washed it away. Even my hands would reek of this curious putrid smell of my dying family members. Even after washing, I could still smell it. I never mentioned it though, until I let it slip to my brother-in-law. He told me a nurse had said it was due to the body shutting down. Infection takes over.

Stench Permeates The Rooms

Quickly, the smell overpowered my dying sisters’ room. Hers was an agonizing death, taking six days for her frail body to slowly starve to death. She had a rare form of early onset Alzheimer’s, called Benson’s Syndrome. Triggered by mom’s surprise stroke, my sister declined rapidly. She refused to eat or drink, sometimes becoming violent. Her dehydration led to infections, kidney failure, self-starvation and death. As she lay dying, unconscious from medications to ease her pains of death, her body emitted the queasy, noxious smells that filled her room. As soon as you entered her room there was no mistaking it. Once you moved closer to her face the more pungent it became. One would tolerate it though, because of the sadness of it all.

Mom’s death was swifter. Once the ventilator was removed, she attempted to breathe on her own for an hour. Then the gasping, the struggling for air, followed by the administering of ‘comfort care,’ drugs to help her die with minimal pain or discomfort. She lived for 24 hours. During this time family and friends rotated visits. A nurse told me mom was ‘Popular. She has more visitors than anyone. ‘ I was at disbelief. She went on to tell me that mom has had a constant stream of visitors and more flowers than anyone on the ward. During these in and out visits that’s when I first noticed the curious smell. It definitely was not as prevalent with mom as it was with my sister. But it was there, on her breath, on her hair. Later, when it was my sisters turn to die, I recognized it for what it was, the smell of the dying.

Long after I left the hospital, even days after their deaths, I could still smell that, dare I say, disgusting odor. I was using hand sanitizer; the scent was still there. Even after shampooing, still it clung. For me it took at least 5 days to rid myself of the scentof death.

We Buried Our Sister

Two months After Mom

You really do just go through the motions. I trudged through work and didn’t speak of it. At night I gathered as many photos as possible of her that I had. Prior to her death, I gave my brother-in-law the phone number of mom’s funeral director. This way, we could just do a repeat of her funeral. My sister would have liked that. In fact, just two months prior, she was with Dad and I at the funeral home while we made mom’s arrangements. The funeral director was aware of her condition. I explained to my BIL that this would make things easier. I met my BIL at the funeral home’s main location. The previous director greeted me with raised arms; “What happened?” Mom happened, and my sister rapidly declined. My BIL and I chose exactly the same casket and vault with the opposite complementary prayer card. I gave the director my copy of my sisters’ plot. Mom had the foresight two years ago to have us buy plots at our church cemetery. My BIL was going to have his niece help pick out my sisters’ burial clothes. It was hard for him to get through this, but what could I say? It was done. We just had to honor her. Once again, I had to write her obituary, and I needed to draft her eulogy. He agreed to ask the same women to read in our stead at the Mass funeral. The director excused himself while he called our priest to procure a Mass date and confirm that we could have the showing, Mass and burial and wake all in one day. He came back with two dates, the coming Friday or Saturday. I insisted on the Saturday, the 28TH. It would allow more to show, it was two days after her only son’s birthday, and it happened to be my birthday. It was perfect.

Funeral

Since Mom’s funeral was still fresh, we were accustomed to the procedures. I had made two photo boards (only one for the church parlor, the other for the Knights of Colombus Hall) and placed one in the Church. Then, I looked towards my sister’s casket. She was in her forest green dress with a white sweater. The sweater to hide her bone thin frame. Her jaw was clamped tight, only I knew it was due to her jaw being open. Her makeup was sparse, and had I known, I would have put eyeliner and mascara on her. So, I took lipstick and added color to her gaunt cheeks and color to her pale lips. One day earlier, by coincidence, my BIL’s sister knew the beautician appointed to set my sisters hair. She had attempted to lighten it blonde (because of my sister’s Alzheimer’s dementia she could not tolerate the procedure of lightening her hair) to cover the dark gray it had become. But, because of the cold storage it did not hold. And, as before, I was able to ask for a lock of her hair. I had cut a few strands in the hospital, but since the beautician trimmed her hair, now her son and husband could have some, too. Once again, her bangs were back like she used to wear it.

