Wake the Dead

Saturday:

Last night I was at my grandfather’s wake and this morning he was buried. I have noticed that my mother has marked the passing of her father-in-law by complimenting the service, my uncle by commenting on the number of people who attended the visitation, and my aunt by remarking on the flowers. My cousin said that it was sad that we only saw all of these family members when someone died. My dad seemed to be more absorbed in the loss. My brother planned logistics.

I would like to comment on the high chick that was at the visitation.

When I say “high” I mean FUCKED UP.

At the funeral home they ask the family to be there an hour before the visitation starts. When I got there she was already sitting downstairs. However, once it turned 5:00 and people were coming into the parlor, it took her at least half an hour to figure out that all of these people were not immediate family. She came stumbling in around 5:30.

You know when someone is messed up because of the tell-tell signs like slurred speech and having their eyes closed for 80% of the conversation. You can also tell because they seem immune to social hints and seem to ignore the common laws of distance. You know, all conversation is within 8 inches of your face; you back away; they fall right back into your perimeter. But the most obvious sign of wasted is the volume at which the offender speaks. Remember, my grandfather’s dead body is less than 15 feet away. Some how it seems obligatory to speak softly. On a scale of 10, most people are speaking somewhere between a 3 (soft) and a 5 (average). Joanie is most often between an 8 and a 9.

She approached my mother. I will begin each piece of the conversation with a number to indicate how loudly Joanie was speaking.

Joanie (8): Your house is always so neat and clean. I can’t organize. I need some help. Will You help me? I’ll pay you.

Mom (4): I have a friend like that. I’ve been trying to help her get her house in order since Christmas and there is still clutter everywhere.

Joanie (9): I said I’d pay you! (7): Your house is always organized. I can’t organize. I need some help.

Me (5): You should watch some of those shows on HGTV. They’re always giving tips on how to unclutter and how to organize a space.

Joanie (10): THE LAST THING I NEED IS SOMEONE ELSE TELLING ME WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE.

Mom sneaks away and leaves me there, alone, with a yelling lunatic.

Joanie (4): You know wha I do when a shows like that comes on the TVs? I give ‘em on of these (flips the bird). But I don’t cuss in public. But what I do at my own house is my own business. If I want to flip the bird at the TV I can, right? No body can tell me not too, right? I can do whatever I wanna do. (resumes bird and thrusts it into the air multiple times).

My brother approaches.

Joanie (8): Is he with you?

Me (5): That’s Justin (my brother).

Joanie (9): Holy crap. You’ve lost like 60 pounds!

Justin (5): No. I’ve lost about 15 or 20 pounds.

Joanie (9): No you haven’t. You’ve lost like 60 pounds. You have. (an angry 11): YOU HAVE.

Me (changing the subject) (5): She’s with him (I point to my sister in law).

Joanie (8): You’re with him? (points to my sister in law and to Justin). You married Justin? (head is now starting to sort of roll back)

Justin (5): -sarcastically- Naw… the two of them are married. (points to his wife and to me).

Joanie (9): Well you never know! I have nieces and nephews so I know that you can never know. I mean, nobody can tell me what I don’t know because you can never know.

Me (4): I’m going to the bathroom. (exits and has a cigarette).

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This is only ONE of the conversations I was forced into having with Joanie that night. She lingered for hours. It was sad, yet funny, to watch her wobble through the parlor, bending to look at flowers, then spotting me and returning to my space. I hated that none of my friends were there to see this.

Here’s one other little piece of a conversation:

Joanie (4): I’ve been divorced from (my dad’s best friend) for almost a year now. Can you believe that?

Me (5): Wow. A year, huh?

Joanie (10): I said ALMOST a year!!!!

Me (3): Ok.

Joanie (9): I hate that son of a bitch but I miss him. I have to mow the yard and my mower is too big to get around the deck. The grass there is really tall.

Me (5): Well, I see some options. You could move to a house with a smaller yard or you could get a weed eater.

Joanie (8): My grief counselor told me not to make any major changes for at least a year.

Me (5): Moving would be major, but getting a weed eater isn’t really that big of a deal. Maybe you would like having the grass kept tidy around the deck? I think they’re pretty inexpensive.

Joanie (11): I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO MAKE ANY MAJOR CHANGES!

Me (3): Excuse me. I have to go to the bathroom. (Another cigarette).

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I can’t help but see humor in situations, even those that are sad. I’ll write more, if the mood strikes, because I’d like you to hear about Joanie and her fried chicken and the service itself. If you believe that the universe is filled with cosmic waves and that you can telepathically send joy and ease suffering, please, don’t waste it on me. Send your prayers to my family. God already blessed me with a night of Joanie. I’m going to be OK.

•   Comments(5)    Posted by liz on 08/25 at 07:02 PM
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