Southern Funerals do not disappoint.
Part 1:
Where we try to understand the southern family dynamic and my need to run like hell when I hear the phone ring.
Years ago, after I had finally moved out of my parent’s house, I received many phone calls from my mother. She was always checking in on me, as mothers do. She was checking to see if I was eating right, getting enough sleep and washing my clothes correctly (she was a bit of a Nazi when it came to doing laundry, but that is another story). Unfortunately there came a time where the majority of the calls were bad news. An Aunt had a stroke, an Uncle has died, or a cousin has jumped off a bridge and killed herself, yes that one is true. I got to the point where I told her to stop calling me, if all she was going to give me is bad news. So she got my father to call me.
My dad’s not a big talker, so usually the only time I talk to him, is when my mom shoves the phone in his face to say hi to me. This time he called me, which should have been a red flag but I’m slow upstairs and, of course someone had died. My mom’s sister had passed suddenly and she was devastated. Frankly my moms’ siblings have been dropping like flies in an early frost.
My aunt was a simple and kind woman who married a simple kind man and gave birth to 5 simple (think short bus) kids, who by the way have fantastic teeth. They are like the beverly hillbillies of the Osmond family. They have the kind of teeth we all wish we had, big white straight and gorgeous, but as the good lord does they are balanced by having just a few brain cells among the 5 of them and they fight for dominance. You’ll understand what I mean as you read more.
I had avoided the last family funeral where my mother’s brother passed. Truth be told, I didn’t like him and didn’t want to be fake at his funeral. But in hindsight, I should have been there for my mother (can you say southern guilt)? But my excuse was my Butt. I had broken my tail bone a week earlier and just let me say, two years later, it still hurts. This time I knew I had to be there for her and the cousins, whom I love and adore, (I make fun of them but they are good people).
My aunt died on Sunday, the viewing was Monday and Tuesday, (don’t even get me started on Viewings) and the burial on Wednesday. So this is how it works, where I’m from, a southern viewing is where the deceased is laid out like a movie prop, dressed in clothes they would never be seen alive in, surrounded by flowers, ribbons, and cards as family and friends parade by to stop and gawk, as they comment on how alive they look and place offerings in the casket, like you would when you make a wish in a fountain, saying how she would want to take it with he in the afterlife, a modern take on paying the ferryman to cross the river Styx?
I drove in on Monday but was too late for the viewing, even though the funeral home was open 24 hours. I just didn’t want to drive another hour up a winding dirt road on a mountain top to be alone with a dead body. I figured it would be OK, but oh no did I miss it. Damn it all to hell, I missed the death threat and pie fight (not a fight with pies, mind you, but a fight over pies), yep you read that right.
Seems a family member brought a pie to the viewing. Why we southerners feel it’s a good idea to eat a big meal while a dead body lay in the next room, I will never know. It might be a left over from the old “Sin Eaters’ and how they would surround the dead with food and someone would eat the food, symbolically consuming their sins, so they may go to heaven, cleansed. Really, it seems we southerners do a lot of things all centered on food. Anyway, while my dear aunt lay upstairs, in a pink business suit (I have no idea where that came from or why anyone would even think she would wear it, the pink was pretty on her) the children were down stairs fighting over who would get some. I figured that must be some damn good tasting pie. My cousin went so far as to wrap it up and stick it in the small refrigerator, they have at the funeral home. But as siblings are, her brother took it out and cut himself a slice. He did say it was OK but nothing the write home about. She however, saw the slice taken out and went on a rampage, hunted him down and started screaming at him. Apparently most of the family just watched in shock and awe (and laughter). She caused such a ruckus that they called the police and fire department. Now let take a moment to tell you that the fire department was across the street and it still took them 20 minutes to get there, go figure. I was told that one of the firemen stuck his head out a window and yelled across the street for them to stop, seeing as how they had moved it outside after she marched downstairs and had the pie to lock in her car, yes prison pie all locked up for no one but her. At this point my uncle decided he would find her keys and steal the pie, just for the hell of it. So you know what direction this was all going.
Part 2:
Where we better understand the family dynamic and why blood is thicker than embalming fluid.