Visitation

Before the 10:00 A.M. opening, people started arriving. Soon I was called to stand at the head of her casket. I greeted her former classmates, parishioners, neighbors, colleagues, family and friends. Some 150 people were inline outside of the church waiting to give their condolences. I told my sister at every interval that she had done well. For I know that the dead are made to attend their funerals. They stand at the foot of their caskets. They wait for prayers. I prayed the Eternal Rest prayer and St. Gertrudes too. After some time, I looked to see out Priest standing near the foyer. I snuck up to him and asked if it was time for the Mass. At this point many more were still outside. He graciously said that we would wait until everyone was seated. One of her Catholic schoolmates mistook me for my sister, and another commented, that they, too were taken aback. Yet, another said: “She was sweet.” The funeral director assisted by my sister’s family member, a retired funeral director, helped turn her casket away from the crowd. Once turned, the director cranked the casket bottom and lowered my sister. He looked at me said; “Okay?” I nodded and he shut and locked her casket for Mass to begin. My BIL and nephew unfolded the mantle to cover her casket for Mass, and I followed the procession until taking my place in the pew.

Burial And Wake

After the Mass, easily 60 or more processed to the cemetery. Again, the brief ceremony of committing her body was performed at a holding place. For she was buried about 75 feet away right behind mom. Then as before we walked to the nearby hall for the luncheon. Easily 85 people attended as her grandchild ran around the hall playing with the toys I had brought. People mulled over her photo boards and conversed with each other, all talking about the turn out. Some had wandered over to Mom’s grave, too. Afterwards, my BIL called to talk about the amazing large turnout and that it probably helped that it was Saturday. He brought up the fact that it had spread around the church that it was my birthday, he didn’t realize. Yes, it was and it was perfect.

My Sister Has Died

Benson’s Syndrome – Has Taken Her at Only 62 Years Old

Our oldest Sister has died, only two months after mom died. I was hoping that she would not decline, that if we did not speak of mom’s death, in essence it could be blocked by her dementia.

Her symptoms were spread out over a decade. She had aches and pains, then severe back pain, followed by poor eyesight. She was diagnosed with sciatica, the fibromyalgia, later cataracts. She was a grade schoolteacher, held a master’s degree. Seemingly one day, she started forgetting things. Her principal advised her to seek disability. About a year later she was approved and was put on disability. Then suddenly, she couldn’t operate her phone, nor navigate her TV remote. Mom and I insisted we take her to her doctor; we had a whole list of things to discuss. The hurdle was HEPA. After much cajoling, my brother-in-law allowed us access. Once there, my sister, barely walking at a snail’s pace could not even remember her birthdate. Her doctor revealed that a year prior, during an ER visit when she fell out of bed and ‘didn’t feel right,’ her scans revealed dementia. Mom and I were silent, not wanting to alarm my sister. She sat silently at that time she had a tick of smacking her lips. Finally, when asked she said that no one had ever told her that.

Fear Of Nursing Homes

Immediately, she became petrified of being put into a nursing home. I promised her that this would not happen, over my dead body and I meant it. After breaking the news to her husband, who claimed he was never told either, so mom and I got to work. We knew caregivers had to be put into place. She kept saying she did not want to be home alone, that if she knew she was going to lose her mind she did not want to live. Yes, it was awful.

Fidgeting Uncomfortable Repeating

Once home we researched the dementia diagnosis and prepared ourselves for the following weeks appointment. Mom agreed to watch her for the next weeks with dad until caregivers could be found. I was prepared to pay out of pocket, and I did so, until her needs became too great. Eventually all of her disability went to paying various caregivers. Early on, I took her to a counsellor. Afterall, what could I tell her about dying? During our research it became apparent that her lifespan was cut down by a third. We kept this to ourselves, knowing that upsetting news brought on hallucinations. She began seeing ants everywhere. My BIL went through the motions of insecticides to appease her. Her clothes itched or felt off. She couldn’t dress herself, nor bathe, nor brush her teeth. Make-up irritated her. She couldn’t find the toilet seat. Her stare was far off, never making eye contact but in the general direction.

