First for Gena
It's been two weeks now since Gena died. I had the honor of interacting with her family as plans were made for the viewing and funeral. I ordered flowers and planned the display for the church. I was well on my way to "getting through this." I was prepared to deal with Gena's death in a very straightforward manner. I knew it would be tough, but hey, we'd had her for many years longer than any doctor predicted. Yep, we'd get through this.
Saturday morning, March 1st, I got another call. My sweet Aunt Amy had left a baseball game on Friday evening and had a heart attack on the way to her car. She was in the hospital. Things didn't look good. There had been many minutes between when she fell and when she got professional assistance. Pray.
So, I prayed...for Amy...for Gene...for Gena...for sons and daughters...for husbands...for sisters and brothers...for friends. I can't remember if I prayed for me, I know there were others praying for me, though. Then I went out and bought some black shoes.
Sunday I went to church. Not my usual church, but a
church filled with incense and pageantry, responses in Latin, squeaky old pews, stained glass windows and lots of kneeling and bowing and crossing of oneself. And I prayed some more. It was a great place for me to pull the family history of Episcopal worship around me like a comforting shawl of God's grace.
In the afternoon my cousin called, "Martha." "David," I replied. "Mama's in heaven," he said. "I know," I forced myself to say through the tears, "I'll talk to you later." "I love you," said my cousin. "I love you, too," I tried to say.
What a wonderful thing it was to construct a casket spray that evening. I know Gena would have loved it and so would Amy. Salal went in first, then some seeded eucalyptus. Beautiful peachy roses came next - more than two dozen of them. Ivory stock added more scent, pale blue delphinium added a bit of color. Last came some pussy willow, a symbol for me of transformation. Gena and Amy both had a love of gardening.
Sean's comment was that the flowers would look great for a wedding. Wedding flowers, funeral flowers, both part of celebrations of new life.
Monday was the viewing for Gena, Tuesday was the funeral. At both events there were people who I hadn't thought about in years. Kids in my mind's eye were standing before me as young men and women. Gena and her family had asked for plants instead of flowers at the funeral. Because it is Lent, none of the plants would be left in the church after the service. We passed the word... bring a plant, you'll take one home. As people came into the church with their plants, we placed them around the baptismal font. Around the living water of baptism grew a living tribute to Gena. During the service we sang, we prayed, we laughed a little and we cried. And then, when we left the church, we carried home pieces of that living display... plants that will live on and be reminders of sharing life with a gracious, tenacious woman.
Now for AmyWhen I got home after Gena's funeral, I realized that I needed to go to Texas to honor Amy's life, too. I headed west on Thursday afternoon. I got in late that evening and settled into my pullout sofa bed.
Friday morning there was none of Amy's homemade bread with my breakfast coffee. The three of us in the house talked superficially during our time before the memorial service. We took our showers and dressed carefully. We asked each other if we looked ok. Then, finally, Uncle Gene picked up Aunt Amy's purse and we left for the church.
I felt awkward at the church, like people wondered why I would be crying when they'd never seen me before. I sat next to a cousin's mother-in-law who speaks only Spanish. Funny how that really helped me feel more a part of things.
Amy was very involved at her church and the sanctuary was quite full. The priest told of Amy's skill at baking. She talked about how willingly Amy told stories on herself and shared the story of Amy's accidentally sugarless pumpkin pie last Thanksgiving - we're not talking sugar substitute here, we're talking forgot-the-sugar pumpkin pie. Amy told the story so that others would know how even "the expert" made mistakes. And the priest talked about Amy's famous Christmas cookie trays, customized for each recipient. My cousins' daughters stood at Amy's bedside last Sunday and promised to continue that tradition. It was a lovely service.
After the service, there was a reception and a slide show. We left the church to go to cousin Steve's home. More food, more chatting. We watched the slide show again and again. We all started humming the song "Once In Love With Amy."
Over the course of the next two days I was able to soak in some great family time. I had time with Amy's four sons and many of their children. I had time with Uncle Gene. I consolidated flowers from the arrangements given for the funeral. I went through Aunt Amy's recipe boxes. I sat in Aunt Amy's chair.
Now, it's time to get back to the routine. But there are surely some holes. Two spectacular women are beyond my ability to touch them. But I do hear them and I do feel them and I'm so grateful to have them as part of my life.
The service was infused with a sense of comfort; I think the bishop felt it, too. After he laid hands on and prayed for all 26 of the youth being confirmed, the kindergarten kids trouped into the sanctuary. Father Jim greeted them as usual. Then, the bishop grabbed the loaf of communion bread from the altar and said to the little kids, "Look what I found!" Bishop Jones gave an impromptu lesson on the eucharist and invited the kids to stand in front of the altar as the communion prayers were said. One of the hymns during communion was "Wade In the Water." We clapped and sang; the bishop gave the choir a thumbs-up sign! I've always been happy to have a bishop visit us at St. Anne's. This was the first time I've felt like the bishop was more than a visitor - he was one of the family.
