Your Friend and Mine

My best friend worked at a funeral home.

It used to be fun for her and for me to reveal that information--she liked the shock value of it, I think. I kinda did, too. Everybody had questions, and I would sit back and watch her answer matter-of-factly, about things that made people wonder.

Yesterday, I attended a funeral at the place where she worked. Spoiler alert: It was her funeral.

It was a weird day.

I had written some notes to say at the podium, but in the middle of the night, instead of sleeping, I was editing my notes in my head based on my experience at the visitation the day before.

Fucking writers, always shuffling things around.

Turns out I blew it in the presentation, anyway, since...I didn't read the notes while I was standing there--I just sort of glanced at them and winged it. I will blame lack of sleep and grief.

If I tell you what I truly think of how it went, I'm gonna piss somebody off. Maybe a few somebodies.

Ah, what the hell...here goes...

You know those Pinterest wedding projects with the signs that say, "Pick a seat not a side"? This was not that. There were sides, and I got a good long look at what my friend Barb has been going through for the last 25 years. She was peacemaker in the middle of a couple of warring factions, each led by...OK, I'll say it: a couple of stubborn jackasses. Barb was stubborn as hell, too, which is why she never fully caved to either side.

Let me back this up a bit--go back the 20-some years to the time Barb informed her parents that her roommate was actually her girlfriend. They didn't see that coming, and, were not all that happy with her choice of partner. Stubborn Barb said "suck it, this is what I'm doing" and...thus began a two decade long saga of her father basically pretending this was all a phase Barb was going through and not including Barb's partner Kathy in, well, anything, while Kathy and Barb made a life of their own, with friends filling in gaps that might have been filled by Dobbses if they had pulled their heads out of their asses some time before she became gravely ill.

OK, now that I've pissed on the Dobbs clan, let's swing to the other side. Kathy, understandably upset after being rejected by Barb's family, crossed her arms and said "fuck those people." She (Kathy) was also dealing with a lot of deep-seated insecurity that made her hold Barb much closer than she needed to. She played some (not all) of those nasty mental tricks desperate people play to get their lovers to stay. If Barb went to see her family, or went anywhere, really, Kathy was in constant contact (a recent memory: Barb and I attended a concert at a nice dinner club and instead of letting her just go out and have an uncomplicated evening, she was calling her for some bullshit, like "I can't get the dog to eat, you need to come home", and when Barb didn't answer her phone, Kathy called MY phone to try the same ploy via a third person. I let it go to voicemail because screw that--you're a grown up and you can deal with the dog for 2 hours).

Now, could these two sides have come together? With effort, yes. I think they could have. It would have taken work, but I believe if they had made the time to get to know each other, Kathy's confidence would have improved if shown real support, and, Master Dobbs would have seen that Kathy is a good-hearted and sensitive person who means no harm.

Key factor here? One Barbara Kaye Dobbs, queen of the innocent little white lie (for the purposes of placating, only! She was not a liar, she just hated people to be upset or disappointed and would fib a little to keep the peace). This is a woman who, I think, never let her parents know she smoked, just to give you an example of the lengths she would go to keep people from information she thought might upset them. She smoked cigarettes for 30 years and basically pretended she didn't while in the presence of her parents. They went on a family vacation to Costa Rica and they were there for a week. She went for a walk and bought smokes off a lady on the beach cuz she was jonesing and didn't dare bring her own stupid cigarettes with her on vacation. Whatever value there was for her in staying her parent's little girl, she clung to it. She told a lot of those little white lies all over the place, to Kathy, to me, to her boss, to whomever--she genuinely hated disappointing people.

Barb would have had to be planning and plotting aggressive peacemaking maneuvers for at least 5 years early in her and Kathy's relationship to have made the uneasy ceasefire between the two sides that would have eventually led to everyone getting along. She would have had to be the one to do it because she was the center of it all. She would have had to say "screw it" and bring Kathy home with her for Christmas and Thanksgiving, and every other visit, and they would have had to act like a couple in full view of her parents, just like they did at home. She...did not do that. Instead, she placated both sides and let them carry on with their stubborn B.S..

For 20 years.

Pause to enter this important disclaimer: All of this is all just a series of instances of people acting on the information they had available to them at the time and while we can look from the outside and say, "That's messed up," we can't say that we haven't made some stupid human error or done things that, in retrospect, contributed to the strife instead of the solution. I have never been in a same-sex relationship or had to come out to my family. I have never had to make something like that work. I would not be able to say I did my best to have a solid relationship with many members of my immediate family. It's just like that--you don't know, usually, until it's too late.

OK, now jump back ahead to March 2019. Barb is diagnosed with bladder cancer. She's scheduled for surgery to remove her bladder. Kathy is there through all of it, and, with the diagnosis, parents swoop in to support their little girl. The surgery happens, and, it's bad news. The cancer has spread and there is now a...95% chance that she won't make it.