Eating – Food For thought

Almost immediately I told her that she must eat. I told her “Food for thought” which she repeated. Mom was cooking breakfast and lunch for her, and we had hopes for 5 more years. By the time caregivers were onboard, she wanted to go out to lunch and shop, etc. It was costly for the first 4 months or so, but I was happy to keep her occupied. During that period, I cleaned her home a few times due to her inability. She grew accustomed to various caregivers, just wanting company. She always wanted visitors, anything to keep her mind preoccupied. The TV was on constantly; it was her crutch. She needed her little dog beside her for comfort. But eating became worrisome for us. She mostly refused her caregivers; she would only eat for mom and dad.

Benson’s Syndrome

A year later, for it took that long to get a neurologist appointment, she was finally diagnosed with Benson’s Syndrome. This rare disease affects the back of the brain, mainly sight, so that you cannot determine precisely what you are seeing. Also, it is early onset affecting those in their 50’s. She was 60 then. Looking back the symptoms started decades prior, so all of her ailments if strung together would have pointed to this. Once I looked into this and did some calculating, I knew we did not have long with her.

Mom

Mom’s unexpected stroke left me and my BIL with a decision to shield her of mom’s condition. Mom could not speak, and she talked to my sister several times daily on the phone. He covered for her, until it became clear that mom was dire. When mom was pulled off the ventilator and struggled to breathe, my BIL situated my sister as close as he could to mom’s side. Try as I might, I’ve retained the image of my sister trying to reach in the direction of mom, saying; “Mommy don’t leave me!”

Doomed

Afraid after the burial, that she would rapidly worsen and preoccupied with Dad, I tried to sparingly speak to her. Unbeknownst, due to her lack of eating and drinking, she had another UTI which had to be treated. It worsened and she was hospitalized for dehydration. When I visited her, she was starving, I fed her and I stayed there until she fell asleep. She came home for a few days, but had to go back in, this time for another infection and more dehydration. She never came home.

I Didn’t Realize She Was Dying

Still dealing with mom, helping dad and sorting things out, for Christmas was coming, I thought she would stabilize and come home. Afterall she just ate 1200 calories for me. The next day when I visited her in a different hospital room and she was unresponsive, a nurse told me that she was actively dying. She had hours maybe a day to live. I had no idea.

Missed Signs

On a prior visit, on a different ward, she was twitching jerking. I was told that was from lack of food. Starvation. They fed her with an IV to stabilize her. She pulled out her catheter twice. She had to be video monitored. On one occasion, when we were alone, she was sleeping. She roused and I became worried when see looked at the foot of her bed and said sweetly: “What’s your name? Oh, you’re not allowed to say.” I said, “Oh, no.” She replied: “what?” I said, “I didn’t want you to decline so soon.” I also told her of all the accomplishments she achieved. Her smiling reply: “No I didn’t!” Now, on the hospice ward, during which I fed her ice cream and candy, she paused and said: “Comfort Me!” She was distressed. I did my best and told her not to be afraid. She went back to jabbering nonsense, then once again panicked asked: “Comfort me!” I tried, but it did not cross my mind she was dying. Once the nurse told me, I cried. The nurse said she had been seeing children. My oldest sister who was so good at handling all of our family functions, orchestrating countless functions was dying of starvation. She was vivacious, social and compassionate. And it came down to me to tell everyone that she had hours or days to live. This was on a Sunday. Our priest who had already spent time with her on the other floor, came immediately. Later he told me he gave her the apostolic pardon. Her friends from out-of-state came. Her former husband, friends and extended family, too.

Lights Flickering

In her room a recessed light to her left started flickering. It wasn’t like that prior. It did this for an entire day, then righted itself. As with mom, I prayed as many rosaries as I could, and in Latin. I knew by this point that I could not move the mountain of God and concentrated on sparing her soul from penance. I whispered into her ear that she was a success. I told her that if she found herself in darkness, to look for the light. Call out to Jesus or Mary or Joseph. I repeated this for several days when alone with her. Again, as with mom, I noticed that several men could not stomach to see her. So, her visits with the men in her life were brief, usually 15 minutes at best. She never again was coherent. She was on medication and any agitation, grimace or leg movement warranted increasing her pain meds.

