One Last Gift

I was lucky in this life to have two chances to eulogize my mother. The first, just after her death, in Colorado; and in April, in Maryland, where my mother grew up and spent a great deal of her time after the chicks had left the nest. When my cousins told me of their intention to have a second service for those on the East Coast that couldn’t make it out to Colorado, I expected that I would read the words I prepared for my mom’s funeral.
But as a writer, I’ve come to listen to the niggling little voice I hear sometimes. That voice that makes me pay attention when I hear something interesting on the radio or see something unusual on the street – the voice that lets me know I may find the kernel of a story.
When my cousins told me of their plans, I kept having this word run through my head: gift. As it got closer to the time to fly out to Maryland, the word had morphed into a phrase: one last gift. Paying attention, I tried to figure out what my subconscious was trying to tell me.
During her last days, my mom doled out quite a few of her possessions to her children. I was on the receiving end of quite a few things – her TV, a Bose stereo. It got to the point that my siblings were getting a little green at the things she had singled out to give me.
But none of these items seemed to fit the bill as one last gift, mainly because her giving of these items bore a certain amount of morbidity to them. Sure, I’d love a TV, but the price seemed a bit high.
When she did pass and we had to start thinking about arrangements and plans, we were a bit stuck. None of my siblings, nor I, had ever been in a position to plan a funeral, to plan the end of a life. What does one do? What comes first? Which plans take precedence?
Luckily, we had quite a bit of help along the way. The first thing we had to think about was a venue for the service my mom wanted us to have for her. (Talk about an ultimate strange conversation: making plans with your mom for her service. Whoo boy.) But none of us children had voluntarily stepped into a church that wasn’t holding a wedding or a funeral in decades. And if not a church, where would we hold such an event?
Someone had the bright idea to contact my nephew and have him inquire about the church he was married in just a few short years before. It was a great place, austere and comfortable at the same time, with unique architecture and wood pews. Austin had become a member of the church since his wedding and was able to contact the pastor and secure the hall for us.
The relief I – and I’m sure my siblings – felt when that obstacle was navigated felt like cresting a hill in a long road race, almost euphoric. But we were still a ways away. Another part of the “whoo boy” conversation was what music she wanted played. And because it was my mother, it was a mix of classical, traditional hymns and Irish ballads that we had to find.
Itunes can be a wonderful place. Where else can you search for an obscure hymn and get thirty versions to choose from? So I set about getting the music straight, listening to 30-second snippets of songs to find the right versions, or at least the versions with the least bombastic.
I managed to download the songs and burn them onto disc, one that we would be used with the a/v equipment at the church. We also managed to find a friend who could scan a group of photographs from my mom’s collection (yes, real photos; heck, she still had slides) so that we could project them onto a screen with the same equipment at the church. At one point, my sister’s laptop wouldn’t read the disc, but another that we tried did.
Things began to come together, to work out, but I still didn’t feel that anything fit the ‘one last gift’ ideal.
Then the morning of the service, with seemingly half the family at my oldest brother’s place, we managed to shower nearly a dozen people, and clothe them, and get them on the road it plenty of time. With the disc, and the laptop, still at the house.
Of course, I only noticed this when we had less than a half an hour to go, and my brother’s house was forty minutes away, round trip. I mentioned this to my nephew – who promptly whipped out his iPhone and, faster than it took me on my laptop, downloaded all the songs and got them to his father-in-law, who agreed to run the a/v system.
Crisis averted. Again. So all we had to do was greet the guests. Certainly after the week we had, this had to be the easiest part. We were all there for the same reason, there was a ton of great food for afterwards – easy-peasy.
Fairly early, only moments after the ‘music debacle,’ a family member (not sure I can use her name) arrived and I was the first to greet her. The usual things were said – I’m assuming, this was only the fourth funeral I had been to – when she reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. It was a very nice envelope I seem to remember, high quality paper and surrounded by a ribbon. But it was what she said handing it to me. Something like, “We’ve planned a date in March; I hope you all can make it.”
She’d handed me a wedding invitation. I could just imagine my mom, standing just over my shoulder, nearly shouting, “Be nice. Be nice.” I remember looking at the envelope for a second, then putting it in a pocket and saying something like, “Thanks for letting me know.” Even that, the seemingly direct intervention by my mom, didn’t seem to be the last gift.
The service was fine. Tears were shed, there was lots of laughter. But like all eulogists, I’m sure, I was unsure of how I would do. Would I stumble? Would I have to stop? Would I be the first to have to walk away from the pulpit, unable to continue?
Of course not. Tears were shed, there was lots of laughter, the music started and ended on cue, each of us that spoke were, I dare say, ridiculously good, and the photographs displayed just as we needed them. So what about this gift?
I’ve come to realize that the last gift, one she’d been preparing us for her entire life, was the ability to pull this thing off. And pull it off well. My last gift was being able to say goodbye to my best friend, in the best way I knew how, with people who had come to realize just how irreplaceable she was.
And if I can do that – I can do anything.