Yesterday morning, shortly after Dr. Wonderful left for the clinic, my cell phone rang - I assumed Dr. W had seen something interesting on the way to town that he wanted to share. Instead, it was Terry. She being one of my horsey friends from work, would often call on weekends, so I wasn't worried. "I've got some really bad news." Me being me assumed one of her horses or animals was sick/dead. "Ruthie's husband Tom was killed in an accident last night." Now the death of a spouse isn't anything I'd wish on anyone, but this was made even more awful by the total affection Ruthie and Tom had for each other. They had recently celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary and were still besotted with each other.
Terry said she was calling our immediate circle of friends. I asked what I could do. Ruthie tended to be a private person, and I didn't want to intrude on her grief, but I wanted to help out in any way I could. Tammy's response was that she didn't have a clue how to respond other than to be there for Ruthie, and that this was a totally new area for her as well. Our friend Louise would also be there and would hopefully have a clue on what to do having lost her father and a brother.
What makes this so confusing to me is that the etiquette of death is so different here in the heartland than it is where I grew up in NJ. When my grandmother died shortly after I was married, Dr. W and I flew home from Kansas to be in attendence. Funerals in NJ are social affairs. The family spends most of every day at the funeral home in the front row of seats by the open (most times) casket - no one shows up at the family residence other than family. The rest of the seats in the funeral home are filled with mourners catching up since the last funeral or wedding - those being the only time some of them see each other. My husband was mortified.
Dr. W: "This is the most disrespectful thing I've ever seen!"
Me: "What are you talking about?!"
Dr. W: "All of these people laughing and talking in the presence of your grandmother!"
Me: "This is what funerals are always like! What do they do where you come from?!"
(For an excellent depiction of NJ funerals/wakes, read any of the Janet Evanovich "Stephanie Plum" novels)
Unfortunately, I was soon to find out when my dear father-in-law passed away shortly after. In KS, arrangements are made, the family has a special hour or so each day that they visit the funeral home, and viewings of the deceased for other people are later in the day - the family is usually not present. Folks stop by the house and bring food and condolensces. All is quiet and very respectable. I was as surprised as Dr. W was at his first NJ funeral.
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So this brings me back to the here and now. How do you know how to behave? Here in the heartland, family and friends all are drawn to the home of the family in mourning bringing food and company. But what's right and proper, and what's an intrusion?
Not really knowing, my family and I purchased some soda, some bread and cold cuts, some pastry, and a bottle of wine. Is booze PC for a wake? I didn't know, I only knew that Ruthie liked wine, and if I were in her shoes, I'd be thankful for a cup of anything relaxing. I called up some of the other ladies from work, and we drove together to Ruthie's house.
Ruthie met us with open arms when we walked in thru the kitchen door. She looked amazing for someone who had to be in agony. She said she was still hoping it was just a dream, and that with so many people around (the house was full of family and friends) it seemed wrong that Tom wasn't there in the big middle of it. She was glad we had come and said that Terry and Louise had been there most of the day. They'd come and brought laundry and dish soap, had done the wash and dishes, and spent the day writing down what other people had brought, and cleaned up the messes. Ruthie felt that when she'd need us more than ever was after the crowds went away, and after the funeral, when the house would feel so empty.
And so we learn the etiquette of death from those who had experienced it before us. We learned that the most important thing is to simply be there. And be there we will, for the funeral and for what comes after. We'll do it for Ruthie and she'll do it for us when our time comes.
By the way, Ruthie was happy for the wine. Before we left that night, she asked us to open the bottle and she had a glass. She said it helped. So my advice is as follows: don't worry about being PC, do what feels right, do what you'd like done for you.
Stay safe, and appreciate the ones you love while you can.
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Comments
Our family funerals are loud and boisterous affairs, with many off colour jokes, laughter, tears, and memories.
And yes, bringing food and beverages is always good.
I think in the Midwest, most of the activity is at the home of the bereaved. Feel free to drop in and stay long. It's all right, especially if you're very close.
When my sister's husband died, she said the hardest time was morning, when she had to re-remember. So, she needed people to stay over every night for the first week or two, just to be there for the early morning.
I have mostly experienced Catholic funerals, Long Island variety. There are two days at the funeral home, from about 1 to 5, then 7 to 9. The family is there all the time. Mourners come to the funeral home, not the house. The day of the funeral people come back to the house after the burial.
They are loud family gatherings/reunions, attended by relatives of all ages, including infants and young children.
Be there for her in two weeks, when she breaks down because he's still getting mail.
Be there for her in four weeks, when she realizes some of the mail requires action, only she doesn't know where to find what she needs to take it, because he always handled that part.
Be there in two months, when it's all really REAL, and she's a bit more hollow-eyed and sunken in the cheeks, and she's a lot more quiet than she used to be, and maybe she isn't as much fun to be around as she used to.
Be there, even if she says she doesn't want to see you or anybody else. Because eventually she'll realize she does, and by that time many of the others will have stopped trying.
(Yes. Been there.)
Don't tell her it will get better. Don't ask her how she is. You know how she is, and if she's feeling less awful, it will be apparent from the conversation. Try not to talk about the small, cozy scenes you've been sharing with Dr. Wonderful.
Your friendship with her will change for a while. The burden is on you to keep it going though (along the lines of what VR said).
it is always difficult navigation. i appreciate garrison keillor's description, of the hushed quiet, then slowly the men find themselves talking gas mileage and cars, and eventually someone laughs and then they catch themselves and go back to the hush. prayers for your ruthie.
1. The living have to eat. You can't heal anyone's soul, but you can keep the body alive while they do the real work. One lasagna is worth a thousand platitudes - just avoid 100 of them on the day of the funeral.
2. Remember, there's only one way to console a widow/er, and you can't do it with your clothes on. What people who've lost a partner face alone at 4:00 am is worse than anything horror films or the old testament have to offer. Be there, one way or another. Physical closeness, including sex, is one of the few ways you can reach the suicidally depressed.
3. Skip the clichés. In particular, don't say "Time heals everything." It's equivalent to telling someone who's lost a limb that it will grow back.
4. Annoyance is better than isolation. Don't say, "If there's anything I can do..." Just looks at what's required and do it. It's better to have a grieving person screaming, "Get the hell out of my refrigerator!" than it is to have one who feels like no one cares.
5. Sometimes Miss Manners really does know best. Send a brief condolence letter and follow it up a few days later with a phone call. You don't have to say anything at all beyond, "I'm thinking about you and I give a shit."
6. You can't fix it. No one can fix it. People who're grieving need to be endured, just as they're enduring. Make them work. Make them rest. Prepare to find it a tedious intrusion on your time and freedom.