Giggle at a funeral

Anyone who has had the joyous task of planning a last minute funeral should appreciate this post.  Let's face it (besides the obvious emotions), death is horribly inconvenient and comical all at the same time.  

My least favorite part of planning my mother's funeral was picking out the casket.  For those of you who know me, I am in sales.  Sales people don't like to be sold- especially when it comes to a $12,000 tin can.  Life lesson to the wise... please include your burial preferences in your last will and testament.  The likelihood of them being followed to a "T" is low, but at least you might save any additional stress to your surviving family.  During the weekend of my mothers funeral, I had several out-of-body experiences -I refer to these states as my vacation from the numbness.

We (Doug, Cormac, Natalie and Dad) met with Steve the funeral director at 9am.  To make us "more comfortable," the secretary ushered us to a conference room.  I think she had gotten wind of our spirited temperaments and wanted to minimize the disruption to any future clients.  Doug was having a hard time sitting still, Cormac was stoic, Natalie was spinning circles in the "fun executive" chairs, and Dad was chatty.   There was also an unlimited supply of peppermints and Kleenex laced with lotion.  So thoughtful.

Steve entered from what I swore was a secret entrance hidden in the wall, but my siblings have debunked this delusion- they have since reassured me it was a normal door.  He proceeded to explain to us how the body is prepared for the viewing, the casket selection process and any special requests for her funeral service.

Natalie and I were tasked with picking out her outfit.  Steve was very quick to remind us that this should include undergarments.  I couldn't have been happier.  My mother never wore matching bra and panties.  I was finally going to have the opportunity to convert her.  I always match and want to be prepared in the event of an emergency.  Nurses in the ER really do make fun of your undergarments and upkeep should they have to cut your clothes off.   Don't believe, me?  Just ask one, I dare you.  I certainly don't want to be known for boring, mismatched panties and an unkempt bikini line.

Natalie and Cormac both were interested in the embalming process, so I politely excused myself from the conference room into the casket showroom.  Dad was mindlessly running his hand on all the caskets and Doug had stepped out for a smoke break.  Once everyone was reunited in the showroom, the fun part began.  Steve was pumped up and ready to sell.  It was like being on a car lot, people need cars- just like they need caskets.  He was 50% closer to closing the sale, he just had to be convince us to buy the Batesville Eternal Slumber 3000 casket from him and not from Costco.

We started with a quick run down of how caskets are made, the different models and Florida state law requirements.  In addition to being sealed in a casket, she would also be entombed in a cement vault to prevent "lifting" during a catastrophic flood.  My brothers really liked the rosewood casket, until they came to the realization that they would be the ones carrying it.  They quickly focused their attention to the light-weight, aluminum caskets. 

Doug wanted to make sure mom would be comfortable, so, he hopped in the casket to test out the springs.  The best part, he was wearing a wife beater, work jeans and steel toe construction boots.  He looked so much softer and sweeter against the purple satin lining.  Steve was being tested and he responded to him by demonstrating to us how the coils are double lined, the bottom sealed to prevent leakage and that since the bodies tend to sink deep into the casket during the viewings and services.  This particular casket came with a crank powered leveling system that could raise and lower the body at any time.  My survival instincts were beginning  to kick in and I was ready to bolt and run 13.4 miles back to our condo on the beach.  I knew that my step mom would have a margarita ready for me when I got there.

But wait...there's more.  Dad asked Steve what display on the wall was for.  This display featured 30+ porcelain statues.  There were soldiers, flags, dogs, cats, birds, fish, peace symbols...you get the point.  Steve puffed up his chest, proud to share with my father that the glorious display he was looking at was the next thing at funerals...casket corners.   Seriously?  This was the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard of.  You can now pimp your casket, just like you pimped your '88 Chevy Caprice Classic.

On several different occasions,  Mom would joke that she just wanted to buried in a pine box.  So with no regard for her final wishes, the casket got pimped.  Sorry mom, the Batesville Eternal Slumber 3000 just didn't feel complete with out the casket bling.  Dad piped up and said that since there are four corners, each child should select a porcelain statue.  

Doug immediately picked the 10 point buck.  What this had to do with mom, I have no idea.  Cormac liked the flower pot with the garden tools.  He was quick to share that he felt mom was happiest when her hands were in the dirt.  I concurred.  Next was the hummingbird; Natalie picked this one to honor mom's nickname, Birdie.  The pressure was on and I folded.  I couldn't do it.  I thought it was the tackiest thing in the world and Dad ended up stepping in.  He felt that picking something Catholic would please his ex-family-in-law.  Silly Dad, nothing pleased the Halloran's.

Finally, it was done.  The casket was selected and Steve made a killer commission.  I am happy to report that the funeral went off with out a hitch.  Five weeks later, I received a UPS package with the remaining three casket corner sets.  I decided to store them in the attic- next to her purse I can't bring myself to go through.  

Steve eventually got what he was due.  After multiple attempts to get the spelling on mom's headstone correct, Doug decided to take matters in his own hands.  Late one night, he and a couple of buddies snuck into the cemetery and yanked out her headstone.  Doug kindly placed the headstone at the front door of the funeral home in the early morning hours with a note for Steve.  One week later, the correct one was installed.

In the end, it wasn't what she was buried in that mattered-  It was who buried her.  After the graveside service, my sweet brothers borrowed two shovels from the cemetery attendant and proceeded to bury her by hand with sweat, tears and a 4' pile of fresh Florida clay.