Because Every Good Funeral Needs a Little Family Dysfunction

The dysfunctional members of our family had the idea, following Mom's (my grandma) death: "Let's just wait until Dad (my grandpa) dies, and then we can have a memorial service for both of them."

Um, no.

We decided to press on and hold a quiet, family service that Dad could attend, right there at the nursing home. My mother's older brother goes ballistic, under the impression that we're holding some sort of religious ceremony, and pulling Dad in unwillingly. We persisted, and had ten family members (including Dad) sit around a table and pass photos around, and share some select stories, while a reverend friend provided a little structure and words of hope.

Four family members were not present.

The most difficult parts of our memorial were when Dad would interrupt the reverend, asking, "Did we lose Jane?" "When did she die?" or "Was she sick?" During the fifteen minute gathering, he asked us a variation of these questions three times.

Even though it was difficult, it still feels critically necessary to hold some sort of memorial service after someone dies. I mean, even the dog of some families gets as much recogntion that he existed, that he was loved, and that he'll be missed. We owe our grandmother at least as much respect.

This part of the family that was not present did invite the nine of us (minus Dad, who cannot easily be transported) over to their home for appetizers and drinks following our nursing-home-service. We would then pile into cars to drive to the cemetery to see where Mom would be resting.

It took us by surprise, then, when we pulled up to their home, to find them already in their car, with the engine running, waiting for us to arrive so that they could pull away for us to follow them straight to the cemetery.

Dysfunctional observation #1: We thought we were being invited inside.
Hypothesis: Upon realizing that we would actually be inside their home, surrounded by all of the items of value that formerly belonged to Mom, they decided that rather than scoop up all of the loot and shove it into the closets, it would be better to skip the indoor festivities and head straight for the cemetery.

Dysfunctional observation #2: Most families greet each other in person, especially when a death has occurred, or a great amount of time has lapsed since the last visit.
Hypothesis: Upon realizing that greeting each other in person would likely result in the inevitable show of affection such as hugs or handshakes, they decided to stay safely locked in their vehicle.

Dysfunctional observation #3: The two grown grandchildren were not present during the visit to the cemetary.
Hypothesis: Who knows? Had a headache? Washing their hair?

After visiting the cemetary, we were on to the restaurant, where we would have a big dinner, just like a normal family. Except when we got there, we were surprised to find that we were alone, and that our hosts had not yet arrived. When their daughter (one of the missing grandkids from the cemetery) walked in to see all nine of us, sitting there, she said, "Where are my parents?" We answered that we didn't know, so she turned around and walked back out the door.

Dysfunctional observation #4: Most people greet their family with a minimum of: "Hello."
Hypothesis: Hates us.

About fifteen minutes later, in she walks with her parents. The remainder of the night was blissfully uneventful, although by then I had consumed one very strong Bloody Mary, so who knows what I might have missed.

Maybe they're right, maybe we should have saved ourselves the pain and misery and waited until Dad died so that we wouldn't have to endure each other again.