Fortunately my family isn’t psycho like yours, and my ex-in-laws were on their best behavior at the funeral.
But two weeks after my father died, I had a crying session. My husband at the time (now ex) got angry that I was still grieving and crying over my father, and had the gall to state that something must be wrong with me. Jerk.
kelli, The Hell with the high road.
Tell who you want whatever you want whenever you want in any terms you want.
Never explain, never apologize.
Life’s too goddamn short to waste on family members who expect to be treated civilly when they can’t even act like humanfuckingbeings.
{{{kelli}}}
z
kellibelli: Your story brings up so many memories for me.
My mother, too, had planned out her funeral to the minute details. Fortunately, none of them were hurtful ones. She wanted one of my brother’s close friends (a guy who had shithead parents, so Mom had taken him under her wing and loved him and treated as a son) to sit with the rest of her children. We were all proud to have Dennis sitting with us.
She made us promise not to allow them to play “Amazing Grace” at the funeral, because she had always complained after every funeral she attended that it was just a song designed to make the old ladies cry, and, besides, she had never considered herself a “Wretch.” The service contained mostly poetry — selections from “Dover Beach” by Matthew Arnold, The Rubaiat of Omar Khyaam, “Home Thoughts Abroad” by Robert Browning, “The Soldier” by Rupert Brooke, “The Last Hero” by G.K. Chesterton, “A Shropshire Lad” by Houseman, and a selection from John 14. (Yes, she was quite the Anglophile.) In the story of her life, she had them include the statement that “She always considered her children to be the major accomplishment in her life, and nothing gave her so much pleasure as to see them grow into adults that she could be proud of and marry and have children of their own, for in those grandchildren she saw her immortality.” This ripped my heart in two, as I had a 16-day old baby at home whom she had never seen, who would never get to meet one hell of a Grandma.
It was actually sort of comforting that we knew her wishes were being met at the funeral. One of her cousin’s commented that “It was just like Dorothy to be in control of things.” I think maybe it offered her some comfort to know that if at least she couldn’t control the fact that she was going to die, she could at least control the way she went out. Maybe your Mom had the same feelings. I wonder if that was behind her hug thing too — perhaps she was afraid that if she hugged you, she would lose control and start crying? Perhaps the lack of a personal note to you was a refusal to think about the fact that she was going to be forced to leave you behind?
I applaud her decision not to allow the children at the funeral, even if it did hack off your sister-in-law. When I was 9, my older sister Cathy died of cancer (on Halloween of 1970, actually.) My brother and younger sister and I spent all day at a friend’s house, and my friend’s Dad told us that night after trick-or-treating about her death. When we had visitation at the funeral home, one of my meddling aunts took it upon herself to drag me over to see Cathy’s body. I had never been to a funeral home before, and had no idea what we were doing at that strange place. It was a hell of a shock to be dragged across the room and be introduced to your sister’s cold, dead corpse without any warning.
We, too, had the unwelcome-as-hell “guest” at the funeral. One of my uncles (on my father’s side) had run my brother out of working in my father’s family-owned business, and had come pretty damned close to breaking up my parents’ marriage a few years earlier. When my parents had reconciled, my mother’s one condition was that that bastard’s name would not be mentioned in her house, and that he would not ever step foot in our house again. It galled all of us that the bastard would be at the funeral, pretending remorse. We all agreed to shut up and bear it for our father’s sake. He was there, but he at least did act respectfully and did us the grace of not acting like the asshole he is.
My Mom was a smoker as well. She had tried to stop, but had been unable to. I now selfishly use that as my excuse to try not to worry too much about inheriting a predisposition toward ovarian cancer and macular degeneration from her. (But, yes, I do get regular checkups.)
I’m so sorry, kellibelli. I know that it hurts so much at times that you wonder how you can exist. A week or so after Mom’s death, I came out of the grocery store with my 3 week old baby and saw a fire truck going by. I automatically thought “Oh, great, and now my house is burning down, too.” In my pain, I automatically assumed that everything bad in the world was happening to me.
