A decade or more ago funerals and burials in my family became “trendy.” A cousin whose mother had died, kept her ashes in his front hall closet. One day I went to him and said “I wish you would find a resting place for your mother. People will begin to ask why I address the closet each time I disturb ‘her.'”
Soon I received a phone call instructing me to meet said cousin and his brother at the boat launch on the lake with croissant. We would deposit their mother in the lake and then have a floating after party. I arrived with doughnuts – only possible thing at the last moment.
I sat on the back seat securing the urn while the brothers drove on seated up front, protected from the sun by a canopy. They got lost in touring the lake when I became funeral director: “stop here, here is the perfect place.” Then I was asked if my camera could do video which it did and so there is a video of the moment mamma was hoisted over the side in a pot designed by one of the brothers and with prayers following. I had been able to gather some white roses to cast upon the waters as it were and then we settled into doughnuts.
It took two years to bring closure to that family. I know of another in which a loved one’s ashes were scattered by the table spoonful to all places loved by the deceased. Oh, well wasn’t it Napoleon who wanted his heart buried in Paris or some such thing? As if people will care once they are back in business of their own lives.
My step father ordered up a huge granite marker to run the full length of his grave with mother. It cost a fortune and I said to him that it was a grand waste of time. ” There will be another ice age and it will be moved.”
While kneeling at mother’s casket in the funeral home, I noticed unpainted portions and price tags hanging from the bottom of it. These are details that a loved one should not have to encounter. As a result of this, I was at the graveside service checking to see that the corrections had been made rather than paying attention to the service and creating memorable moments for myself with mother at the goal post.
Mother was buried in the church yard of an upscale Main Line Episcopal Church. The reception was in the church hall with burial just outside so I could move with my champagne from the party to the platform overlooking the gaping, deep hole to discuss things with the diggers. Life is very basic. Death should be. Ashes are just easier to deal with overall. Inasmuch as my grandparents were taken from their slots in the family mausoleum and their coffins scattered, it seems ashes are the safest bet to retain dignity.
Charlotte Whitney Allen of Rochester had her sights set on never leaving home. She decreed her ashes be buried in her garden followed by a large party for her friends – a small coterie who met at her home weekly. When the new owner moved in, rumoring about Charlotte having been planted in the back yard flourished. One of the rumor mill minions was an old beau of mine. If he had one too many, he would tell you all about it and proudly as if Charlotte and company had really pulled one off. I burst his balloon when I suggested it might have been against city ordinance.
Months passed and finally the new owners were informed it was true, Charlotte was in point of fact in the garden. Their instructive remark: Please let us know where she is so that we don’t disturb her. Other municipalities are not as forgiving and several have been moved to pass ordinances recently. It is one thing to leave the dog’s ashes, another your own.
For my own end, I have gone green. I ducked into my funeral “agent’s” place of business without appointment. I told them it would only take 10 minutes to plan my funeral and it did. I was to be cremated and slipped under the sod where my father is buried. On the way out after the appointment, I encountered a huge fish tank. I turned to the staff member and said “how about burial at sea in that thing.”? I just am irreverent about “remains.”
wdednh
June 16, 2012
Reblogged this on YOU DECIDE.
samhenry
June 16, 2012
Thank you wdednh and so good to see you.
James Crawford
June 16, 2012
Great one Sam Henry.
Do to the chaotic, reprehensible history in my “family”, I never knew anyone in my father’s family and had been taught to be ashamed of my mother and her mother. I had absolutely no clue about where they were buried. Years later after my evil step siblings turned vicious, I did some research on family history. It was a sordid tale of adultery and embezzlement that drove a first wife to suicide then more embezzlement and abandonment that contributed to my mother and father dying in their early twenties. I will not bore you with the details except to say that when my attorney provided me with true copies of their marriage certificate and my birth certificate I exclaimed, “I’m not a bastard.”
More research confirmed that my dad had been languishing in an unmarked grave near Santa Ynez California and my mother and her mother were buried with relatives in Summerville Oregon. I have no idea if my late father cared, but it was good for my soul to get a tomb stone for his grave and have a small service that allowed me to meet people who knew my parents and myself so many years ago. My wife, children and I also made a pilgrimage to Hawaii, arriving only a week before the apartment building on Lewers street of Wai Ki Ki beach that they had lived in was demolished. We toured the Punahoe school that my mom graduated with honors from at age sixteen in spite of parents’ divorce her mom’s suicide with full scholarships to either Vasser or Stanford. Along with having a lot of fun, we had a traditional Hawaian ceremony for my Grandmother by throwing flowers in the ocean.
I have no doubt that these observances comforted my father, mother and grandmother. I suspect God allows them to know what I feel. However; venerating the dead can be a catharsis that banishes the demons that torture the living.
DarcsFalcon
June 25, 2012
@Mr Crawford – what an amazing story!
samhenry
June 16, 2012
WOW I mean WOW what a great tale. Worthy of Herman Melville. I am happy that you had a part in putting your parents to rest. I do believe it is a catharsis. I don’t much go for scattering ashes ALL over the place. I like to know I can ceremonially go to one place even though they will not be “there” so to speak.
samhenry
June 21, 2012
I have removed the comments of two members of our group. I cannot allow personal remarks that are negative of any kind. It is all bullying and I do not want this blog to be known for it or to scare people away that might comment. If there are three infractions per year, I will be forced to revoke commenting privileges here fr 6 months.
I will appreciate your cooperation in following and in understanding of these guidelines.
James Crawford
June 22, 2012
I’m sorry
blackwatertown
June 21, 2012
I really enjoyed this post of yours. It’s good to discuss matter like this which are often taboo.
For most of my life I’ve been of the opinion that headstones, markers, etc are important – for historical reasons, for future people to wander past and read – as well as family focal points.
But at some point I moved over to your way of thinking. Under a tree is good. Back in the cycle of nature.
samhenry
June 22, 2012
You and I have moved in the same direction, Roo. I think historical markers are great for world kings and conquerors. We have become too attached to a person’s “remains.” We need to know where they are. Could we ever pinpoint this anyway even when said dead was alive?
DarcsFalcon
June 25, 2012
Memorials can be good for us, the living, I think. It helps make the parting more real, especially if there have been many years or miles between the person who died and their loved ones.
The remains though, well that’s another story! I’m kind of with you on this one Sam, however, I have weird fear of being caught alive in a crematorium, lol, so I guess it’s in the ground for me.
I used to have a favorite redbud tree I wanted to be buried under. 🙂