The Best of 2007: Farewell to Family and Friends

Now let’s see…where were we? Oh yes, the shambled wreck that was my life. Too much? Little dramatic? Well, F’you!

Someone asked me the other day, when they saw the teaser for this next installment, if “Farewell to Family and Friends” was going to be about my fleeting notion to move to Montana. No, that will be another piece entitle, “ Wagon’s ‘HO!’ or something like that. This essay is about the fact that when you think things can’t get any worse, they do. Or things aren’t always as bad as they seem. You decide.

In middle of the avalanche of despair that came crashing down around me, I lost two people. One was someone who meant a lot to me and without them I would not have been able to survive the past eleven years. The other was a relative.

The first to go was Johnny my hair stylist. He died last summer of complications from a bout with pancreatitis. I had known Johnny for about eleven years, pretty much since I moved to the city. He was a unique soul who was covered from head to toe with tattoos, piercings and leather. The first time I met him he was sporting a Mohawk and the last time I saw him he had a shaved head with a flaming red braided goatee. He may have looked frightening but he was one of the sweetest men I have ever met. He was creative, patient and endearing. No matter what you never left his chair feeling uncertain or looking bad. Johnny had a way of listening, he could tell him what you wanted and he would make sure it was what you asked for. He would even let know that it may take a few appointments, cut it, let the hair grow and cut it some more but, “we’ll get there.” He cared a lot about his friends and clients. He cared most of all about his daughter, Brittney. Whenever he spoke about her his face would just light up. He loved telling stories and showing pictures of her. I only met here once but I had heard so much about Brittney it was like I knew her. She would always come to visit over the summer and she loved going to Gay Pride with her dad. Even though Johnny is gone I hope she still does. Johnny was a true artist, free spirited, talented and passed on much too soon. He will be missed.

The other person I lost was my Grandfather. It happened just before Christmas, while having hip replacement surgery the doctors found an aneurysm about six centimeters big in his stomach. They didn’t want to remove it then because they weren’t sure if he would survive. On the other hand, at six centimeters it was just a matter of time before it burst. So there was a slim chance he was going to pull through. It was no surprise to me when I got the call from my cousin that Grandpa had passed on. The nurses found him when they did a three A.M. bed check. He went peacefully and quietly in his sleep. Of course these are not words I would use to describe what was to follow in the coming week.

Much like any family gathering there is always a little bit of drama that accompanies it. I would have settled for a little bit of drama but instead I got Shakespeare in the park! The calling hours and funeral played out like a fine tragedy. Death, deceit, and greed all the elements were there.

Now allow me to give you a little back-story, the man who passed away was my father’s father. He and my grandmother had been divorced for as long as I can remember. They both remarried and both their spouses had died a few years earlier. When my grandfather’s wife passed on her family tried to weasel in and take what little she left behind away from my grandfather. Now back to our program…

When I showed up for calling hours the room was divided. My family was on one side of the room and the “step” family was the other side. Barely did the two mix, except when my grandfather’s stepdaughter came over to our side to let us know how he wanted the funeral to go. Yeah, she’s one of those “pleasant” types. You know the ones, she’s nice to everyone but as soon as the door is closed she turns into the female Hitler. Her husband isn’t much better; he was a used car salesman, enough said there. Plus, never mind the fact my aunt spent most of the last few months caring to his needs and Mr. & Mrs. ‘Kiss ya then kill ya” were nowhere to be found. But she wrapped her chubby little arm around my aunt’s shoulders (just short of a head lock, I swear) and proceeded to flesh out HER grand plan for the next day. Of course the state my aunt was in she would have agreed to anything (they always pick out the weakest one in the herd.) When she was finished my aunt was left dazed and confused. With a look on her face as if she had been bitten by a vampire. She told us my cousins and I would be pallbearers along with some kids on “that” side of the family. And so it began. The following morning we would begin “Operation: R.I.P.”

Now just to give you a sense of the goings on the day of the funeral, my grandfather was catholic. He had not been to church in thirty years. I think mainly because he was divorced and they didn’t allow smoking in the building. But he was about to more than make up for his absence that day.

We would start the ceremony with the priest coming over to the funeral home to basically tell us we were going to the church. So the pallbearers carried the body from the funeral home to the hearse. Drove three blocks and carried him from the hearse into the church. From there we went into full ‘father, son and holy ghost’ mode. Needless to say I didn’t have to do any exercise that day. Between toting my grandfather’s body all over the county and the stand up/sit down during the mass I was good for at least two days. The pallbearers got front row seats for the funeral mass (which means we had to stay awake.) At one point, during the “All rise, please be seated ” calisthenics my younger cousin leaned forward on the pew and started cleaning his nails. I nudged him to stand up straight because the father was right in front of us but to tell the truth, I was this far away from doing the same thing. When the mass was over we carried my grandfather from the church to the hearse.

Once the body was loaded, I got into my car and participated in what can only be described as a “Cannonball Run” version of a funeral precession. You see my grandfather was being buried in a cemetery a few miles away in another town. Normally it would take twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes to get there. We made it in ten minutes flat. Who knew hearse could do sixty-five mph?

When we arrived at the cemetery only the immediate family, funeral director and pallbearers were allowed to get out of their cars. With winter fast approaching there already ice and snow on the ground. So for insurance purposes everyone else had to sit on the sidelines. Now the cardinal rule is if you tell someone. “Look out for that, you’ll trip” or “Be careful with that.” You’re going to trip, fall, and drop, smash… whatever as soon as the person says it. The first thing we hear the funeral director say to us when we grasped a hold of the casket is, “ Be careful of the ice.” You can pretty much guess what happens next. Once again we carried my grandfather’s body from the hearse to his next destination. Once we arrived at the plot, we all bent down to lower the casket onto the winch. I didn’t see the patch of ice next to the gravesite. As we started to lower coffin I started to lose traction. Luckily I was able to plant my other foot down, thus preventing both my grandfather and I ending up in the hole prematurely.

When his body was laid to rest and everyone said their good-byes it was time for the family gathering at the local church. Now here is where things get a little sticky. We just had a funeral in one town and buried my grandfather in another. I swear my grandfather got out more that day than he had in the last year of his life. Now the ‘step’ family wanted everyone to drive back to where we started to have the festivities at the V.F.W. My aunt had the idea we could have he gathering at the local church which is on the way back to Point A. My aunt had already made the arrangements at the church for the funeral party to go back to the church. This rounded out to be about thirty people. Well the ‘steps’ weren’t having it. They hijacked the funeral party back to the V.F.W. Leaving my aunt with the immediate family (about ten of us) and enough food for thirty people. Needless to say when all was said and done, my cousins and I went for a few beers to unwind and grieve in our own way.

To be completely honest I was probably closer to my hairstylist than my grandfather. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be a hole where he used to be. It’s just that the void will be a bit bigger when I need a wash and set.

NEXT UP: Moving Day!