The loss will always remain, but eventually you will reclaim your ability to take joy in other aspects of life. I wish you godspeed in making it to the point where thoughts of your mother lead to more thoughts of being glad to have had her for the time that you did than pain at having lost her.
Primaflora: Oh my God…
First, I have to commend Duckduckgoose and Featherlou for their advice. It’s spot-on, and they said it WAY better than I ever could.
Second… I (as a therapist) typically encourage people to be fully open and honest with children regarding death, and to bring them to whatever events are appropriate and that you, as a parent, feel they can handle. However, you are ABSOLUTELY correct in this situation… to bring a child to a funeral/wake/etc as what is, in fact, an experiment is nauseating on many, many levels. Shame on those parents.
Third… I’m very, very sorry to hear about the arrangements your mother chose to make. Although I am a HUGE proponent of people having their after-death gatherings take whatever turn they want (for the simple reason that I constantly battle my family over what I want to have happen), it sounds like your mom went a little overboard and didn’t take into account how it would distance and hurt you. There’s really nothing I can say at this point that will make it better.
Fourth- BOY, do I understand about the psycho family thing. I avoid open-casket funerals and wakes because when I was a kid my parents forced me to kiss my grandmother good-bye. I now laugh hysterically every time I see a dead body (kinda curbed that urge to become a mortician…). Mr. Bobkitty’s family creeps me out when it comes to funerals… they do the picture-of-the-dead-person thing, the ‘throwing themselves on the coffin’ thing, and take pictures of the children sitting on the person’s gravestone… and share these pictures like they’re totally normal. The most recent funeral I attended had this weird-ass cheering section on the altar (‘AMEN!’ ‘PREACH IT!!’), the hellfire-and-brimstone preacher (actually, TWO of them), and the added bonus of Mr. Bobkitty’s 16 year old daughter telling him that he was going to burn in hell because he’s not a Christian. :rolleyes: At his great-grandmother’s funeral, his uncle punched out the preacher mid-sermon because he kept talking about all the quality time he’d spent with ‘Miss Gomer’ reading the Bible. Well, the woman’s name was TOMER. Idiot.
You know, the one plus side of grief is it allows for a certain amount of leeway in behavior. People wouldn’t blame you if you totally went off and verbally bitch-slapped the lot of them. Perhaps this can be used to your advantage? 
I hope the funeral came out much less Spring-esque than you anticipated.
-BK
Kellibelli, I doubt you know me, but I’d be happy to post my dysfunctional duneral story if it helps you at all. In retrospect, it was pretty funny.
My grandmother was raised a Methodist, she married a Jewish man, and their children were raised as Jews. One of my aunts converted to Episcopalianism (sp?) and became a minister, also married a minister. When my grandmother died they INSISTED, regardless of ANY of the religious choices that grandma had made, she would be buried with a Episcopalian high mass. Not only that, but the ceremony must be at my aunt’s church, in Washinton DC, not in New York where Grnadma had lived and her few living friends still were. As a condolence prize to the rest of the family (who are all Jewish or atheists), they arranged that “anyone who was baptised can take communion, regardless of denomination”.
Cut to the day of the event: my SO and I both went with my mother. My SO and I are both goths. Needless to say, we have lots of formal funeral wear, and we dressed to the nines. My mother, my other aunt, and my grandmother’s sister all commented about how much she (my grandmother) would have appreciated our finery, she loved lush fabrics and ADORED overdressing. My Episcopalian aunt was horrified. Her entire congregation, which was invited to this event for some reason, was horrified. In fact, we were the only two people in any black at all. We were informed that black is considered “morbid” for funerals these days. Um, aren’t funerals are about death?