Time to come together.

Barb's siblings take the lead and try to salvage whatever is left of their relationship with Kathy and Barb. Barb hurries up and gets paperwork done indicating Kathy is her medical POA, says she wants to get legally married, and makes all kinds of motions indicating she does not want her family stepping in here, when decisions need to be made. Kathy continues to include them in all meetings and decisions, but, ultimately does whatever Barb wants her to do.

Her father spoke up and said he felt left out. Huh...imagine what that must feel like. Oh, that's right, we don't have to imagine, we can just *ask Kathy*, since Barb's family has left her out of pretty much everything for 20 years.

*sigh*

Rapid disease progression, Barb's brothers hang in there, dad makes visits but also demands, thus irritating Kathy, and then, the inevitable.

Now a funeral to plan.

As I mentioned, my best friend worked at a funeral home. She had the paperwork in order that basically left her father out of the decision-making process for her own funeral--she knew what needed to be done. Now...if she had been legally married to a man instead of living with a woman for 25 years, nobody would have even bothered asking what Barb's father wanted because everyone would have recognized that it's not his place. However...legal next of kin is a hell of a thing in the funeral business. If you don't have the paperwork done, a person who has no business planning your funeral ends up planning your funeral.

A tense meeting occurred at the funeral home with the two stubborn jackasses butting heads, and the paperwork prevailing--thank God, because Barb's wishes were pretty clear.

A week later, the viewing...

I walked in, caught sight of one of my best friends, Chrissy, talking to a family member and stuck with her for a while, looking at the picture boards.

Wow, what a life you lived, Barb. So many friends and so many smiling photos. Hundreds of them. But I was to learn that even the picture boards were segregated. There were the "Family" picture boards and the "Kathy" picture boards. I made appearances on both--grab a meal with the Dobbses in some far flung location and they'll take a picture. Owing to the fact that Barb and I had been living in the same city for the last 8 years, we finally had opportunities to hang out and thus, lots of recent photos of us doing stuff around town.

At the viewing, Kathy was "stationed" at the open casket, greeting people and talking to them about Barb. The family was in the entry-way, greeting people as they walked in, with Dad generally avoiding Kathy. To be fair, Kathy *had* ripped him a new one at the planning meeting--I might not want to hang out with her, either.

(This is the part where I tell you the funny anecdote about how when Barb met Kathy, Barb liked her a lot, right away, but was afraid to tell her because, in her words, she thought Kathy might "punch" her. It's cute in retrospect, but gives you a clearer picture of what a tough broad Kathy is.)

I was very nervous to look at Barb. I remember the shock of seeing my father in a casket and how I pretty much lost it at the sight of him. I expected the same to happen when I saw Barb.

It didn't.

She looked so beautiful, and peaceful. Like a fairy princess waiting to be kissed. She also looked incredibly frail--she had lost a lot of weight, and lying there, she looked closer to 90 years old than 55. But she was lovely. What a comfort.

(Of course, it was Barb's friends and co-workers who prepared her body. Barb had chosen exactly who she wanted to pick her up and do the work. A labor of love, for them.)

Kathy and I talked, cried, hugged, laughed, cried some more, hugged some more, and then I let her go because more people wanted to see Barb. I made my presence known to various family members and then Chrissy and I, with her daughter and my boyfriend in tow, made way to the nearest tavern to hoist a glass for Barb.

The next day...funeral.

Everything was the same as the day before, with the exception of the seating. Now, "Reserved" flags hung over the first two rows in the sections near the podium. Parking lot was overflowing--I ended up parking two blocks away and having a little walk. Dobbs family out front, Kathy's camp in the room with the casket until such time as we had to all come together, then the Dobbs gang sat in their section and Kat's group sat in hers. Kathy said I could sit with her, so I took a seat next to her mom in the front row.

The pastor started with, "We are here to say goodbye to your friend and mine" and, I was struck immediately by how we were sitting in a room full of people who did funerals literally every day of the year, but this one was different. I remember Barb telling me about this pastor years ago, about what a neat guy she thought he was, and there he was at the front of the room, having been picked by her to do this.

Exhale.

She was my friend for 34 years and I felt bad for everyone in that place but me.

I felt that we were lucky to have the chance to tell her we loved her before she was gone--you don't always get that chance. The last thing she and I ever did was hug and say "I love you", in that room in the intensive care. A rare gift. Her brother and her Kathy were with her at the end. What a privilege.

The pastor spoke, songs were sung, Kathy spoke and thanked everyone, I spoke (I have written many eulogies but never once delivered one until now), and one other person spoke. I was somewhat surprised that so few people wanted to talk, but I suppose it's not for everyone.

The service wrapped up and everyone was invited to eat in the family room at the funeral home, but Kathy turned to me and said, "I'm not staying," because to her, that meal was a Dobbs thing, and not for her. She told me to take some flowers home, packed up the guest book and left.