Six Days Later

My sister died six days later on her grandsons second birthday, at 1:20 A.M. My BIL called me at 1:30 A.M. He was at home when the nurse called him. He wasn’t going down to the hospital. I called my other sister and being upset; she wasn’t coming either. I woke up Dad, and he tried to dissuade me, too. I called the nurses station and asked if I could come. She met me at an entrance and granted me access. There my sister was in her dimly lit room at 1:55 A.M. Death is not pretty. Her mouth was open to her chest. She was sallow from starvation, and she was gone. Never again will I speak to her, nor will she enjoy her retirement, nor dote on her only grandson. I knelt by her bedside and sobbed. The nurse came in and said: “Oh, honey.” I stayed a half hour and prayed and paced and took pictures of her, for me. Michele, all of my days I will miss what could have been. May the Lord God in Heaven please take pity on the soul of my sister.

We Buried Mom

Funeral Home Visit

I drove my dad and sister to the funeral home of Mom’s choosing to make the arrangements. The funeral home was vacant, except for one lone car. We were greeted by a friendly, casually dressed Funeral Director. To my surprise the funeral home seemed to need some upkeep. The concrete steps needed repaired, paint was chipping, cloth awnings fading. Once inside the foyer, the oriental rugs were worn, carpet ornate but faded. The home was massive. He ushered us into a large, but vacant side office. He was very forward about the costs, which was very appreciated. There was no upselling, no pushy sales and no false sympathy. He also let us know that the funeral home provided the death certificates. He would get us three copies, the norm he said. If we needed additional to let him know. Any questions I could text him. He led us into a very small showroom of 8 caskets, samples of other models, visitation books, prayer cards, etc., while he went into another office. During that time he asked if we were expecting others as two men approached the main entrance. Surprised, I said no, and he met two men at the door. The Director explained that an appointment is preferred. These men in easily in their late 60’s, introduced themselves and explained that they were in the area and had some questions. The director stated that he was currently with an appointment and to return in about two hours. Afterwards, I thought, who in their right mind, would just randomly stop at a funeral home – in this day and age- just to ask questions? After we made our choices, I asked him if Mom was here. He explained that though he lived there, this was a satellite location and Mom was at their main home about 8 miles away. Later, when I explained this to dad, he was a little upset, as this location was only 3 miles from home.

Mom Pre-Planned

Mom had pre-planned her funeral, in the sense that she worked out almost 2 years prior with our parish Priest her choices. Mom picked all hymns and scriptures. She left notes in her office of her preference in casket (cherry) and her clothing. You even wrote a poem to be read for her eulogy. So, these things helped immensely. Also, she wanted the visitation, Mass and burial all in one day. This is a relatively new trend in our parish, but Mom really liked the idea. Also, thankfully about a year earlier, Mom and I had purchased 8 plots in our parish cemetery. Our Priest gave us a great deal and squeezed out enough plots for our immediate family. We were going to work on opening and closing costs in the spring when I got my tax return. When it came time to write the obituary and eulogy, the Director let me know that newspaper obituaries in our area are very expensive. For a modest in length obituary, for only one day, was $600.00. Regardless, we chose to have it in two of our local papers, as I wanted as many people as possible to attend her funeral. In the obituary I asked that in lieu of flowers, that any mourners please light a votive candle for her soul. Our parish has an exact replica of the Lourdes Grotto in France behind the church, which leads to the cemetery. Inside the grotto “cave” are approximately 100 votive candles to be lit for various causes and prayers. Later, by our estimation at least 30 candles were lit for the repose of her soul. Mom being of Irish decent, liked the idea of a wake, and the Knights of Columbus Hall is adjacent to the church, so immediately after internment, all were welcomed for luncheon. The church has a funeral dinner committee and dad made arrangements with them to purchase the food/drinks for 120 people. It was a great bargain at $1000.00, including the hall, courtesy of our brother-in-law, who is a Knight. All said and done, with opening/closing, funeral home services, obituaries and food it was just under $13,000.00. Mom had $21,500.00 in life insurance, but it takes weeks to get the payout. So, dad withdrew from the savings to pay for it. We had a brief meeting at the Parish house with our Priest to go over the arrangements. He had visited Mom at the hospital three times to anoint her and called me during her final hours and after her death. He started with a prayer for her and went over Mom’s Mass notes. I was surprised to learn that Mom’s eulogy needed to be trimmed for brevity. This was due to his concern over taking from the point of the Mass. So, when I was finished with my draft, I sent it to Father for the okay. He did okay it, though long, most likely out of love for Mom. Later, I made four photo boards for the visitation and hall luncheon. I had to drop off Mom’s clothing, compression hose, undergarments at the main funeral home. This location was situated next to a vast cemetery. This funeral home was much older, and it too, needed some upkeeping. At the main funeral home, which was massive, I had to walk around three sides of the building to find the correct entrance. As all the other entrances were locked with a ‘see main entrance’ sign. Once I found the main entrance, more of a side doorway with three steps, I had to buzz an old-fashioned intercom. I expected to be buzzed in, but no. I stated my name and reason, and an elderly woman cracked the door open just wide enough to take the bag of clothes. I realized that extreme precautions are probably in place due to curiosity seekers, or worse.