Don’t worry, I didn’t forget the death threat, how could I. It seems it was centered around my poor mother. An aunt, by marriage, that’s important, told a cousin, who told an aunt, who told my mother, who told another cousin (who is more like a sister), who told me, at which point I swore them all not to tell my hotheaded brother, (do you see how this works), that she thinks my mother had killed her sister. That’s how she put it. I’ll try and stay on point here, my dead aunt came to visit my mother on Saturday (she wasn’t dead then), and that’s a completely different story. She told everyone that they had a horrible fight at which point my aunt left, angry and distraught. She was still angry and fuming on Sunday, when she had the heart attack my mother supposedly caused and which killed her. This of course caused my mother to practically have a nervous breakdown and a heart attack of her own. How could she show her face at the viewing knowing everyone thought she may have caused the heart attack that killed her sister? Never mind that not one bit of it was true, in fact, my soon to be dead aunt had a delightful time visiting my mom and dad and even stayed late to have fried chicken well into the night. My other cousin (who is more like a sister), decided to confront my aunt, by marriage, and tell her she needed to apologize to my mother. That unfortunately did not happen, as with most rumors, this one got to my cousins, whose mother it was who died. Like a momma cat protecting her young, one of the cousins found my aunt, by marriage, and confronted her, in the fainting room. Yes the funeral home has a fainting room with a fainting couch, which as a side bar, we found my 91 year old uncle asleep on and thought he was dead too, see how the mob mentality starts to take over. Well, she yelled and screamed at her, as all the family listened with a mixture of awe and fear. My aunt, by marriage, was informed that she was a horrible person to hurt my mother and that she was a damn liar, also if she did anything like this again, my cousin would hunt her down and kill her. In true southern style, my aunt, by marriage, turned on her heels, nose in the air, grabbed her purse and husband, marched out of the funeral home and told everyone that she would not be at the burial, she had canning to do. I’m looking forward to seeing if she comes to the next family reunion. My mom was mortified but much more relieved. She’d been vindicated and the family dynamic set right again. Thus, day one of the 3 day funeral event that was my visit home was complete.
Where we try to understand the southern family dynamic and my need to run like hell when I hear the phone ring.
Years ago, after I had finally moved out of my parent’s house, I received many phone calls from my mother. She was always checking in on me, as mothers do. She was checking to see if I was eating right, getting enough sleep and washing my clothes correctly (she was a bit of a Nazi when it came to doing laundry, but that is another story). Unfortunately there came a time where the majority of the calls were bad news. An Aunt had a stroke, an Uncle has died, or a cousin has jumped off a bridge and killed herself, yes that one is true. I got to the point where I told her to stop calling me, if all she was going to give me is bad news. So she got my father to call me.
My dad’s not a big talker, so usually the only time I talk to him, is when my mom shoves the phone in his face to say hi to me. This time he called me, which should have been a red flag but I’m slow upstairs and, of course someone had died. My mom’s sister had passed suddenly and she was devastated. Frankly my moms’ siblings have been dropping like flies in an early frost.
My aunt was a simple and kind woman who married a simple kind man and gave birth to 5 simple (think short bus) kids, who by the way have fantastic teeth. They are like the beverly hillbillies of the Osmond family. They have the kind of teeth we all wish we had, big white straight and gorgeous, but as the good lord does they are balanced by having just a few brain cells among the 5 of them and they fight for dominance. You’ll understand what I mean as you read more.
I had avoided the last family funeral where my mother’s brother passed. Truth be told, I didn’t like him and didn’t want to be fake at his funeral. But in hindsight, I should have been there for my mother (can you say southern guilt)? But my excuse was my Butt. I had broken my tail bone a week earlier and just let me say, two years later, it still hurts. This time I knew I had to be there for her and the cousins, whom I love and adore, (I make fun of them but they are good people).
My aunt died on Sunday, the viewing was Monday and Tuesday, (don’t even get me started on Viewings) and the burial on Wednesday. So this is how it works, where I’m from, a southern viewing is where the deceased is laid out like a movie prop, dressed in clothes they would never be seen alive in, surrounded by flowers, ribbons, and cards as family and friends parade by to stop and gawk, as they comment on how alive they look and place offerings in the casket, like you would when you make a wish in a fountain, saying how she would want to take it with he in the afterlife, a modern take on paying the ferryman to cross the river Styx?