So we’re sitting politely through the ceremony… the tacky story about two leaves hanging on a tree together… the religious stuff that had nothing to do with my grandmother or her life… and we get to the mass part. They’ve sat the family up front, as is appropriate. The ministers doing the mass (my aunt and uncle-in-law) call the crowd up for communion. Their children, in the front row go up. There’s a pause. My other aunt (new agey-spirtiualist/agnostic) goes up. There’s a pause. My mother, my grandmother’s sister, myself, and my SO (Jews and atheists) are sitting tight in the second row. We are NOT christians, we are NOT going to take communion. The pressure builds. Finally, the rest of the congregation starts filing past, and EVERY SINGLE ONE of them gives us a nasty, poisonous stare as they go by.
Fun.
mischievous
Well, I am home now, and i feel pretty small.
For the most part, the funeral was beautiful. The turnout was HUGE, many of my sis-in-laws friends came to show support, I dont have any really close RL friends at the moment, but my oldest and dearest friend was there (to my suprise, as I hadnt called him lately) He has been my calvary through every major even in my life, and looking up to see his face made me suddenly feel like I would really be OK. (I have never been so glad to see anyone in my whole life, his being there meant so much to me)
The hippocritical step aunts showed up, I for the most part ignored them, they tried to horn into the family area, but got kicked out hee hee.
I went out into the parking lot to find my Dad (dad-dad, not step dad) he was bawling like a baby to my former stepmom, who was also in tears. I have never seen my dad cry in my whole life. He held me real tight while I reminded him to breathe in and out(he was really sobbing) and he said: “I love you Kelli”
He and Mom had a great passion, they fought like mortal enemies, loved like minxes. He loves her still.
My cousin Troy showed up, he hasnt been to a famliy function in 15 years. I barely recognized him. I started to cry when I saw him, and cracked: “this must be really bad if Troy actually came” it occurred to me then that yeah, it was really bad, mom is really dead.
The funeral director was telling us how many to a pew, and he as saying sometimes six, sometimes seven, but six is better. I quipped: “Are you saying we are big?” The look on his face was priceless!
JUST before they led the family out, my control freak aunt “P” nagged Troy because his sleeves were pushed up: “Its a funeral for gods sake!”
I began to giggle, then sob-giggle hysterically. I couldnt stop. They all thought, of course, she has finally snapped.
It was so funny, I guess you just had to be there.
My singing former uncle was there, didnt sing, he sat with the non-family, and appeared to be crying.
Mom wrote a beautiful letter to the family, and my brother read it with grace. She said she had done everything she wanted to, but that a 90th birthday party would have been nice.(That is just like my mom - smartass) He closed by talking about how mom always made lists, and its a good thing you folks came cuz she is making one now!
Everyone laughed, it was perfect.
The closing music was “Happy Trails” - smartass to the end.
The reception took forever, there had to be 2 or 3 hundred people there, and every second one patted my face and told me I looked like my mom. Many of them were crying. Our next door neighbours from TWENTY FIVE years ago were there!!
The burial was at a beautiful spot, spiting distance from the water, a small hole. The hole caused me some trouble for a bit - couldnt look at it. Found out later that my uncles had dug it themselves, for Mom. how hard that must have been. They stayed behind and filled it in. My uncle’s wife made a small marker , she hand painted a hummingbird on it. What a thoughtful thing to do as we have no marker yet.
SO thats what stands out: my dad sobbing over my mom, My cousin Troy’s sleeves, a handpainted marker, and seeing my friend Jim.
I wish there had been a wake, so many people were crying, hardly a dry eye in the place, and it felt…better… to be with them. Strange.
The only thing that really bothered me was the tottering senile old preist who said the same crap 5 times about jesus calling her home, and she lived for jesus. Um…
At one point I almost yelled at him, but contained myself. He meant well, he just is so old he didnt know he was repeating the same stuff.
So I guess I regret my harshness last night, I have been enormously stressed, and just kinda snapped. I love my family, warts and all.
The moral of this story? I dunno. Have a wake. Send a card, they really do make people feel better. Make a casserole or cookies, even if they suck, it shows you cared.
And maybe not to be too hard on the crazy relatives who are in their own kind of hell. Yup, feelin pretty small here.