A day has passed and as I reflect on what happened, I know that those two sides will never make peace. The one person who could have made it happen is gone now. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it all OK. I'm sure Barb did, too. These conflicts are not cured by magic, though. Everyone has to want it and everyone has to participate, and that is not likely to happen. The family will have "their" Barb and Kathy will have hers and nobody will admit that they were the same woman. The same complex, wonderful, beautiful, flawed woman. Your friend and mine.

Mundane

Right now I am imagining my friend Barb and her partner Kathy picking out clothes for her to wear to her own funeral.

I am picturing her making decisions about how she wants the whole thing to go down.


On the one hand...what a gift. To have a bit of time, and have a say in it.


On the other hand...fuck. Who would have thought at the age of 55, this is the shit you have to consider?


She will be leaving the hospital soon and going home, with hospice. Probably going home for the last time, to the little house on 40th that she and Kathy have shared for 20 years. I can see Kathy standing in the living room, with Barb sitting on the sofa. Kathy is holding up shirts and Barb saying "yes" or "no" to them, like it was any other occasion where she had to find something to wear.

That's what's in my head.


Barb knows the funeral business. She worked in it for many years. She knows the people who will care for her body after the life has left it. She knows the medical examiner and the funeral directors and the people who cash the checks. She knows the numbers to call for death certificates and various other paperwork required by law. She knows dumb stuff like, what happens to jewelry if you are cremated, and, if you can wear polyester. (I dunno, and, I dunno why I am even curious...)

The mundane stuff of her job, she is now applying to her life in the most unexpected way.


It was the middle of March when the hospitalizations started. By the middle of June it may be over.

An absolutely stunning time-line. I can't imagine what I would do, if it was me. This is the strength of the dying. The calm.

Everyone's a Critic

Last night, my friend Kathy called me to tell me that her mate of 25 years, my college roommate and best friend Barb, was inching closer to death.

What started off as a back-ache was eventually diagnosed as bladder cancer. It then metastasized, and spread to internal organs, affecting her kidneys. She went from a 75% chance of surviving the next five years (if her bladder was removed), to a 5% chance. It was inoperable, and the only treatment they could do was chemo, which would only shrink the tumor enough for other symptoms to be suppressed. She would ultimately never be "cured" of the cancer.

At that point, I adopted a motto of, "we won't know until we know." Obviously the odds were against her, but...somebody has to be in the 5%, so...who knows? 

In my head, my "math" (completely unscientific and involving no math whatsoever) told me she would not be around to see the next presidential election. I thought, that's long enough for all of us who love her to make sure she knows that we do. It's far from a good scenario, but...how many of us die without having that time to connect with the ones we care about?

Yesterday, they discovered that the cancer had expanded again, this time to her stomach. In addition, there was a small perforation in her small intestine which would make chemotherapy impossible.

I feel like...now we know.

Now we know that she would never catch that much-needed break, medically. Since the cancer was discovered, there has been virtually no good news on that front.

Now is the time when you feel the full brunt of the natural human emotion surrounding death--when you are in the inner circle of a person who is dying. Now is the time when reality strikes and people start to freak out a little.

As normal as it is to freak out, it's never been my reaction. 

That's another thing people freak out about.

Ironically, Barb worked in a funeral home right up until she had to stop working. She saw it all the time. She'd say death makes living people crazy--all those questions, from who will pay for the funeral, what will happen at the service, etc. The living feel like they have to duke it out to get what they want out of the deal, and they mostly ignore the wishes of the dead, even if the dead person wrote them down and made them all swear to follow their wishes. As soon as a person dies, it all goes out the window.

Case in point: My husband Jim's father died while we were dating. James Sr, ("Doug" to all of us) had been vocal about his wishes, and had them witnessed and signed. He wanted to be cremated and have his ashes put in the briefcase that he carried for the 40 years he worked in an office. 

How many of his wishes were carried out by his next of kin (his 2nd wife, who was not the mother of his children)? 

Zero. Exactly zero.

His wife and Jim's sister said they wouldn't cremate Doug because he was Catholic and they thought that whole briefcase idea was ridiculous. Jim was pissed off, and, rightfully so. They went against what his father had wanted, but...who was going to stop them? Doug was no longer there to have a say in the matter.

12 years later, Jim died, and basically the same thing happened. I was no longer married to him at the time, so I didn't have a say, and don't envy his daughter having to plan a funeral when she herself wasn't even 25 years old yet, but...that funeral didn't feel like the Jim I knew. 

I think it's rare to have a service that feels like the person you are honoring--maybe it's because we are all a little different to each person we meet. Parents put together a different service than a person's friend might, for example. We know people in different ways and what feels like honoring them to one person, feels tone deaf to another.