The Funeral

The family needed to be at the church by 9:00 A.M. This was to give us some time with her before the public visitation. That was the first time we were to see her since the hospital. Once at the church, I was surprised to see that her open casket was at the back of the church, near the entrance. Mom looked good. The funeral home prepared her with minimal make-up. They curled her hair and left her hands untouched. None of the excessive heavy flesh tone, that I had seen at prior calling hours. I prayed for her every chance I had. Especially at her casket. Having read a lot about the poor souls in purgatory, I know that the dead need our prayers for their deliverance. Soon the visitors arrived, to sign in and greet the family. One an old friend who has the ‘gift’ came from over an hour away. She explained to me that later I needed to call her, she had some information for me. Others filed past mom, some visibly upset, most praying for her, even more looking over the photo boards. A lot were taking snapshots of her old photos. I had a friend discreetly take pictures of mom and film parts of the funeral Mass. About 80 people viewed mom and stop to chat with various family members. Most visitors found a pew to settle in, waiting for the Mass to begin. The entire time the funeral director would approach to let me know what cues to wait for during the upcoming Mass. He was always straightforward, no false sympathies nor mournful expressions. At this time, he let me know Mass was to begin shortly and that we needed to view mom for the final time. The casket would be locked for Mass and burial. I placed a blessed Miraculous Medal on moms folded hands, and let the funeral director know. He asked if she would be buried with it, and I said yes.

The First eulogy was read by one of mom’s friends who was also a reader in church. It was the funnier one, so Father asked that it be read before Mass.

The Mass

The Mass began at the back of the church, mom’s closed casket waiting at the end of the aisle. Father started with the prayers as all the mourners faced the back of the church. Father blessed the casket with holy water, and on cue, my brother and I placed the pall over the casket and the funeral director placed the large almost 3-foot-long crucifix that mom wanted to lay atop her casket. Father proceeded down the aisle, with visiting priests and deacons while the funeral directors wheeled mom’s casket in front of the altar. My brother and I followed the casket and then took our place in the pew.

Mass proceeded with all of the readings and after the gospel the second eulogy was read by another reader friend of moms. This one pertained to her love of the church. After Father spoke about mom’s faith and virtues, communion was served. Soon the Mass was ended and all of the eight pallbearers took their positions behind the casket. Once again, the funeral director coached them. They carried her casket down the two flights of stairs unto the awaiting hearse and helped place her onto the rollers, sliding her casket in. The cemetery was directly behind the church, so we never had to drive on the road. No magnetic funeral signs were attached to the vehicles. We followed the lead car and hearse up the steep hill to the main entrance of the cemetery.

The Burial

Due to the recent rain, the burial service was not held over our actual plots. Instead, the green funeral canopy was located just off the gravel path under a cluster of trees, surrounded by graves. Dad was a little confused and the cemetery foreman let dad know that the burial was only staged here. She would be buried in her plot. In fact you could see the yellow backhoe from where we were. After all arrived and surrounded the canopy, all of the family sat and stood around her casket. The directors placed the flower spray with the ribbons stating, ” Wife Mother Grandmother” atop her casket. Father began the very brief prayer service reading from the Christian Burial Rites. Each of us took a rose from the spread and the funeral director asked all the please go over to the adjacent Knights Of Columbus Hall for the luncheon. The burial service was over.