I drove in on Monday but was too late for the viewing, even though the funeral home was open 24 hours. I just didn’t want to drive another hour up a winding dirt road on a mountain top to be alone with a dead body. I figured it would be OK, but oh no did I miss it. Damn it all to hell, I missed the death threat and pie fight (not a fight with pies, mind you, but a fight over pies), yep you read that right.
Seems a family member brought a pie to the viewing. Why we southerners feel it’s a good idea to eat a big meal while a dead body lay in the next room, I will never know. It might be a left over from the old “Sin Eaters’ and how they would surround the dead with food and someone would eat the food, symbolically consuming their sins, so they may go to heaven, cleansed. Really, it seems we southerners do a lot of things all centered on food. Anyway, while my dear aunt lay upstairs, in a pink business suit (I have no idea where that came from or why anyone would even think she would wear it, the pink was pretty on her) the children were down stairs fighting over who would get some. I figured that must be some damn good tasting pie. My cousin went so far as to wrap it up and stick it in the small refrigerator, they have at the funeral home. But as siblings are, her brother took it out and cut himself a slice. He did say it was OK but nothing the write home about. She however, saw the slice taken out and went on a rampage, hunted him down and started screaming at him. Apparently most of the family just watched in shock and awe (and laughter). She caused such a ruckus that they called the police and fire department. Now let take a moment to tell you that the fire department was across the street and it still took them 20 minutes to get there, go figure. I was told that one of the firemen stuck his head out a window and yelled across the street for them to stop, seeing as how they had moved it outside after she marched downstairs and had the pie to lock in her car, yes prison pie all locked up for no one but her. At this point my uncle decided he would find her keys and steal the pie, just for the hell of it. So you know what direction this was all going.
Part 2:
Where we better understand the family dynamic and why blood is thicker than embalming fluid.
Don’t worry, I didn’t forget the death threat, how could I. It seems it was centered around my poor mother. An aunt, by marriage, that’s important, told a cousin, who told an aunt, who told my mother, who told another cousin (who is more like a sister), who told me, at which point I swore them all not to tell my hotheaded brother, (do you see how this works), that she thinks my mother had killed her sister. That’s how she put it. I’ll try and stay on point here, my dead aunt came to visit my mother on Saturday (she wasn’t dead then), and that’s a completely different story. She told everyone that they had a horrible fight at which point my aunt left, angry and distraught. She was still angry and fuming on Sunday, when she had the heart attack my mother supposedly caused and which killed her. This of course caused my mother to practically have a nervous breakdown and a heart attack of her own. How could she show her face at the viewing knowing everyone thought she may have caused the heart attack that killed her sister? Never mind that not one bit of it was true, in fact, my soon to be dead aunt had a delightful time visiting my mom and dad and even stayed late to have fried chicken well into the night. My other cousin (who is more like a sister), decided to confront my aunt, by marriage, and tell her she needed to apologize to my mother. That unfortunately did not happen, as with most rumors, this one got to my cousins, whose mother it was who died. Like a momma cat protecting her young, one of the cousins found my aunt, by marriage, and confronted her, in the fainting room. Yes the funeral home has a fainting room with a fainting couch, which as a side bar, we found my 91 year old uncle asleep on and thought he was dead too, see how the mob mentality starts to take over. Well, she yelled and screamed at her, as all the family listened with a mixture of awe and fear. My aunt, by marriage, was informed that she was a horrible person to hurt my mother and that she was a damn liar, also if she did anything like this again, my cousin would hunt her down and kill her. In true southern style, my aunt, by marriage, turned on her heels, nose in the air, grabbed her purse and husband, marched out of the funeral home and told everyone that she would not be at the burial, she had canning to do. I’m looking forward to seeing if she comes to the next family reunion. My mom was mortified but much more relieved. She’d been vindicated and the family dynamic set right again. Thus, day one of the 3 day funeral event that was my visit home was complete.
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