Funeral planning

What do you do after a death in the family? There are so many details to attend to. Some family members care about the details, others do not. But the details have to be attended to by someone.

You can leave much of this in the hands of the funeral director, who will, for a price, take care of almost everything. The professionals will find a minister, let you use their facilities, provide refreshments, etc., etc. They will not, at least in Massachusetts, sell you a marker, as per state law. Instead, they will refer you to a favored place. I assume they get a kickback, but someone has to do it.

We were referred to Empire Granite, serving Worcester since 1896. And the facilities had not been changed since then. However, the salesperson (did I mention that it is definitely a family business?) quickly figured out that we did not want two granite hearts or entwined flowers and pointed us at something that everyone could agree on. Folks in his business have to be good at reading people, and he was.

But, as with everything, a visit to a new kind of salesroom is also a lesson. For example, did you know why joint headstones have the other spouse's name and birth date already engraved? It always seemed tacky to me. However, if you don't do this, you will probably have to take the marker down when the next person dies, and in the case of Empire Granite, send it back to Vermont where the work is actually done. Most folks, including me, don't want this additional expense. Hence the premature listing of the other spouse. Apparently just entering the death year is something that can be done without removing the stone entirely. And now you know.

Another thing that someone has to do is plan the memorial service. What hymns, if the dear departed liked to sing hymns, which was true of my father? I can't stand Fairest Lord Jesus, which he apparently liked -- who knew? So my mother and I compromised on some other warhorses that we both liked.

And then the readings and speakers. That was easier. A few Psalms (although they had to be from the King James -- find a Unitarian minister who can do that!), something my dad had written, some reminiscences from a former colleague -- and we were done. Then off to the social hour, pie and ice cream, my dad's two favorite foods.

Still in the hopper -- find a few musicians to lend gravitas to the occasion. We have a piano player -- no organ, which is too bad. Gotta get the program printed. Hope that someone sends flowers, even thought the obit says no flowers! Need to arrange some photos, especially the cute ones from the 20s and 30s for folks to look at while they are eating pie. I'm sure there are other things to do, but if we don't, the event will still happen.

I'm thinking of writing up my insights into funeral planning. Oops--guess I've already done that. The big lesson in all this is that you have lots of different people to please. In this case, my mother, my brother, my uncle (who is performing the role of master of ceremonies at the memorial service) and I had to agree. So far it's worked out fine but there is still time for something unresolvable to arise. We'll see.

End of an Era

My dad died on October 15. It was a remarkable journey in some ways, but a frustrating one in many others, especially for my mother, who took care of him long after he was unable to care for himself. My brother and I have so many conflicting thoughts about this: how does one measure quality of life? What constitutes heroic measures? When is enough enough? Why does Medicare pay for hospice and not a nursing home?

However, there is nothing we can do to answer these questions right now. Time to plan a memorial service. Talked my mother out of a sappy hymn, replaced it with some old warhorses with strong chords and less sectarian lyrics. At this stage, little things mean a lot.

We're back

Domestic Tranquility is back online. So many challenging, enjoyable and stressful events of the past few months, it's hard to know where to begin. Middle age is not for sissies -- actually, when one qualifies for membership in AARP, is middle age the right term?

The short list:

Many, many trips to Boston and Worcester to visit the folks. Logan Airport is still under construction. Dad is quite demented, with a 24/7 caregiver. Mom has been soldiering on, but broke her hip a month ago and has been in and out of hospital and nursing home

Middle son graduated from the University of Minnesota with a major in History and a minor in Environmental Studies. OLGS and I are very proud of him.

Chinese exchange student Kevin graduated from St. Paul Prep and returned to Shanghai. We hope he comes back -- we haven't heard whether he will be going to St. Thomas University in St. Paul.

OLGS and I made our annual pilgrimage to Washington County, Maine. Still desolate, poor and without cell phone towers. Big secret: go to the IGA parking lot in Eastport and you might get lucky. It worked for us. We stayed in three very different places: Micmac Farm, a B & B in Machiasport that was the house built by my great, great, great grandfather in 1786 (he lived a long time and had many children); a room over a tavern in Lubec, Cohill's Inn; and a B & B in a beautiful Victorian house filled with antiques -- Kilby House in Eastport. All nice, and each one was different. We braved the new ICE passport regulations and drove into Canada to visit the summer home of FDR on Campobello. Apparently we were not the first folks to do this -- the customs officials had a pre-printed flyer for people without required identification trying to enter the US. Another big secret-- they can't keep you out.

Then to the beautiful country wedding of my nephew. Great food, amazing cakes baked by the bride, and the groom and his entourage wore kilts. There was a bagpiper. Fortunately, it wasn't too hot -- the piper was in full regalia. College friends of the groom camped out in tents by the river, a settlement quickly termed Hooverville by my sister in law. After the ceremony was over, the food eaten and the band gone, the young people hung out on the riverbank. Us oldsters didn't really want to know what was going on.