My phone rang, it was Mum. I always worried when Mum called, I always thought that she was calling in response to something terrible happening.The greatest fear being that Nana had died.
“Surprised you answered” Mum started
“What do you want?” I asked, this being my standard response to family members.
“Nothing, just letting you know that we scattered her yesterday”
“I hope you showed due reverence”
“Yeah, we all threw a bit, Me, Your Father, your Aunty, your cousin and her kids”
“Where?” I asked.
My family were in Maldon for the weekend, My Mum’s cousin has a house there where we would often stay, its a little heritage listed miners cottage just outside of the town area. This was also the town where my Nana was born and we thought it fitting to leave some of her ashes there.
“We put her under a tree in the yard” she replied.
“You had better let me know which tree, I’d hate to go out at night for a pee and find I'm peeing on Nana.”
“I'll show you the place next time you are up, O and I saved you some ashes if you’d like to scatter some yourself”
“Thanks” I said in an uneasy manner, unsure of what the correct response should be.
My Mother was at times tactless and irreverent as well as a bit on the macabre side.
She had an interest in family history and had spent considerable amounts of time researching the lives of long dead family members, she had found that the best sources of information came from their last resting place and had traipsed through most of the cemeteries throughout Victoria. A majority of her holidays were spent as such with most of her holiday snaps being cemeteries and headstones. I guess nana’s was another to add to the collection.
This trait of irreverence I had inherited from my mother, in fact it was a trait common among the descendants of my Grandmother, I really don't think we, as a family held anything sacred.
Gathering at my parents place after the funeral my siblings and cousins told the stories of our childhood, the five of us trod the well worn paths of the often told stories. We recounted the stories at family gatherings, Christmases mostly as that was where most of the stories were created.
Other mourners were dragged into the telling of tales, one of us would start the story whilst others interjected with corrections, opposing views or just justifying their actions.
We would lose ourselves to hysterics recounting our childhood stupidity, still bagging each other for the actions of decades past.
In our loudness I got a sense from those outside of the family that we should behave in perhaps a more solemn manner as it was after all the day of our grandmothers funeral.
There was however enough solemnity in the funeral, it was a staid affair at an east suburban funeral home. It was the same place where Pa’s funeral was held two years earlier. Of places to have a funeral it seemed pleasant enough, the chapel was quaint yet tasteful, laid out to the standard chapel/church template. a rectangular open room with rows of blue pews all facing one end with a path down the middle which lead to the front. the coffin was front and centre with a window behind that looked out onto a small walled garden. it wasn't a fancy garden, just a small fountain on a concrete pedestal of the type you would find on special at Bunnings. this was surround by various ferns and hanging plants.
To the right of the garden window was what I would consider a speaking platform.
it resembled the kitchen bench of a bricklayer, having been made of the same bricks as the chapel walls with a laminex bench top which was hidden from general view by another row of bricks. from this point all of the oratory elements of the service were conducted with the exception of the introduction and comments from The Celebrant, she had everything prepared in a little folder and was thus quite mobile. she was a matronly woman who spoke in a warm tone somewhat resembling that of a tour guide leading primary school students though a historical monument.
in this voice she spoke of all of Nana’s achievements, of being a foundation member of various local community groups, the CWA, girl guides and the Local hospital ladies auxiliary as well as the many years she worked and volunteered for the red cross but despite all of her achievements the celebrant kept coming back to the dementia. she seemed to frame every sentence around it. she was 91 when she died, dementia only played a small part.
I could sense the tension in my row, from the look on my cousins face I could tell what she was thinking, probably something along the lines of, “Who is this Bitch to talk about Nana? She wasn't demented all her life.”
I agreed with her, I found that celebrant was far too reverential for my liking, I guess it was up to me to add some irreverence.
After my Mother had read a eulogy from the bricklayers kitchen, My cousin and i got up to read some poetry of the type that one often hears at the funerals. i like to called it the “dead but not dead” genre of poetry designed to make the mourners feel better about the passing of a loved one, it was like a multi stanza hallmark card. these were given to Lauren and i from the celebrant via Mum and we had organized that she would go first as it was only fitting as she was a lady and I, being the gentleman that i am, went second, though we would both be standing in the bricklayer kitchen whilst each of us read.
it was my turn to read. i paused for a moment. the day before i had felt that a hallmark card poem wouldn't say anything of Nana as a person. i had things to say, actually i had some things that nana had once said to me that i thought worth sharing. the morning of the funeral i scribbled down some notes in my moleskine not sure of whether i should say more than the poem. meh, grieving grandson. I can say whatever i want.
Before I read this poem, id like to share a few things that Nana once said to me at the gate between our houses. Every weekend it was afternoon tea up the back at 3pm, walking back home we’d stop at the gate, this is the place where nana would share her wisdom.
“Don't get old” she once said. I have no plans for that so I'll head that advice
“I've had a good life,” she said, “I married a good man, had two beautiful daughters and five good grandkids, if I died tomorrow I would die happy”
The third piece of wisdom is (I directed this part to my siblings and cousins), “I love it when you visit but don’t feel like you have to visit. I don’t want to be one of those grandmas that you feel you have to visit, you have got your own life, I don't want to be a burden on it.
Now here is the poem that I am obliged to read.
I read the poem and apologized to Lauren for leaving her up there longer than expected, she shrugged it off and we both sat down. It felt weird afterwards getting compliments for speaking at a funeral, “She would have been so proud,” said a second cousin whose name escapes me. She would have, except if I dropped my H’s. She hated that.
Maggie from the old folks home, sidled up for a word, “I didn't realize She lead such an interesting life.” Maggie had only known Nana in her later demented state. They had met the day that my Pa died and nana needed somewhere to live. Maggie was a small older lady, somewhere around 60. the caring nurse type who you knew could turn evil at a moments notice. she kept popping into nana’s room as we sat there . Nana lay on her bed unconscious, moving closer to the final sleep. it was the second day by her bed. myself, Mum, My Aunty and cousin. I had asked my brother and sister if they wanted to come. they declined. I don't think they cared to see their skeletal nana slowly die. Understandably.
We sat there in silence. Waiting.
“This is boring” I stated nonchalantly. The others nodded in agreement.
“At least you are not at work” chimed in Mum
“True,” I said, “I’m trying to milk this for as many days off as I can get, I'm out of grandparents after her”
The conversation continued on about work and compassionate leave. My aunty had just started a new job at a supermarket and had training that week and was worried at the effect of missed training. Mum, who had worked for the same company, albeit at a different store, for almost ten years suggested that she in essence, get over it.
The irreverent conversations continued all afternoon, all the while Nana just lay there.
The previous day I had been sitting a work. I was training an older lady in how to use her computer. Showing her how to organize the photos of her grandchildren. The phone rang. It had rang three times before. It was my brother. Nana was dying.
