Rituals

I try not to talk about my faith too much. I am Catholic, I go to church and I am both a cantor at mass and the funeral cantor of my church. At many times in my life, the predictable comfort of weekly mass was the only constant in a life that was rife with uncertainty and unpredictability. While I have serious philosophical issues with some of the man-made tenets of the Catholic Church organization, I can't imagine practicing my faith anywhere else. However, I also believe that God doesn't care what building you are sitting in, what language you use, what missal you follow or what prayers you pray as long as you talk to Him somehow, and try to follow His ways.

Both my parents were deeply faithful. My father was Jesuit educated, and he was a member of Cursillo. He raised hundreds of dollars for churches over the years, lending his fundraising expertise free of charge. The church where both my parents are buried still use the nativity figures he donated to the church in 1962 when he found out the church couldn't afford to buy them. The altar of the church where my daughter made her first communion recently is framed by wooden pillars that my father helped to raise the funds to create. The Community Living house across the street from the church we attend now came into being because my dad raised the funds to make it happen.

My mother's faith was both simple and profound. While she was anchored by the gospel passage about God's house having many rooms, she also lived in terror of angering God. Her father's family were Protestant (he became a Catholic to marry my grandma) and fire and brimstone was in her DNA. My mother attended daily mass until her health prevented her from doing so, and then we watched it on television. While she was dead set against things like an open casket ("I'll reach up and close it and then I'll haunt you"). visitation ("why would we waste all that money. No one is going to come anyway") and using the funeral home cars (we'll just drive ourselves) she was definite about wanting a full mass and a "proper Catholic burial". Ritual mattered to my mother almost as much as her sense of decorum and proper behaviour. (and what her daughter was wearing...)

So when I was planning my mom's burial for the May long weekend, the first thing I did was contact the English priest at the parish down home. My parents' grave is located behind the village church in St. Eugene, Ontario. My grandparents were married there, my mother and all her siblings were baptized and receive their sacraments there, a few of my aunts and uncles were married there, and many of my family members are buried behind the church. However, the church is now French, and only has a priest once a month. The English church is about 20 minutes up the road, so I contacted that church first before making any other arrangements. The priest agreed immediately, set the time that would work in his schedule and we made all the other arrangements accordingly based on the priest's availability.

And then he didn't show up. The time of the burial he had chosen necessitated various family and friends travelling several hours to be at the graveyard in time. My mom's two lifelong best friends, aged 86 and 88 respectively, stood in the sun with 50 other family members. At first we attributed the delay to a street festival in the adjacent town that had a detour. By 1110 hrs, I was asking the clerk of the church to call the English church. He spoke to someone who confirmed the priest should be enroute. By 1130 hrs, my uncle, my mom's baby brother, and his son had to leave because they had another funeral to attend. The clerk even tried to reach the Deacon of his church...and then he handed me the book with the Catholic Rite of Burial...and I presided over my own mother's burial. I guessed my way through the prayers, thanked everyone for coming, and ended with the committal song from a Catholic funeral because I didn't know what else to do.

Various family have told me that it was nicer and more personal than if the priest had done it. Many have said that my mother would have been proud of me. But here's the thing. First of all, my mother wouldn't have been proud at all...she would have been mortified. I am not a priest or a sister or a deacon...I have no business using the Rite of the church. She would have been happy that I had "gotten on with things" because people were standing in the sun and my daughter was up a tree  (literally) from anxiety, but she would not have been comforted by me doing the ritual of her burial, because it would not have met my mom's definition of a "proper Catholic burial."

The priest was apologetic and claimed to have the wrong date in his phone although the date was correct in the planning calendar at the church. (if he used the phone for scheduling, why could no one reach him ON the phone that day?) He says he has offered a mass for my mom, and also said that he went to the graveyard the next weekend and said the burial prayers over my mom's grave. I have only his word to go on about that.

But here's the thing-I don't have the solace of witnessing the burial ritual. I don't have the comfort of the ritual and the knowledge that mom's final wish was fulfilled. I did my best under extraordinary circumstances, but I still feel like I failed my mom in her last wish.

I know that my mom is in heaven and I know that the mass is the important part, but I still needed the solace of the burial ritual to complete mom's last journey. I needed the comfort of the ritual, and more specifically, I needed the comfort of someone else DOING the ritual. Presiding over my own mother's burial was just another thing that I never thought I would have to do for my mom...and it was the hardest of all.

