“Just because you're miserable doesn't mean you can't enjoy your life.” ~Annette Goodheart
It was my father-in-law's wish to be cremated and his ashes spread over the Chesapeake Bay. His wife decided on a compromise – after all in marriage that is required. Half of him was kept for the Bay and the other half was entombed in a cemetery so that there would be a place to visit, and for her to go upon her death.
Nearly a week following his death, after the memorial service and prior to the Irish Wake at their home in Virginia Beach, Keith and I went to the funeral home to acquire the ashes. We pulled up, still in a haze, and went inside. Keith met the receptionist with a smile and stated "Hi my name is Keith Mahone and I'm here to pick up my father." The woman appeared a little puzzled and looked around to see if there was indeed some waiting to be picked up. She didn't say anything and then Keith, understanding the misunderstanding, spoke up stating "He's been cremated" the response to which was a lot of uncomfortable bowing and apologizing and then they returned with a small cardboard box and a red velvet bag with a gold drawstring - which Keith has always affectionately referred to as the Crown Royal bag - all the drinkers will get that. All in all a fairly strange interaction that was nothing less than hilarious to discuss the entire drive from Richmond to the beach – and of course to recount to any and all who would listen.
That weekend we paid our final respects in the way that you do following the passing of a close loved one. We have continued to pay respect to his memory everyday since then by talking about him, remembering him to our children, and honoring the legacy that he left behind. But on that weekend it was a raw party of emotions. There really wasn't much crying though. It was as if his sons and his wife were beyond crying. So we walked on the beach, told stories, drank his best wine, and may, or may not, have placed his ashes in the bay (I plead the 5th).
When the party at the beach was done we made our way up I64 to Richmond and the cemetery. It was meant only for the immediate family. So Keith and I, his brother and sister-in-law, step-mother, and Keith's aunt made our way to the place where the rest of the ashes would be laid to rest. The ashes were placed in a lovely marble box which Keith and his brother lovingly compared to a car battery as it matched one in size and weight. No one knew what to do that day. They placed the box on a bench and put the bag of ashes inside. We all stood there looking at it for a moment. As much as everyone tried to be somber and as much as we were all filled with the finality of the events taking place - the boys couldn't stop cracking wise. They decided that they should carry the tiny box together the three and a half feet from the bench to the space where it would be sealed - as if they were pallbearers.
We could not control our giggles at the ridiculousness of this sight. Two 6' tall grown men in their 30's dressed the part in their dark suits and ties, sweating in the Indian summer of mid-September delicately carrying their father's marble box of ashes to its final resting place in a wall. The boys' aunt was clearly annoyed at our complete disregard for the seriousness of the occasion. She simply didn't understand and we could never have explained. We clearly were bucking all of her traditional funeral expectations, a point that was clearly illustrated when she very sincerely asked “Where is Lanny?” to which we replied “He’s in the box.” She huffed a few more times but voiced no more complaints. But really how surprised could she be when less than a week prior - the fiancé of the dearly departed’s younger son had presided over the memorial service because she used to be an actress. It was at that moment she should have realized all bets were off.
When “it” was done and there were no more plans to be made, no more “on the 11th day of September in the year 2002 our father and husband was carried away on a golden chariot into the heavens to meet his…”, no more wine or parties to dull the quiet left in his wake we all went out for ice cream. I’m pretty sure he would have approved.
I realize that everyone has their own way of mourning, approaching anguish, and honoring their moments of despair. My grandparent’s battle with ill health and my father-in-law’s passing – in addition to so many other points in my life and my life with my husband – were, I feel, opportunities to make something good out of the senseless and confusing lot sometimes doled out by the universe.
Some may feel that this approach is disrespectful and in some cases they may be right but in these cases everyone was laughing together - we weren’t poking fun at any person or circumstance that they wouldn’t have made light of themselves.
My father-in-law’s passing was as tragic and unexpected as nearly anything that has occurred in our lives. We would gladly hand over all the world’s riches to have him here. Yet, the experience of his death brought everyone closer because of their willingness to cry, and yes laugh together; to share in the real emotions of things that make us know we are alive. I thank my grandparents for instilling in me the gift of humor and my father-in-law for doing the same – whether he meant to or not – for his son. And I thank the universe for making sure that we found each other.
"If you don't like something change it; if you can't change it, change the way you think about it." ~Mary Engelbreit
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