Queen of the Funeral Home

There is an old cliché about Irish Wakes that liken them to a big party, where the mourners engage in boisterous revelry.  This is not entirely true. However they do seem to always evolve into a large family reunion.  No one knew this better then my mother.  Every morning the first stop in her perusal of the newspaper was the obituaries. She always knew someone, who had shuffled off this mortal coil. She was queen of the funeral home back when I grew up, well schooled in the proper wake protocol. She knew where everyone should sit; immediate family in the upholstered chairs upfront, lesser relatives further back, friends, co-workers, and neighbors in the cheap seats at the back. Children who had reached the age of reason were required to attend as well. Our job, back then, was to smile politely as we were dragged up to everyone she knew for an introduction.  We all knew our parts perfectly.  “You remember my daughters” she would ask as she pushed us front and center.  “Oh my God, yes, look how beautiful they turned out” would be the reply, as our cheeks were pinched.  Now don’t get me wrong, our looks did not send small children scurrying away in fear, however at different stages in our young lives, beauty was not the first adjective that popped into one’s head.  Mom just ate it up!

My mother was the go to person to find out everything you wanted to know about Wakes, but were afraid to ask.  She could tell you not only what type of floral tribute to send, but which florist gave the best price, and the nicest flowers.  She had a personal stash of Mass cards ranging from a single all the way up to eternal perpetual prayers said by the good brothers and sisters in the overseas mission. You want to donate to a Charity in the deceased’s name?  She would know their favorite charity, or make sure she found out.  She could also supply you with a name and address of where to send your donation. Woe to the poor funeral director who did not have enough tissue boxes scattered strategically throughout the funeral home. When Mom was in the house, that situation was rectified immediately! 

Mom also had opinions about obituaries.  She always maintained that what made up the dash was the most important.  I am talking about the dash that comes between the date of your birth, and the date of your death.  What you did between those dates should be remembered in one’s obituary.  She loved a good meaty obit which told you more than a spouse’s name and the number of children; one that included a person’s favorite pastime, or passion. 

My mother has been gone now, almost 10 years.  She had a wake and funeral that she would have been proud of.  What my sisters and I have been discovering (much to our surprise) is that she must have passed down the Funeral “Diva” gene to us. It seems that our first stop in the morning papers is the obituaries. We will then notify each other, and start making our plans accordingly.  We all have a stash of Mass cards, and know which florist to use.  One of my sisters has already written out her obituary, she is sure her husband would forget some of the things in the dash. (not that she is planning on leaving anytime soon, she feels her ETD, or estimated time of departure isn’t for at least another  30 years) I have to say I was surprised when I looked it over for her.  I didn’t remember her being a finalist in the Miss Universe Pageant circa 1979, or helping Al Gore invent the internet. Then again my memory is not what it used to be.

Depending on the closeness of the recently departed, I also bring my sons to the wake.  While there I drag them around to friends and relatives and say “you remember my sons?” And when they reply, “Oh yes, look how handsome they turned out!”  I just eat it up.