Eternal Life grant unto her O Lord, and let Perpetual Light shine upon her.

I'm sorry mom. I tried.

Ashes to Ashes

Mom and I went to the funeral home today. She made the reservation, but she hasn't checked in, although she quipped that if she "popped off" it would save $150 on transportation. The funeral director was clearly not used to people who are so forthright about such things, but he's never met my family.

My mom's side of the family talk about funerals. We talk about funerals a great deal. A few years ago, the little village church where my mother and her siblings were baptized, some of them were married or buried, celebrated its 75th anniversary. My mom's whole side of the family went to the celebration, and we wandered the graveyard behind the church to visit the rest of the family before dinner. My father is buried there-he bought the plot when my grandfather died because he was close to my grandfather and wanted to be buried with mom's family. My mother and my aunt always joked they had to stay on good turns because they would be lying beside each other forever, and mom perked right up when she found out that "Katie" was on the other side, because "Katie was always lots of fun." Death is a normal part of our conversation.

My dad died suddenly in his sleep, and he and mom had never had the conversation. We didn't know what his wishes were, other than we knew he wanted to be buried in the graveyard at St. Eugene because that's where he bought the plot. We knew he wanted a Catholic mass, but as for the rest of it...we guessed.

Since then, mom and I have had numerous discussions, and lately, mom was talking about it a great deal-daily, sometimes hourly. She had scrimped and saved her money to ensure she had enough money to bury her. She did without to ensure the bank balance didn't drop below a set number, and if it did, she put it back. When CCAC came to talk to us, the case manager mentioned that we might as well pre-pay the funeral, because otherwise, mom would be expected to use all the funds in her bank account first. So that is how we ended up planning mom's funeral today.

My mother is very clear about her wishes. The casket was to be closed. If it was open, she would reach up and close it herself and then haunt me for all eternity. Since all the family ghosts come and visit me, I knew she wasn't kidding. When the Catholic church changed their stance on cremation, mom's wishes became simpler. Cremate her before the funeral and dispense with pallbearers. "Who'd lug me up those stairs anyway..." She wants a Catholic mass, and then burial "down home." No visitation, no fuss, a lunch under protest. She's been a member of her church since 1990, but she doesn't like the current priest, but she does like the priest at my church, so she'd like the funeral at the church who has the priest she likes. Since you have to cater a lunch at her church, and the CWL provides the lunch at mine, it added more strength to her choice. Top it off with the fact that our church choir is better than her church choir, barring the tiny issue that I'm the funeral cantor and would probably rather not sing at my mother's funeral, although I DID sing at my mother-in-law's internment, and as far as mom was concerned, problem solved.

It's not quite that simple for me, although I will respect her wishes. I mentioned the haunt me for all eternity part, didn't I? I wanted the funeral to be at mom's church so I could walk away and never go back to the reminder. Having the funeral at my church, while comforting on one level, is stressful on another. I really didn't want the funeral in my place of solace.

I know what readings mom wants. I know what hymns mom wants. More important, I know what hymns mom doesn't want. Having this pre-paid means mom gets what she wants. When my father died, mom tried to accommodate the wishes of dad's family, even if it meant ignoring mine. My uncle, dad's brother, wanted an open casket. I didn't, even if I did iron the shirt he was buried in.If my cousin hadn't been right behind me when I walked in the room, I would have fallen flat on my butt because my legs collapsed when I saw dad in the casket.  I caused a minor family kaffuffle because I refused to go up to the front. My father was many things, but lipstick wearing was not one of them. I wanted to remember daddy as he was, not as he was stuffed. 

Mom's funeral and burial is set. It's written down, it's paid for and now mom knows it's settled.

I don't think the funeral director quite knew what to make of a mother and daughter with the black sense of humour, making quips about checking in, casket closing and strapping the urn in the backseat to take mom home. Mom said we could just put her in a ziploc until I found an urn. The funeral director did a double take at that one.Unlike my father's burial, we won't need the funeral home to carry the body-we'll take mom ourselves. We'll have to hunt down a priest down home to do the burial-mom won't pay to fetch one from here. Surely someone in our family can turn up a priest, a deacon, a shaman, a minister-someone will preside when the time comes.

Sometimes my twisted sense of humour is a help. Today was one of those days.

I'm hoping that in true Murphy's law fashion, pre-planning will prolong the necessity. One of her funeral readings is the passage about God's mansion having many rooms. I just hope hers isn't ready yet.