The other day, I went to a memorial service
for a colleague at the TV station where I
currently freelance. I didn't really know him.
In fact, when I received a call to say that
"David died last night," I wasn't sure who
they meant and had a moment of panic that
it was someone I knew well whose name
I had forgotten because of my continually
fading memory.
When I finally realized it was someone I'd
seen in the halls, said hello politely to when
walking past, commenting on some
miscellany now and then when we found
ourselves both standing in the same room
at the same time, I came to appreciate how
we pass by people every day and have
no idea that in the next moment, they -
or we - could be dead.
It seems he had a heart attack while packing
up equipment after a live shoot. Another
production person found him gasping for
breath on the floor. While someone tried
to administer CPR, he died on the scene.
He was 50.
I've only been to a handful of funerals in
my entire life. The first was for a girl, Ellen,
who I knew slightly in high school, another
example of someone you pass by every day
and take for granted because they aren't
in your circle.
Ellen played piano for our high school drama
productions, but I was one of the performers,
one of the singer/actresses, not a band member.
It was a different circle. And even though I
was mostly an outcast in high school,
even outcasts have their inner circles.
Still, I attended Ellen's funeral. She was killed
in a car accident, supposedly on her way to the
mall to shop and following a truck too closely.
The truck stopped suddenly and she drove
into it. I may not remember a lot about Ellen
other than she was tall, slender and had short
dark hair, but to this day, I am terrified of
driving behind trucks and keep an extra large
distance from the backs of trucks at all times.
I did not attend the funerals of my grandparents.
Looking back, I realize that I used work as the
excuse for not being there. In the case of my
beloved Mexican grandmother, I remember not
being able to get away, but my sister attended
and told me that my mother fainted in the
middle of the ceremony. I guess I should have
been there for my mother, even though at the
time, we still had not healed the jagged rift
between us that formed when I was young.
I did not attend my paternal grandmother's funeral -
she and I had a falling out one Spring Break
and our relationship never recovered. I found
her to be judgemental, and I hate to be judged.
I did not attend my paternal granfather's funeral
either. I think I did have a conversation with my
father - to whom I am very close - and asked if
he wanted me there. He said that he understood
if I didn't want to be there. So I opted not to go.
Eventually, I had an epiphany that funerals are
for the living, not for the dead. Just like weddings
are for everyone other than the couple (unless
you are one of the obsessed brides-to-be who
dreamt of the event all of your life - which I was
not). I should have attended the funerals of
my grandparents - my parents' parents - for
them, not for anyone else. But I flunked that one.
More recently, I attended the funeral of my
husband's grandfather who raised him. At the
time, G. and I were still engaged, but had planned
2 wedding ceremonies - one in Wyoming and one
in Montana so his grandfather could attend the
second one. He died the month before our wedding
day.
This was the first time I had seen a dead person,
ie. an open casket with the shell of a person I knew
laying inside. I was morbidly fascinated, looking
at the waxy skin of a man I was fond of. Was that
really him? Was anything of "him" still in there?
Or was it truly an empty vessel? Where was he?
I have faced my own mortality all too often
since I first began having anxiety attacks
about dying - around age 9 or 10. Sitting in
a room with a dead person was an interesting
exercise for me, knowing that someday, I'd be
there, too. Whereever there is.
As I sat in the memorial service for the TV
colleague, I looked around at the others
in the room. Friends, family, co-workers.
Who would attend my funeral, I wondered.
I've traveled around so much of my life
that even now, I'm away from 90% of my
friends and family. I have 3 people in
Wyoming who I would consider to be
good friends, and I can envision them
attending my funeral, but only if it were in
Wyoming. For one of them, it would have to
happen during a warm weather month because
she is terrified of driving on winter roads.
If I died in Wyoming and were buried here,
I wonder how many friends from the East and
West coasts would attend? Only 1 of them
attended my wedding, which I think would have
been the more logical event to attend because
I now know who didn't make the effort to
come out. When I'm dead, I most likely
won't know or care.
I do not belong to a close knit group of lifelong
friends, I do not belong to a community of
people who care about one another. I have
a very small circle of immediate family and
friends who even know an inkling about me.
I've been told that many people care about
me or admire me but I don't know who they
are. In reality, I doubt if they'd come to
my funeral.
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