Where I'm from......

[christie]

Or rather, where Jess is from… funerals are the social event lil ole ladies have been preparing for since birth. Based on my limited experience with funerals in this area of the world, I have decided that its like a pageant and a point system is involved.

Last fall, when Jess’s stepdad died, we were here. At 2:30 AM, the director of the local funeral home is standing in the den and for some reason, singles me out. Here I am, in my jimmies, trying to fade into the background as all Howard’s siblings are coming in droves. The nice fella in a suit (who the hell wears a suit at 2 in the morning), says to me, “So we have some folding chairs and a coffee urn we can bring by and I need to know what time we can come with the wreath and the signs.” In my head, I am thinking, “Signs?!?!? What is he talking about?” Not wanting to appear stupid, my reply was something about we would figure that out and let him know when we came by the funeral home later.”

He was no sooner out the door than I had Jess cornered asking about the signs. I thought it rather soon for an estate sale. LOL Jess had no more a clue than I did.

I called my mother – she is from a small town. She said, “Signs?!?!? Are they having a yard sale?” LOL

I called my office and took a poll. Not one person had a clue about the signs.

Turns out that lil sammich board signs with the words, “Slow. Funeral in progress” are placed in front of your house, about 100 ft before and after, as well as a white ribboned wreath is placed on the house so as to notify all the locals that the point system has begun.

Not one moment past 5:30 am and the lil ole bluehairs are lined up outside the front door, cream of somethin’ casseroles in hand, plowing one another down in the race to get to the kitchen first to sign the register and lament about the character of Jess’s stepdad. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not human until after a pot of coffee has been consumed and its at least 10am. My neck is hurting from all the nodding and my face feels numb from all the smiling.

As the parade of lil ole ladies and their casseroles appear, the rivers of coffee flow as my mother in law, who has spent the last month caring for my fatherinlaw 24 hours a day and looks like she is next in line for funeral services, sat in a chair and was doted over, her care and commitment to her husband is validated and the whole scene is very reminiscent to a queen sitting on her throne, receiving adoration from the minions.

Thank god Momma was planted in the chair because I am not sure she could have even stood up – and the ironic part to me is that the procession, in all of their goodness and efforts, just didn’t take the hint that she needed to rest… she didn’t need another piece of cake, another cup of coffee.

Everyone tells us just what a saint Momma is and just how very tired she looks. I bite my lips nearly off in the attempts to not ask them why the fuck they don’t go home so she can just rest.

For three days, the pageant continued, the droves of people far and wide ensuring that their names have been recorded as well as their food contributions so that the correct number of points are allocated. Momma continued to reign, refusing to sleep, reveling in the attention and validation that her sacrifices have surely assured her a place in martyrdom.

When the signs and wreath are taken down, and the people stop the procession, its rather anticlimactic and she seemed a little let down. I kept waiting and waiting for an announcement in the local paper as to the rankings of the locals and the points to date.

I still wonder where the points are recorded.

While I do make a joke out of the entire event, I was rather impressed and humbled with the whole affair – that when we leave this world, our existence will be celebrated, our efforts acknowledged and that its not all been for naught – at least where we come from.