The Luncheon Wake

We walked the short distance to the rental hall, the church funeral committee waiting for the mourners. I had removed mom’s photo boards from the church, plus added another for guests. Several of us loaded flowers, planters gifted from mom’s admirers and placed them in the hall. We all tried to maintain the front that we were strong and in good spirits. Several friends and extended family members came to the luncheon who missed the Mass.

After dining and much small talk, a sister spoke a few words about mom. The real highlight being my great nieces and nephew, only aged between 1 and 4 years old, running, crawling and laughing. How mom would have loved that! My oldest sister, who has Benson’s Syndrome, tried her best to socialize and walk by herself from table to table. This was a milestone for her. She even embraced her former husband. Of course, I knew that I could not nor would not even mention mom to my sister again. Any upset, hastens and deepens her dementia. Her health, especially eating, was progressively worsening. So no rocking the boat on my end.

As the attendees started to disperse, I made sure to insist everyone take home the flowers and planters, along with any take home food containers. After all was claimed, I loaded Dad into the Jeep for the short distance home. Dad was exhausted. But he repeated several times how all “those people told me how much mom meant to them.” Then he added and said twice “I’ve never felt so much love like what was in that room.”

Footnote: I started this blog post one year ago. It has taken me a year to even think about finishing it. It’s not for lack of content, as you will see in my next posts, but rather motivation. The moment, second mom died, something left me. I’ve determined that the “something” was my belief that I could no longer move the mountain of God. I would and could certainly pray, especially for others, but my prayers had little impact. After weathering a storm of family turmoil, I feel ready to start again.

Limbo: Not All Souls Who Wander Are Lost…

I’ve read and experienced, that the dead communicate through dreams.

During prayer I asked that if any poor souls, albeit if I had worked with them and not even known them, needed my intercession to let me be made aware. As par for the course, two days later I had the following dream.

The Funeral Home.

I found myself in the main showing room of a vast, formal funeral home. I knew it was a funeral home and, like those you are familiar with, it was well lit with many lamps, coffee tables, loveseat, chairs and a desk. All the furnishings facing towards the lights. The was a massive funeral home. The ceiling soared almost cathedral-like. And like many funeral homes, there were partitions. This well-lit section was huge possibly enormous 75 feet wide by 50 in depth before the open partitions. These open, looming sliding solid wood paneled doors, divided the showroom from the foyer. As you approached the partition doors, the room became dimmer and dimmer. Centered squarely in the foyer was an ascending staircase. Upon the landing the railing went to the left and right, with the second floor disappearing in the darkness. I knew not to cross over the threshold of the partition doors, into the darkened foyer.

Three cats to comfort me …

I soon realized that three of “my” cats were with me in the showroom. They were comfortable, sitting on tables and the desk. I knew they were mine and clearly recognized one of them that I currently have. I felt the foreboding, I knew I didn’t want to be there, but I was aware that I must stay. Again, like typical funeral homes, I made my way instinctively to the kitchen. It was off to the right of the showroom, so no need to enter the foyer.

The Kitchen

Once I entered the small kitchen, I went to the sink and peered out the window. It was dusk outside. The cat I recognized, jumped on the countertop. I opened a cabinet door to find her something to eat. It was then that while still looking out the window, I said to myself: “If I could only make it to morning I’ll be fine. I must stay until then.”

Return To The Showroom…

Once back into the showroom, I thought: “I need to stay here by the desk, sofas, in the light until morning.” I was uneasy about the open partition doors. This opening, humongous, approximately 30 feet wide, made me insecure. I felt the need to have it closed. But yet, it remained open. I was not to attempt to close them. I innately knew I could have crossed over into the darkened area, I was permitted, but with reserve. I didn’t want to go but would have if the need arose. I scanned the showroom to make sure all the cats were accounted for, and well clear of the dimly lit area. I told the cats to stay on this side of the room. I looked at the sofa by the desk, again, all furniture faced away from the looming doors. I thought: “Good, I won’t be looking that direction. I can wait out the night.”

