It is our family custom, after the passing of a loved one, that we gather together and celebrate the life of that person. Whether it be in church or not, this ceremony of sorts provides closure, for want of a better word. The breaking of the community bread and the reconnection of various family members and friends is important for us. Weddings and funerals — we try and show up for them all.
My mother-in-law — we will call her Shirley, coz that was her name — died up in Oregon, but her wishes were that she be cremated and then buried with her husband in Watsonville. This all sounds very simple, except that it is the polar opposite of simple. Trying to get the permissions to transport cremains over the border and then open a grave in Saint Elsewhere for said cremains is not for the faint of heart. They should teach the process in school. It’s also not cheap!
Now the scene is set for you, our story can begin. Keep in mind that this does have the makings of a rather poor Hallmark movie, but it is all, sadly, factual.
Let’s go back a bit — about 20 years — when my father-in-law Darrell passed away. He was buried in this same cemetery, and, afterward, we went on to have a celebration of his life potluck back at the family home. All seemed to be going along very nicely until my husband’s ex-wife showed up to the party and gave him a big hug right in front of me. You would have thought that they had started smooching on the dance floor, but this little gesture — theirs had not been the best divorce — absolutely took me to the ground and I was furious. How dare she break into our family gathering like this, how dare she hug my husband! It took me several days to come off the roof. Not my finest moment.
Previously, in fact, years back, the ex-wife had left my husband and their two children for another man, Joe. Husband recalls the day he found out where she was living, went to the house and knocked on the door. Joe was afraid to open it, in case an angry husband was there to punch his lights out, but he finally did. My husband told him to take care of her and shook his hand. I’m sure that was a most confusing episode in Joe’s life. Later on, when their paths crossed again, Joe reminded him of that day and how it took him a while to realize what the handshake was all about (she was a complete handful, and their marriage did not last).
When husband and I started dating, we began to build our blended family from the ashes of two failed marriages. His two boys and my girl. The ex-wife paid no child support or helped us in any way. She had removed all the furniture from the family home, where he remained with the boys, and demanded that she also be paid when the house sold (there was no equity in it). We called her “Disney Mom,” because she would take the boys out for a nice meal and then return them home without even a pair of new socks to their name. She was a real piece of work.
Once the house finally sold — and made nothing — we were on our knees in debt, while she and Joe were enjoying the single life and cruising around in my husband’s 1967 Camaro that he had devotedly restored to her previous glory and the ex had taken ownership. “Take whatever you want,” husband had told her. “Just leave me with the kids.” And that is exactly what happened. The ex-wife soon became pregnant, and she and Joe got married.
The boys were older now and able to make their own choices about the inevitable back and forth children must suffer in divorced families. We raised the three kids in our care to the best of our ability and dug ourselves out of an enormous financial hole that husband had built with the ex. Ultimately, the ex-wife split with Joe, moved to Oregon and passed away. To this day, I have never said anything derogatory about her in front of the boys.
Move stage forward to recent times and we are gathered around Shirley and Darrell’s grave. People had flown in, or driven some considerable distance, to all be together for this important event and pay their respects. “Look, it’s Joe!” exclaimed someone in our gathering. And sure enough, it was Joe from the previous paragraphs. Joe was the Grave Digger for Shirley and Darrell’s burial. Goodness me. Bad movie, what? I noticed that our boys gravitated toward him in this super random setting over their grandparents’ grave. You absolutely cannot make any of this up. He was, after all, their stepfather for a while, until everything went south with their birth mother.
After the eulogy at the gravesite, we moved on to the celebration of life at the Rod and Gun Club. Unbeknown to me, there had been a post-service convo with Joe, The Grave Digger, and somebody had invited the boys’ half-sister to join us at the celebration of life. Don’t super weird things always seem to happen at weddings and funerals? This half-sister had not been in touch with the boys for nearly a decade, but someone at the gathering informed our granddaughter Madison that here was an auntie she didn’t even know she had, and then she became a little starstruck too.
I had been blocked in a corner at the time with undesirable uncle and aunt and had no clue what was going on outside the venue. My daughter got so upset by this appearance of the long-lost sister, when she was the sister they grew up with, that she came back into the club in full-on sobs. Oh my. I did have to wonder at the person who authorized this most inappropriate of reunions at a celebration of life for Shirley. Who had made my girl so upset?
Move stage to that evening and I remarked how inappropriate that whole thing was. “Oh, I didn’t think it was a big deal,” said husband casually. “I told Joe she could come if she wanted.” “NOT A BIG DEAL!” Mama Bear came out of her den with her claws poised, and it wasn’t pretty. “MY DAUGHTER HAD A COMPLETE IDENTITY CRISIS AT HER GRANDMOTHER’S FUNERAL AND YOU DIDN’T THINK IT WAS A BIG DEAL?” How incredibly thoughtless that was. I went on yelling at him until he could escape my wrath.
Surely, if the boys had wanted to revisit with their half-sister, they could find a more fitting time and place. I was angry for quite some time and told husband he owed daughter an apology. He’s probably still mulling over my choice of words that muddied the waters of that day.
Weddings and funerals, eh. Some of them will live on firmly in family folklore and the memory bank. Whether you want them to or not.
