southern by the grace of god

Oct 10

Posted by: Scott in: blog, caleb isaiah, family, me myself and i, memories, parenting, ramblings

What people in other parts of the country, or world for that matter, may not realize, is that when someone dies in the south, the friends, and by friends, I mean anyone who may have ever known the deceased in their entire time spent on earth, assume that the family of the deceased might not feel like cooking. For the next 2 years. So this group of people dutifully takes it upon themselves to bring truckloads of food to the home of the deceased. And just in case additional food is still needed, the church has your back. They have an entire committee to fulfill this task to its entirety. On a table next to the door, there are two books. One for friends to sign and let the family know that they had come by, since, due to the mass chaos, each family member may not remember/visit with each person. The second book comes with little number stickers. You sign your name, list the dish you brought next to your number, then place the corresponding number on your dish. At this point, the family will probably need to go ahead and hire someone with a fancy named PhD to come and organize the refrigerator so that all of these casseroles fit. You wouldn’t want great Aunt Sally’s neighbor’s hairdresser to spend her precious time making tomato aspic, only to have it thrown out prematurely due to refrigerator overcrowding.

What is Aspic anyway? Turns out, at least half of my family has no idea. It is that mystery dish as you make your way down the food line, you know, the one you point to and whisper to your line neighbor, “what exactly is that?” They don’t know either, so you nonchalantly pass it by and add an extra deviled egg to fill the hole on your plate. Of course my mom not only knew what it was, but made her way through a third of the pan with a fork. My cousin came by and said “What is that?” A few “I don’t knows” chimed in, since we all knew that the visitor who delivered it had been long gone (yet surprisingly enough, the dish had barely been touched). My mother announced that it was Aspic, “just delicious,” she said. “Smells like butt,” Katie replied.

But just in case you aren’t about to brave the aspic, like I said, the church bereavement committee has your back. They swoop in with 5+ loaves of bread…you know the cheaper bread that comes in the loaf that is longer than your arm? Pounds upon pounds of sandwich meat, sandwich cheese (and not the individually wrapped stuff either). economy sized mustard and mayo, all things syrofoam (plates, coffee cups, dessert plates), all things plastic (more cups – the red and blue solo beer style ones, boxes of plastic silverware), napkins and gallons upon gallons of sweet tea. It is like a picnic in a bag…serves 200. And if you’re my family…just add cheap wine, and you have yourself a feast. We’re never not hungry. Even in death, food unites us. Well except me. I barely ate, but the rest of these people ate and drank like it was an all-you-can-eat-buffet contest. Winner gets first dibs at the furniture! I laid low most of the time, looking for a quiet corner to hide. My family is big. My grandmother had seven children. In nine years. There’s a saying that goes…Families are like fudge. Mostly sweet, with some nuts. Well just imagine if you forgot to add the sugar. That’s my family. This is where the wine came in. The steady flow of cheap Shiraz was enough to take the edge off and keep the battles to a minimum. Walking into the house, it would be hard to imagine that someone had recently died. People were laughing hysterically. Because that is mostly what my family does. Tell embarrassing stories and laugh at each other. Remember that time we threw a shovel over the fence and hit Gracie in the head? What about the stinky ducks that Mary’s boyfriend gave her…we took them to be made into duck stew, remember that?? What it must have been like to be our neighbors when we were growing up…somebody was always screaming or crying.

Take for example, my cousin Bill, who just became a new Dad, congrats Bill! When he was in college he hurt his back. How you ask? Well it all started off as a camping trip. You can already tell this is going to be funny. No one goes camping in college to enjoy the scenery. He was swinging from a vine. Vine broke. Picture Bill sitting on the couch, legs stretched straight out in front of him. This is how he landed. Right on his ass, thus compressing a vertebrae. So fast forward to the hospital, he was laying on a stretcher in hallway, in Greensboro, Georgia, perhaps considered by some to be the asshole of the United States. As I said, our family eats, no matter the circumstances. So he was reaching his fingertips down toward a bag of Frito’s. The nurse came by and said “What do you think you’re doin?” He said “Oh could you just hand me that bag of chips and bottle of water, I’m just starving.” “Uh-Uh,” she replied, “you caint eat!” “Well why not?” Bill asked, confused. “We gotta make sure your shitter works!” And I mean really, how can you argue with that. By the time you recover use of your jaw, she will be down the hall anyway. Of course my uncle said “You should have told her that it works like a front loading washer. Put something in, something’s gotta come out.”

So on that note. I’m home. I feel…uncertain how to move forward. I just assumed the casket would be open, and I would get to see her one last time, but I was later told, her wishes were to have it closed. By the time I was able to tear myself away from Caleb’s clingyness, we were moments away from entering the service. So I never got to see her. I feel like it was better that I respected her wishes (unknowingly at the time), but a few family members chose to see her earlier that morning. I feel like I was waiting to see her for closure, and I didn’t get that. The rest was kind of a blur. Everyone complimented on how cute Caleb looked and what an angel he was during the service. He kept his voice pretty low the whole time, and sat somewhat still. He kept asking to go home, and alerting me as to who was crying, all while looking very concerned for the person crying. When he saw tears in my eyes, he took my face in his hands and turned me right towards him and asked “what’s wrong mommy?” As we exited the service, I saw a line of sheriff’s in uniform with their hats over their chests. Will’s parents, my Aunt Marcia and Uncle Edward, had paused to shake hands with them and thank them for coming. I lost it all over again. William’s funeral is so vividly etched in my head. The streets from the church all the way to the cemetery were lined on both sides with saluting officers from all over the state of Georgia. Police, Sheriff, Highway Patrol, all of them. With their lights on. The crowd at the church spilled out onto the streets. It brought back a flood of memories seeing those officers at the door as we were leaving.

I am mentally exhausted. I wrapped up in a blanket brought home from my grandmother’s wardrobe and fell in bed last night. I am relieved to be done with everything. There will be a lull between now and the beginning of the holiday season, during which I hope to return to normalcy. I counted on a calendar, Caleb and I have only been home 8 out of the last 20 days. He has spent 6 days in the car during that time. I just want simplicity. I need simplicity.

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