Kels, never feel small about the way you truly feel. Times of sadness cause so many different emotions, including the anger you were feeling earlier. This is not advice, just some kind words… let yourself grieve in the way you can. Laughter, screaming, whatever makes YOU feel good. Take Care
A small psycho relative story.
When my grandfather passed away, he didn’t want a church service, just graveside prayers. My dad’s eight psycho sisters arrived in limousines, in matching black dresses and matching black sunglasses. At the end of the service (as if we hadn’t already laughed at them enough), two of them threw themselves on the coffin, waling like dying cats. It was like something out of the fricken Godfather. To this day I still laugh and when I see one of them in sunglasses.
Don’t feel small. You got no reason to.
You didn’t bitch at your relatives. You didn’t fly off the handle. You didn’t do anything, anything, anything, that you should regret.
You needed help. You found help, advice, some good stories and comfort. And you went to the funeral and it seems to have gone all right. No harm done.
Cut yourself a break. You did fine.
Kelli, If ya can’t vent on the Dope…
I’m really glad it went okay. I, too have my funeral planned. At my church we tend to do things kind of, umm, unconventionally. The first thing I want them to do is play “Spirit in the Sky” full blast! They’ll do it too. I have letters ready to read, other songs picked out-the whole bit. Of course, I don’t want it all used for quite a while yet. I’ve lost a lot of people lately and it just got me thinking about it, so after the latest funeral, I just sat down and put it all together. Of course if something happens to me, my kids are way too young to do anything and Mr. zoogirl doesn’t do well at this kind of thing.
Kelli, just hang in there. Take care of your stepdad, and let him take care of you if he wants to. How are your kids?
Remember, grief doesn’t come with a set of instructions. You just have to get through it anyway you can, and no one can say what’s right for you.
I know that sounds kind of cliche, but it’s true. I’m so glad we all could help you. I wish I could make it all just go away.
I forgot to add this.
About taking pictures of the deceased prerson. I took a picture of my son. The thing was, he had only lived six months and hadn’t been able to leave the hospital. The few pictures we had all showed him with various tubes and in an obvious hospital setting. The picture we got of him is the only one in which he looks normal. I know that’s not the same thing as taking a picture of someone who had dozens of pictures taken during their lifetime, but sometimes it’s the only chance you get.
I dont deserve you guys, but I am truly thankful that you are here.
Sue I have a Robert Palmer type video in my head now, too bizarre!
Kelli, you have my sympathy. I’m pretty new here, but I saw your first post about your mom, but I wasn’t registered yet and couldn’t reply then.
You are not the only person that has a wacked out family, as some of the other posts prove.
When my father died, all hell broke loose in our family. My parents had been separated for maybe 15 years, but had never gotten the big D. Only God knows why not. My dad had been living with a lady, Annie, for at least 10 yrs., who my mother hated and blamed for my father leaving. Actually my mom was a shrew, and I’m suprised that pop hung around as long as he did. She never dated anyone after pop left and was a very bitter person.
Anyway, Pop wanted to split his insurance so that Annie would be taken care of. He didn’t have all that much, and this would cut into what my mom, me and my three sisters would get. My older sister, P. an I did pop’s will and did what he asked. Hey, it was his loot. When my mom found out, she went berserk, said we were no longer her children, hated us, and hoped we would rot in the place where bad children go, and why didn’t we just lie to him and tell him that we did what he wanted, and on and on.
After the funeral, which went well, even with mom acting like she and pop had the wonder marriage, (You would have thought they were Ward and June) and my two younger sisters, bitch 1 and bitch 2, giving poor Annie the evil eye the whole time.
Afterwards, Mom had the family over for a buffet dinner and drinks. My cousin D. and I spent several hundred bucks on the booze, and everyone was doing their best to make sure we wouldn’t be taking any home. There were about 40 people, family and friends.
