Still in Control
She played Mah Jongg, Canasta, Bridge, and lunched often with seven other women. She was in her late 50s, had been married and divorced years ago, no children. She was not a member of Temple Sinai, but the other seven were and when one of them called to ask me to do the funeral ... as a favor, please, it was a request I wouldn’t refuse. It was to be a grave side service at Emanuel Cemetery, since Temple Sinai had not yet acquired its cemetery. The only folks in attendance would be the seven women, me, and the representative from Feldman Mortuary.
The Emanuel Cemetery is located within the enormous confines of Fairmount Cemetery and, therefore, is bound by its rules. Fairmount requires that all graves must have a cement liner – essentially, a pre-fab box into which the casket is lowered, and then a cement vault top is set in place by crane after the service. While not exactly in keeping with Jewish tradition, the reason for doing this is understandable. In many parts of Colorado there are heavy concentrations of clay in the soil, especially bentonite, and such clays when wet tend to expand and contract in odd ways. Thus, over time, a grave site can sink a little or a lot, or it can shift a tad leaving the ground uneven and unsightly. The vault prevents all of that from happening.
The seven women came in to see me and had much to say about their dear friend of many decades. I took notes of course, so that I could write a full eulogy later that evening. I made a point of writing out every eulogy, not only so that I didn’t omit an item, but so that I had a permanent record of that person for eulogies of future relatives and friends. The extra effort now often saved a lot of effort years later. Since the mortuary rarely put up a podium for a small grave side service, I learned early on to print those eulogies four inches wide and to cut the pages in half lengthwise so that they would fit neatly between the pages of the small Rabbis Manual. In this way the book-held speech allowed me to hold the book in one hand while maneuvering the 5-7 eulogy pages with the other.
It was a beautiful spring day, balmy for late April, with a soft warm breeze. Perfect weather, I thought, as the eight of us formed a semi-circle around the grave. The casket was resting on the wide green straps of the lowering device, the bottom of the vault visible underneath the casket. The women had each stressed that their friend had been a department store manager, that she was a take-charge kind of person who insisted on attending to every aspect of any gathering, and that she would not allow anything to be determined until she gave her approval.
We made a tight semi-circle around the foot of the casket and chatted a bit until agreeing that it was okay to begin. I read a few Psalms, a Proverb, and an introductory paragraph about the passage of time. I stuck the six pages of the eulogy into a crease in the Manual’s pages and began to speak. I was half-way down the first page, when, looking up, I said that … our friend was a person who liked to manage; she managed her business responsibilities, managed her personal relationships, even her friendships. She always determined what would be, how it would be done, who would do it, when it would happen, where it would take place. She made arrangements for this plot, no doubt chose this weather, would probably want to see what I was about to say ... and with those words, a brief, firm breeze blew in, took all six pages out of my book, sent them briefly a swirl and then page after page straight down past the casket and into the vault below.
We all gasped ... and then realizing what I had just said, the eight of us started laughing.
“See, she’s managing from the grave.”
“She just wanted to approve it before you spoke.”
“Even in death, she takes charge.
“Control was her middle name.”
Each of their comments promoted further laughter. The Mortuary representative who had been leaning absently against the hearse some fifty feet away came right over to see what was happening. Then he too began to chuckle.
I remembered most of what I had written and went on with the eulogy. Several of the women added a word about how they would miss her feisty spirit, her constancy, her honest appraisals of everything, her lack of guile, the loving comments and compliments she spread easily among her friends, and even what she would have served had the funeral been hosted by her. They each bemoaned her untimely death — a heart attack.
As we finished saying Kaddish, we each tossed a small amount of dirt on the casket and then a yellow rose, her favorite, linked arms, and walked toward our cars parked on the near-by pathway.
It was then that one of the women cried out as if in sudden realization of what they as a group had lost:
“Oh, now who’s going to organize our schedules, who hosts, who brings what, where we’ll meet?”
And another chimed in, “What we’ll wear, what we’ll discuss?”
Another, “What we need and don’t need, who we like, how we’ll vote?”
And, “Where the best bargains are!”
And another, “Who will we get to fill her seat? Is there such a person?”
It is normal to leave a funeral service feeling morose, or simply sad, perhaps empty, emotionally depleted, exhausted, just pensive, and the like. But these seven friends were happy to have known this woman. Even in her passing she brought them cheer, gave them memories that made them smile; she obviously meant a great deal to each of them.
As for me, I was pleased ... you might even say delighted, to have left her with a copy of her eulogy.