When my father passed away, our local small town pastor was left with the task of eulogizing him. Let me start by saying that Don Carr was not a man who attended church. Not a regular Sunday-goer, not an Easter/Christmas goer...just...didn't go. He didn't know Pastor Wayne, and Pastor Wayne didn't really know him. We sat around at the family service with Pastor Wayne at the front of the room, asking us to tell him about my dad. We did. We all had stories. Some of them seemed like they were out of a Smokey and the Bandit movie because that was who my father was, ultimately--a bit of The Bandit with a heaping handful of Rooster Cogburn thrown in there. Cowboy hat, crooked smile, charming as hell, good at what he did, and not interested in your bullshit. (We went to see True Grit on the big screen the other day, and...that's my dad, right there. John Wayne = Don Carr).

The pastor fashioned a decent eulogy for the funeral based on the things we told him at the family service, but the mischievousness was missing, for me. Of course it was missing--the head mischief maker was being uncharacteristically quiet in the box at the front of the room, instead of hanging with us in the pews. He was not a pew sitter to begin with, so I suppose that part is perfectly appropriate.

Maybe the reason I don't like funerals is because they never feel like they should, to me.

*sigh* Everyone's a critic, right?

**Cue flashback to the TV Show Six Feet Under, "Invisible Woman" episode--the single lady, at home with her cat(s), chokes to death on one of those frozen, microwave, "meals for one" in the opening scene. Her body is not found for a while, and, it's not pretty, so they can't do much with it. At her funeral, pre-planned and paid for by the deceased, we hear a recording of Jennifer Holliday belting out "And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going" to a room full of empty pews. Wow...that's...unexpected, but...it's what she wanted, and who knew her better than she, herself? None of the people on her contact list were involved in the planning or even showed up to the funeral. If her friends had gotten involved, I'm sure that song would have gone the way of the Doug's briefcase.**

(I fully expect that Barb's funeral will go like this: Her father, with the money, will make all the decisions and all the speeches, and, like all the decisions he has made "for" her for most of her 55 years, those decisions will have nothing to do with what Barb wants, and will exclude Kathy, entirely.

Mark my words. I am making this prediction, right now, and I'll bet $100 on it to any taker, though I would be happier to lose that bet than win it. Barb wants to be cremated and to have Kathy keep her cremains. My $100 says he'll do a traditional burial in her home town, 250 miles away from Kathy. 

I better be wrong, or that man is going straight to hell.)

At my age, I have been able to avoid going to many funerals. I suppose that will start to change, now, as time ticks on. My mother is nearly 80 and goes to a lot of funerals, unfortunately. If luck holds, I will one day be almost 80 and going to a lot of funerals, too, even though I hate them. They say funerals are for the living, and that is certainly true in that the dead are no longer here to talk about what this whole "life" thing meant to them. If only they could--maybe that would set a few people straight. 

I'm sure somebody would still walk out of the room disappointed.

I have, at this hour, which is less than 24 hours since I heard my best friend's death is imminent, already been told that I'm doing this whole "mourning" thing wrong.

Everyone's a critic.

I am easing into the idea of her not being here anymore. At some point, I'll hit a bump, and have a sob. 

I will probably hit several bumps and have several sobs.

I have a lot of complicated feelings about this that will never be spoken beyond one or two extremely trusted acquaintances. The online community is never going to see me cry. This is not for your consumption.

No wailing or gnashing of teeth. No bedside vigil. I will see her and let her speak her peace, but I will never, ever, speak mine to her. I don't have the right.

I will think of her when I travel, and think of her every time I see The Wizard of Oz, or Gone With The Wind, or Jaws. I do that now, and it won't change when she is gone. I will think of her when Robert and I are sitting at breakfast at Curran's, if I can bring myself to ever have breakfast at Curran's again, since she can't join us there. I will think of her when I'm rummaging through tchotchke shops, or any time I hear Huey Lewis...just like I do now.

These are rather specific ways of mourning and honoring a person and none of them are "wrong", but this is how it comes to pass that funerals are so...unsatisfying. We think of them as a way to say goodbye, and there just *isn't* a way. That person is forever. They live on, long past the time their body is disposed of. There is no "end", no finale. They are there in that song or that movie or that little Tin Man knick-knack you found at that junk shop...until you yourself die and take your memories with you.

We know this, but....we forget, and, we freak out because it all seems so urgent now, and we want to duke it out with people to make sure *our* way of mourning comes out on top.

There is no "timely" death, no "proper" way to mourn, no by-the-book sadness, and there will probably never be a fully satisfying funeral. It is my hope that this transition will be a peaceful one, for Barb and for Kathy. Nothing I, or anyone else, has to say is all that important, right now. I hope everyone just shuts up and listens, because I don't want to have to duke it out with anyone (though, my dad was The Duke, after all, so...you don't want to pick a fight with me...)