About 10:00PM, my Aunt decides that it’s time to go, and one of my other cousins, J. is driving her. When he backed out of the driveway, he ran into my BILs,(B2s husband, later convicted of bank robbery) car. My cousin D. and I jump in my PU and try to get J. to pull over. He ignores us and heads for the interstate. I actually had to run him off of the road and force him into a gas station to make him stop. My Aunt is fuming, J., drunk as a loon, is denying that he did anything to anybody’s car and refusing to go back to the house with us. Everyone at the station is looking at us. D. and I are trying to get J. into my truck so D. can drive J.s car back to my mom’s place. An off duty cop getting gas comes over because we’re getting a little physical with my idiot cousin, and wants to break us up. My Aunt goes of on this guy and tells him to go mind his own GD business or her nephews, and her son here, are going to kick his ass! I explain what’s going and get him to leave without calling the police.
We finally get them back to the house, and my Aunt decides that she needs one more highball, as she calls it, while ol’ cousin J. takes care of the insurance biz with my BIL. She passes out cold, and falls onto the coffee table that is laden with all kinds of cold cuts, dips etc. and turns it over, on top of herself. She is sprawled on the floor with her dress up around waist, covered in food. Seeing your aunt this way is not a pretty sight! Funny maybe, pretty, no.
My mom goes into hysterics screaming that her sister has had a heart attack. This of course causes the twits, B1 and B2 to go off too. My sister P. had to slap my mom to get her to shut up, while my cousin D. and I revived my aunt and got her cleaned up. We get another cousin to take my aunt and cousin J. home.
My cousin D., who my father took in while we were in our late teens, are now well into a case of beer each, happily laughing at the things pop did. He was a pretty funny guy, and made us laugh a lot.
Everyone is getting shitfaced and my other BIL decides that me and D. aren’t being reverent enough and he wants to fight with me out on the lawn. We actually get along really well, but he was tanked. So I decide, what the hell, let’s, by all means, do go a couple of rounds, maybe even roll in the dirt a little. We go outside and are just about to square off when my sister P. shows up and wants to know WTF is going on. My BIL, R. tells her that he is about to kick my ass. My sister P. is 5’1" and at least 98lbs, and she cracks him in the side of the head and nearly drops him. I guess he realized that since I’m 6’ and 240lbs, maybe the fight isn’t such a hot plan, so he goes over and punches the windshield out of his Olds Vista Cruiser wagon.
Me and my cousin D. are howling now and we go back inside to finish the beer. When we get inside, B1 and B2 are crying uncontrolably, my mom is blubbering on about what nerve that bitch Annie had coming to the funeral. Me, my sister P. and my cousin D. finally get everyone to go to bed, or to sleep in a chair, or whatever, and then we three went into the kitchen and drank, and laughed, and cried, all night.
Again Kelli, I am sorry for your loss, and I apologize for such a long post.
Hon, I have a wonderful family, really I do. I love them all, and none of them are crazy as far as I know.
But grief does strange things to people. My sister said and did things after my mom died that hurt me so badly that to this day if I talk to anyone about it, I begin to sob. And she loves me, I KNOW she does.
I moved in and took care of my mom during her final illness. I did the same thing during her initial illness. I was THERE for her. My father was there for her too. I don’t know how I could have done it without him, or the wonderful women from our church. My sister came for the final week…well, I am not going to go there. Not now, not ever.
But the thing is, I didn’t deserve anything but love from my sister for all that had happened. And instead I got hurtful things said to me.
People in grief are crazy. That is what I truly believe. And I do not hold anything against my sister for what she said, because I do not believe that the woman who said those things was really her. It was a woman who did not know what to do with her grief, and took it out on the only person who she knew would understand and forgive her. And I did, and I did.
I know this is somewhat incoherent. I am sorry. Just…know that you are not alone. I understand what you are going through, and I know that you love your family. If I had been lucky enough to have this board to vent to, I would have been much less crazy than I myself felt. I am happy if we have been able to help, even if only in a small way.
