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In Honor Of My Mom

by Anonymous

    My Mom died in late November of last year.

    She had lived in a small house in the Flatlands area for over 65 years and was pretty well known there. My sisters and I were born in the house and we attended the local parochial school. We had the type of Brooklyn growing-up experience that was great. The four of us attended high schools nearby and my sisters were married from our parish church. Over time we all moved from the area but not so far that we couldn't come home for holidays and visits.

    My Mom was a stalwart in our Parish. She was in the Altar Society, helped count the weekly collections, was a teacher's aid, was always among the first to donate for any special collections, was both horrified and disbelieving that there were pedophile priests, and was always stuffing a note card "with a little something" for the priest's birthday or anniversary.

    She went to mass three or four times a week and a constant communicant. If she could, she would help the elderly and others make the trip for weekly mass. She loved the church and all it represented. And she felt it loved her. It was an essential part of her family.

    When my father died in 1991, I moved back home to help out and to help make ends meet. I wasn't as dedicated as my Mom to the church but I was in no way an embarrassment either... other than that I was divorced.

    While the neighborhood was "changing", we all felt pretty safe and at home. Ethnicities changed, accents changed, religious orientations seemed to have changed, and the neighborhood became "rougher".

    Another of the changes that was happening was that the older people, my Mom's peers, were leaving... some to live with children and some simply dying. My Mom's old friends were becoming fewer and fewer. The priests that were in the parish when I was growing up were long gone. The newer priests were "new school"... they were different. Maybe it was that there were fewer of them in residence and maybe it was that finances were tighter but they seemed to have different priorities. They were polite but detached from the older parishioners but always seemed to be around at the time of their birthday, ordination anniversary, and Christmas.

    My Mom died of a stoke within two weeks of its occurrence. The priest came to administer "The Anointing of the Sick" to Mom when she was still pretty aware. We didn't see him again until after she passed. My sisters, older grandchildren, and some of our extended family were all around her when she died; praying and speaking calmly and softly to her. She died quietly. If there was a way she wanted to go, this was it.

    The neighborhood funeral home that had handled by Dad's funeral was in a new generation's hands (with less of the original family involved) and was to handle my Mom's. She had made plans and selections some years prior so it was pretty easy for us. The florist closest to the church was contracted to handle the casket spray and four baskets. We knew they could do a good job since Mom had used them many times for friends in the parish who had preceded her in death.

    The schedule was for two night of viewings followed by a mass and then internment in Holy Cross Cemetery alongside my Father.

    To this point everything seemed smooth and then things got bumpy.

    My sisters, their husbands, older children and I got to the funeral home early to have a final quiet moment with Mom.

    The first problem was that the room directory had mixed up the room numbers for Mom and the other deceased. The manager on duty apologized and quickly made the correction.

    Maureen, my oldest sister, went in to see Mom first and immediately came out with a pained look on her face and pulled me aside.

    "There's no spray on the casket!"

    "What?"

    "Go look for yourself!"

    I went in and she was right. There were the four baskets we ordered (looking too Thanksgiving Day-ish for a funeral) plus some others but no spray on the casket. I immediately went outside and called the florist. They said the spray had been delivered and asked if we had checked the other rooms. I hung up and went to check but my Mom's spray was not found. I called the florist and told them. They said they would have someone over ASAP.

    The first night of the viewing had no spray on the casket but had my Mom's well worn rosary beads entwined around a single red rose and crucifix. No one even mentioned it. It looked simple and beautiful.

    The next morning I called the florist and told them to cancel the spray and credit my Visa. They said they couldn't do that since they had delivered the first spray and were making a second one as a courtesy to the funeral home. I told them I didn't want it and to just credit the Visa. They said it couldn't be done. I just hung up.

    That evening no spray had been delivered.

    The Rosary that was planned for the second evening did not go well. Instead of the priest to lead it, a woman from the parish office showed up. When I asked where the priest was, she said he had a short notice dinner engagement. My sisters and I had put up with all this 'cause we live in a "changed world" and neighborhood and in honor of our Mom.

    We didn't get as many visitors as we expected but the primary friends of Mom showed up.

