A couple of weeks ago, my friends and family convinced me to start a blog. I was all set to dive in, describing in ludicrous detail the latest of my misadventures. Then, life intervened. My family lost our true north when my beloved Uncle Sonny died. All the silly things that occupy my brain fell away, replaced with shock and shattering grief.
But there was something else: Precious time with my family. And, like any family, we mourn in our unique way. There were tears, stories, and photos; humor, absurdity, and exhausted laughter; comfort and time-honored rituals. In the spirit of family – what it means and how it ties us together – let’s examine some of those rituals.
This is why turkey sandwiches depress me.
I’m not entirely sure why our default comfort food has always been one of those divided disposable aluminum trays piled high with deli meat. Or, for that matter, why the chief mourners in this family immediately worry about what all the drop-ins are going to eat. Do the drop-ins expect to be fed? Won’t a neighbor bring over a casserole later today? Can’t we order pizza if anyone is hungry? After my mom died, I swear to you there was lunchmeat in our house within an hour. And that was 8:30 on a Sunday morning. I don’t ever want to see stacks of capicola before noon – and certainly not when I’ve just lost my mother.
I’m pretty sure it was the aluminum tray from my grandfather’s death that reappeared (because nothing disposable was ever disposed of in our house) every New Year’s Day, serving up our Club crackers and my father’s famous cheese dip. Happy New Year, Pop-pop.
You’re gonna wear that?
Do you remember Strawbridge & Clothier? Duh. If you’re from the Greater Philadelphia area, of course you do. Best place for funeralwear. How do I know? Because some combination of the women always made a panicked trip to Strawbridge’s, looking for the just-right outfit to convey several important things: Our respect, of course; Mass-appropriateness; the illusion that we had lost 10 pounds (despite eating three pounds of ham for breakfast); and our level in the mourning hierarchy.
Perhaps my favorite fashion moment was when my aunt showed me the tasteful basic black suit she would be wearing to her mother-in-law’s funeral – several weeks before her mother-in-law actually shuffled off this mortal coil. Best to be prepared, I guess. To this day, I still don’t know why we ended up at Strawbridge’s anyway.
In the interest of full disclosure, I feel compelled to confess one of the most ill-advised decisions of my early 20s. In retrospect, maybe the afternoon of my father’s wake wasn’t the very best time to make my first attempt – ever – to conduct an at-home waxing of my upper lip. But I just kept thinking of all those people hugging me, and looking at me, and I was already going to look a wreck and the stupid lip situation was only going to make it worse. How was I to know that hot wax is incredibly hard to control?
Moving on…
I never expected to write my very first personal blog about death. And what may seem like a somewhat flippant treatment of the subject is far from – it’s a celebration of the people who have brought me this far. In the end, we needed the sandwiches, and none of us cared what we wore. It’s always been about the togetherness. In those first days of grieving, we needed to be with the other people who would live the new normal with us, who understood what was lost. We still do – and I know that Uncle Sonny would love that.
Yellow Desk Storytelling 
Mikey is very lucky to be a part of your family. Keep writing.
We’re lucky to have him, Beth! Thank you so much for the encouragement 🙂
Well I obviously copied off the right person every morning on the bus to St. Agnes. Wow, Judy, you took a subject matter most (read I) don’t like to deal with and I don’t know. I just feel safe now.
Jules – what a kind and thoughtful thing to say. Thank you. And I am so happy to see you on FB!
Now listen to what you have brought back to me, and we’ll see if I can write it without tears. I was 25 with a three year old and a 4 month old, moving to California with my husband’a company. He was gone already, and my mother and stepfather went to their vacation house unable to handle the emotion of saying goodbye to us. The moving truck pulled out of my driveway, I stood in the empty house with my babies and a suitcase, ready to sleep at my parent’s deserted house, when an aunt called to say that my grandmother had died, on the other end of the state. I was due to see her the very next day, to wait out the time for my moving truck to cross the country. I was devastated, alone, and had to fly to Pittsburg with this horror and grief…and all my clothes had just driven down the street.
The next morning I was at Strawbridge’s, kids in the stroller, trying to find something to wear to the funeral, my grandmother’s funeral, what the hell was going on? I bought some things and was paying the cashier, a much older woman, who complimented my choice and asked if I had an event. I remember so clearly taking a deep breath and trying not to cry, telling her that my clothes were gone, my husband was gone, my mother was gone, I was moving to the other coast, and my grandmother had died. She came around the counter and asked if she could please pray for me, and she took my hand. I stood there with Jen in my arms and hung my head while tears streamed down my face, as the are even now 25 years later, while this stranger held my hand and asked God to give me strength and comfort for what was ahead. It is such a vivid memory and was an important model for me of how to be a gracious and caring human being.
Thanks for your post.
Anna, Anna, Anna. Thank you for sharing this. Sometimes we get exactly what we need.
Yay! I love it. Now I want some capicola. Or, as my family calls, “gabbagool.”
Mare, you should serve it with some moootzarell,
Oh wow, loved how you transitioned from the awkward moment to why you started this with death with the dual purpose Moving On. What a great read!
Thanks, Tina! I love hearing what you have to say, my fellow writing nerd 🙂
I’m so glad you did this! I can’t wait to read more.
Thanks for the encouragement, Krissy!
Congrats on your first Blog. I look forward to many more as I sit here at 3:56 AM eating a deli sandwich thinking about my own death. Don’t think I will be going back to bed anytime soon.
Thanks, Bob! While I feel bad that I’ve made you contemplate your own mortality, I want you to know that I’ll be wearing something fabulous to your funeral.
Bereavement eating and funeral shopping, things I feel I have experienced way too much of in the past two years, yet absurd humor has always been my favorite kind. Thank you for articulating those crazy thoughts in such a loving and respectful way. I am so excited to be reading this, please give me more!!!
Thank you, thank you!
Nicely written. In regards to the casserole tradition, when I was 25 I was at my mother’s house after a death in the family. My sister’s friend, about 15, stopped by to offer her condolences. She brought a box of spaghetti and jar of sauce. It was cute, funny, and touching at the same time.
Thank you, Mike! I love the spaghetti story – that’s great!
Most enjoyable to read…I encourage my student to write journals and to express their triumphs and tribulations…it’s good for the soul! ❤
Thanks, Juliet!
I could actually hear the sound of your voice…love the upper lip part!!!!