Categories: uncategorized
Date: 20 April 2007 22:45:32
Mama was an Elvis nut. She even had a signed framed poster from The King -- of course, it was a commemorative poster, signed after his death. Mama also had a sense of humor.
Baby Sister Jolene tells of finding Mama in need of a hand up, once during those last days as she grew weaker -- she walked to the other side of the house and found Mama giggling weakly, quietly calling out as loudly as she could, "Heeeeeelp! I've fallen and I can't get up!" She was a character. We all come by it honestly, I guess.
She even fought through that final painful day with us, enjoying her grandkids and great-grandchild, getting kisses goodbye from everyone, I am convinced, just so she could pass away in the early morning of April Fool's Day. Absolutely fitting.
I envision her rising when the Last Trump sounds, hopping up and spreading her arms and smiling -- "Aha! It wasn't permanent!"
When we organized Mama's two memorial services, we tried to include elements of our lives that we'd gotten from her. We included a nod to her daily loves, Elvis and her cats. There was music, music, music -- continuous Elvis Gospel low in the background before and after the services; her daughters singing a sad old Roy Acuff song that Pappy Greene used to sing to his girls; and hymns by all present.
For the Friday evening Louisiana memorial service, we chose the less formal chapel at the funeral home. We arranged the large comfy sofas, armchairs and pretty, upscale little folding chairs into loose groupings all over the room, to encourage conversation, and to keep at bay the dreaded curse of Rows Of People Looking At The Backs Of Heads.
Elvis softly sang in the background about peace in the valley and having a little talk with Jesus and all those other sweet old Southern Christian concepts. The visitors mingled and wandered back to the kitchen area for a drink or some "funeral food", those light refreshments we always have during a wake or visitation.
Grandchildren and daughters gathered in the kitchen to try for the first time singing together the old Acuff tune, there where the harmonies were good. Some dear old friends who don't drive at night were able to be with us for that early part of the evening -- everyone was so sad that Mama's unexpectedly quick passing meant we all didn't get to gather together.
On the chapel's side tables, we draped flowing lavender accents, and included some darker wine shades of tulle to blend with the burgundy drapes. There were a few kitty cat whatnots, and a 1941 framed print of a very blonde Jesus that had belonged to Pappy since Mama was born. There were lovely unscented white column candles in clear class, and a beautiful portrait of Mama taken before she fell ill.
Having gone with cremation, there wasn't a coffin taking up the front of the room, and only a few flowers, since we'd requested donations "in lieu" for the little grandkids' college fund. So, Middle Sister Beryl had room for two easels holding large white presentation boards, which we'd covered with lavender lace. She stapled on dozens of photos of Mama in roughly chronological order. Everyone present seemed to receive a lot of comfort gathering together to look at the photos.
So there up front, next to the portrait and a steady bright candle, sat Mama's little container of "cremains", draped in shining lavender satin under a sheer lavender tulle dotted with tiny sparkling flowers. It was sort of like she was dressed for the ultimate prom, or wearing the beloved childhood piano recital dress we saw in some of the photos.
I don't even remember that dress. The sisters and I must have loved it to death many years ago. Mama was like that -- she loved her keepsakes as well as the next person, but she was also such a giving person that she would risk those mementos for the delight of her daughters.
Between the hymns we all sang, my preacher spoke, Beryl's preacher spoke, there was some prayer -- it was very nice. Beryl was going to read a short poem she felt really embodied what Mama did for us, what all good mothers do -- but she was too choked up, so she had her husband stand to help her.
He about lost it, as well, until I muttered a "told you so!" to his son, who was seated on the arm of my chair. He threatened to make me stand up and read it, which served wonderfully to toughen up the both of them, and they got through it just fine.
We closed with a lovely contemplative rendition of Mercy Me's "I Can Only Imagine", just an acoustic guitar and the one sweet-voiced lady, with those who knew the song softly joining in. It was an absolutely beautiful and unusual evening. Everyone seemed very pleased with the fitting ways we'd honored Mama.
When we gathered again for her burial in North Carolina, it was a breezy cool Monday morning. There was a traditional graveside setup, folding chairs in rows under a green tent/awning, with a little table for mama's portrait and the lavender-draped cremains.
Of course I had to get my hands on those regimented chairs. They needed to be moved out to the edges of the shady area under the awning, anyway, to allow those seated to catch some sun. Too chilly otherwise!
Again good ol' Elvis set the mood, a little sorrow, a little cheer. A nearby pair of concrete benches we covered with fluffy flowing clouds of lavender/wine tulle, and there we set some kitties, and some stories and sentiments about Mama, printed on lavender paper and framed in silver. The picture boards stood there, where family and friends could stroll over to look at them.
Jolene found the speaker for the morning memorial -- a retired Unitarian preacher, a lady who only does Hospice counseling and funerals now. We thought that was mightily appropriate, to find a Hospice chaplain.
Again there was singing and prayer and lovely sentiments. We all took long-stemmed multi-colored roses from a bouquet meant for that purpose -- some few kept theirs to press, but most passed Mama's little table and left a rose for her, gracefully piling them on the lavender satin-under-tulle.
We closed with "As The Deer", my sisters and I -- all this singing was a cappella, even at the chapel, but for the one guitar piece. So many found that unusual and simple and beautiful.
The gentleman who ran the graveyard told us to take our time, to handle things as we wished -- he offered to uncover the grave and allow us to lower Mama into it if we wanted to. Jolene thought, horrified, of trying to keep her little boy out of the hole all the way through the service... That image provided us with some dark humor, I'll say. So, we left all covered and draped. We planned to leave our little Mamman's burial for the gentleman to complete.
After 'most everyone had gone on about their Monday, Jolene gathered up the boy and waited in her car -- and Beryl and I chose the Elvis CD, and a stem of four joined rosebuds, one for each of Mama's children -- and we tucked them into her tiny little "vault", the two-foot-long overcoffin that cremains are buried in. Surely some archaeologist 2,000 years from now will find the earthly ashes of Mama, and of those roses, along with the Elvis CD -- and will figure we were a simple people who were not overly materialistic, but that we adored religious music. Heh heh.
We wrapped the loose flowing bouquet of roses in shimmering lavender tulle, and laid it by the vault. I could see the kind cemetery employee waiting patiently off in the distance for us to finish up at our own pace.
We packed up our photos and fabrics and mementos in Beryl's car, where an aunt was waiting for us, to guide us to meet the family at a cousin's house for an incredible "comfort food" luncheon.
We stood there and looked around, and looked back just once more. Then we climbed in and shut our doors.
The "thunk-thunk" sounded awfully final.
Then we drove away.