    On the morning of the burial, as we were waiting in the church entranceway for everyone to line up, the priest came through a side door... he was reading The News, he seemed distracted. When I told him that my sister Maureen and I would like to say a few words either at the Gospel of at the end of the service he said that it couldn't be done. I mentioned that it was done when my father died and it wasn't an issue then and he looked at me square in the eyed and said "I wasn't here then, and it won't be done from my church." He turned away... I was dismissed. I was annoyed that he referred to it as "my church", not mine or the parishioners'. As far I was concerned he was now simply "hired help". I let it ride but I was steaming.

    I don't know if I was in shock or in mega-rage; either way I was speechless. When I finally calmed down a little, I told my sisters to have their husbands block rolling out the casket at the end of the service.

    The service was done quickly, and I thought coldly. The homily was heavy handed religious rhetoric to do the here-after, losing salvation, and financial support to the church... just about nothing to do with my Mom and all she had done for the Parish or the community. I think there were two passing references to her and none by name.

    As the service ended and my Mon was to be rolled out to the hearse, the husbands blocked the way. I stood up and asked that everyone sit down for a moment. The priest turned and glared at me. He quick stepped into my face and said, "You can't do this. Leave now!"

    I turned to the people in the pews and said, "Father has to leave now on very important business. My sister Barbara will be leading the service at the cemetery. Maureen has a few words to say now."

    Father stamped off. That was okay with me.

    Maureen spoke for five minutes about what our Mom meant to the family and how she was the glue that guided us and kept us to together. She did an excellent job. My mother would have been so proud. When she was done I spoke about our Mom and what she meant to the parish and the parishioners over the years.

    Mom would have been less proud of my bragging but I just want people reminded of who she was to the community.

    Just as I was finishing, the priest came back into the church with the custodian right behind him. When he saw that we were lining up to leave he stopped in his track. He wasn't smiling.
    We filed out and went on to Holy Cross where Barbara did some readings, gave a blessing, and led us in a decade of the rosary. We stayed until the casket was lowered and they began back-filling.

    Afterwards, there were about thirty of us, mostly family, who went to a late lunch. It didn't take long for us to loosen up and start telling "Mom" stories. She had heard them all before and smiled and laughed with us and this time she did again. The new "Mom" story was about the jerk that stole the casket spray and probably gave it is girlfriend telling her it's because "I was thinking about you."

    When Mom's Will was read there were no real surprises except for what was addressed that evening when the parish Priest called...

    "I hope your misunderstanding at the mass for your Mother won't cause any problems."

    "Whatta you mean?" I replied with feigned stupidity.

    "I understand that your family's house was left to us when she died. That was what she had indicated to my predecessor anyway. I hope we can make it happen easily. We would like to sell it."

    "Well it is partly true. The house is to go to the parish after she dies... if no one in the family wants to live there."

    "Yes, but all the family has homes elsewhere. Even you own a home on Far Rockaway. I'm sure you'll want to return there."

    "That house is occupied by my ex-wife, I'm sure she doesn't want me back. I'm planning on staying in my Mom's house for the time being. I have a lot to thinking to do."

    "That wasn't your Mom's intent... she wanted it to go to the parish now! You are going against her will... she would be ashamed of you." He was almost yelling!

    "Don't go there... remember how you treated her the last time she was in YOUR church. Read the will... if you go after the house, I'll go public with my side. You'll be a major embarrassment to yourself and the church."

    He slammed the phone down.

    It shouldn't have been this way. Of all the things that should go well is the burying of a loved one from where the are well known. My Mom always went out of her way to comfort a grieving family by trying to make whatever she could go smoothly... bringing food, lending a shoulder to cry on, tidying up, etc.

    My Mom deserved her funeral to go smoothly.


    ------------


    Nothing is resolved. The florist hasn't issued a credit saying they did deliver and were willing to supply a replacement -- gratis. The funeral home says it is not responsible for the flowers since there is no proof that they were actually delivered. The two of them aren't working well with each other. The priest and/or parish have retained a lawyer arguing that the wording of the will is ambiguous and not consistent with what the parish expected... or something like that.

    I often read and hear that my Brooklyn is changing and is marked by changes in ethnicity, race, and religion. The way I see it is that there are greater changes of lesser dimension that are impacting the older and elderly. A friend tells me there are thousands upon thousands of ex-Brooklyn-ites in Florida regretting their move and yearning to be back.

    If only they knew... they'd think twice about wanting "to go home".

[end] & Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2007.