The Young Woman

Just then I looked up at the darkened opening of the doors. I caught glimpse of her walking mid-way through the foyer. Striding easily, from right to left, a young thirty something, woman. She had long blonde hair, pulled back and wearing a distinctive red vest. The vests worn by the big box home improvement retail chain. (Remember I had asked if any former co-workers known or unknown in need). I did not know recognize her, but of course remembered the workplace. I immediately yelled: “Hey!” She turned her head to face me but continued her pace until she disappeared from the frame of the doors, into the hidden darkness of the foyer.

I Pursued Her…

Without hesitation, I quickly went after her into the darkness around the left partition door. She was there but lying down in the dark. The residual light from the showroom enabled me to see her. I bent over her and said: “Do you know you’re dead? You can’t stay here in this darkness? You need to be with God.” I was insistent. She sat up and said: “No, I like it here. I’m staying. You should come here, too.” I was incredulous; “Why would you like it here? No, no, this isn’t good.”

Justification, Persuasion…

The deceased woman stood and tried to influence me by saying: “I can do what I want here, I’m staying.” She tried to coax, justifying her reasoning. She waved me on as she went deeper into the dark. I had the impression there were a sparse few along with her. Amazed I shook it off and stepped back into the showroom.

The Dream Ended…

Immediately the dream ended. Upon awakening, I knew that not all souls want to be prayed for. A token few like where they are at. They do not want to be helped along. They want to roam in limbo. It was a revelation to me. I have no idea who she was but, apparently, we worked for the same company at one time. Also, I feel for me the “three” cats meant safety, a sort of security, like home. As you can read, this was an Indepth dream, with a clear message for me. And I didn’t fail to receive it!

“COME PLAY”

Creepy true story about ghost kid!

As I was in the huge backroom warehouse of a big box retailer. I noticed a small huddle of employees starting to gather near me. This almost always means a meeting, announcement or orientation is about to begin. Which means for me, relocate or I’d be intruding. But no, the night crew was gathering around a story telling employee. First it began with the crew counting all of the people that died at the store during business hours! There were two in the parking lot. One was found in his car after several days of missing work. Finally, someone recognized his car. Peered into the window to find him slumped. The second was a customer who overdosed in his car. Security noticed during a night patrol. The next was a co-worker on lunch break. The storyteller goes on to say: “I was sitting right next to him. He had his head down on his hands on the table. I thought he was sleeping. Thirty minutes after he didn’t come back from lunch, the assistant manager had me go look for him.” He was still there sitting at the table, head on hands. Then there was the customer, who had a massive heart attack in the shopping aisle and died on the scene.

But the real eerie tale began when the storyteller said – “That ain’t nothing wait till you hear this-“

“Come Play”….then he recounts HIS story. When I was eight years old, I moved into a three story townhome in (Midwest Small City) with my Mom, Dad and 13 year old sister. My room had the door which led up to the 3rd floor, which was basically he attic. Mom and Dad kept it shut, it was drafty and the steps were steep. Well, soon enough I would wake up late at night hearing the attic door open. There would be a little boy standing there. I wasn’t scared. This happened many times, it seemed almost nightly. I’d fall asleep most nights. I’d wake up to see him playing with my toys on the floor. He would say : “Come play.” Several times I’d hear the door open. He would be at my bed and say: “Come play.” Then he’d disappear. But most nights I’d wake up and he’d be waiting for me on the floor with my toys.”

I had to press him for details – this was the best ghost story, and I hate creepy dead kids! I asked him what did he do?! He said – “I played toys with him till I got too sleepy! He stayed playing while I crawled in bed and fell asleep. So I asked what happened then? ”Well, once at breakfast I finally mentioned how the boy kept me up late playing.” My sister freaked she did not believe me, thought I was making things up to scare her, trying to get another room, all kinds of things. Mom and Dad waved it off. So…I finally convinced her (his sister) to stay in my room for a few nights and see what happens.”

It Happened – the first few nights nothing. ”She was ready to call my bluff, but still stayed in my room. Then it happened. She heard the door open. They boy came up to the bed. As she laid there, he put his hand on her leg and said: “Come Play!” He disappeared. But she SCREAMED and ran out of there!”

So then what happened?! I asked. ”Oh it was a big deal, we only stayed there a little while longer and then moved. To this day me and my sister still talk about it.”

Me too! “Come Play!” Creepy dead kids playing at night…