Kelli, I know you didn’t want hugs, possibly don’t even believe in the cyber kind. But I am sending all the warm love I can to you. You need it, you deserve it.
I am SO sorry, sweetie.
Much Love,
Cheri
Kelli, you have my profoundest sympathy. The only thing I know about grief is that the human heart is not a limited container–sadness moves in permanently, yes, but it does not diminish the amount of room avalible for joy.
For some reason, the funnerals I go to are marked not for the psycho family members, but for psycho clergy. ANd I find this odd, because I like and respect most clergy members. But the weirdos come out for funnerals.
My best friend died in a car crash when I was 16, and he 19. The never-met-the-kid priest gave an extended speech about the folly of youth and how they think they are immortal and end up getting thier fool selves killed. Only Brian hit a back hoe that was parked on the wrong side of the road with no lights at dusk–more an example of foolhardy ocnstruction workers than foolhardy youth.
When my Grandmother died, the minister used the eulogy as an springboard for a fundraising pitch–He knew Helen was going to heaven because she tithed regular. He made this point over and over again for about half an hour.
What takes the cake was the funeral of my husband’s five year old nephew, who burned to death. First, the preacher kept calling the father of the child by the name of his (the father’s) brother, who had himself died 3 months previous. Then, he spent hte rest of the service talking about how, really, children’s funnerals are the best because at most funnerals you are forced to wonder and ask about where the deceased’s final destination is, but that in this case that wasn’t needed. Five year olds have “get out of hell free” cards.
DaToad, could you drop me an email? I want to ask you a question, and you don’t have an email address listed.
My family is actually pretty darn cool. No psychos to speak of (much). I mean, some of us have our walking papers from the sanitarium, but we’re harmless mostly. So I have a funny funeral story for you.
A little background for you:
My grandfather had been ill for 8 years - emphysema, heart attacks (I stopped counting after 5), some “D” disease where his intestines were rotten; you name it, he had it. He also had a wicked sense of humor. He was getting to the point where living was a real chore. When my cousin gave birth to her twins I think he was ready to go. Then I told him I was pregnant and he said “Well, I guess you’re just not going to let me die, are you?” and we had a good laugh. Fast forward nine months. My son is born. I talk to my granddad that night on the phone. He then goes into the hospital and dies. So I drag my 9 day old son and my C-section wound and uncontrollable nightmare of my frightening birth story (rant to come!) on the short 3 hour drive to the town I grew up in.
OK, enough background. That should just let you in on my state of mind.
The whole time I did not cry. I still haven’t cried. I just know he’s relieved to be dead. Some people think this is strange but since I don’t actually come out and say it (why would I say something like that to my grandmother?) people are thinking I am either very strong or just wacky.
We are at the funeral. I am sitting in the second family row behind my grandmother, my mother and my aunt. I can’t see past the speaker’s stand. Apparently, some singers were invited to sing “Rock of Ages” but I can’t see them. About the time the singer starts up my mother begins to cry - you know, take a deep breath and sob a little. But as soon as she takes a deep breath the singer starts and I think my mother has been moved to begin singing from the pew. (Have I ever mentioned that Hellen Keller would ask us to keep it down if she heard us sing? We’re that bad.) I have an initial second of shock and horror before I realize what’s going on - and then I start to giggle. Uncontrollably. Which leads to laughing. Uncontrollably. I guess everything finally got to me and I couldn’t stop laughing. Up in front of the whole church. I just buried my face in a kleenex and pretended to cry. At which point my mother, aunt, grandmother, father, et al. begin to notice and start giggling too.
What can I say? Granddad is dead and a fun time was had by all! He would have loved it.
I told everyone at the after-funeral feasting what happened and we ROLLED! I can only imagine Granddaddy laughing along with us.
Kelli - This is such a terrible thing to be going through. I have been lucky to have both my parents so I can’t honestly say I know what you’re going through. I really do hate this for you. What you said about your mom and dad-dad actually brought me to tears.
Primaflora - GodDAMN. And that’s about all I have to say about that.