My reusable paper towels from kiddo arrived today!!! Aren’t they CUTE?!
And check out the mailer they came in. It was so adorable, I had to snap a photo of that, too.
They even came with hooks, to use with the little holes in the one corner of each one, to hang them up in the kitchen (or wherever, I suppose, but I am going with the kitchen).
As long as we’re on the topic of Memento Mori and looking at cute and whimsical things involving skulls and skeletons and such, I think this is an okay place to discuss the burial, finally.
SO… this past Friday. I wore the same outfit I’d worn to the viewing/wake, just with a different necklace. It was after all my fanciest black look on hand. Drove over to her mom’s house, to meet them there.
I had originally thought we’d take separate cars, and I would follow them to the cemetery. I’d found it okay in my Maps app and probably could’ve GPS’d it, but they offered to show me the way. I agreed. Instead of following them there, we all rode together, just the three of us. My friend Neva, her mom, and myself.
The grave wasn’t in the part of the cemetery where they’d expected it. They’d been hoping he’d get a spot closer to some family already there. But I guess that part of the cemetery was already pretty full?
Her sisters took some time getting there. There may have been one who didn’t make it, having gotten lost, not knowing the name of the cemetery to look it up, and never having been there.
When we pulled up, winding down a long, gravel drive, her mom announced that it was their tribe’s “sacred burial grounds.” I was in awe.
There wasn’t much ceremony. Most of the time, we were waiting for everyone to arrive.
Some discussion about who would help carry the casket out of the hearse, and how that would be accomplished. There was already a rigging in place over the vault to lower it gently down into the ground.
A woman with the funeral home asked if anyone wanted to say any words. No one did. But there was a line of family waiting to place a handful of dirt upon the casket, in farewell, for closure. I didn’t participate, as I hadn’t really known him.
Then, they capped the vault with a massive block of stone, with a plaque with his name and years of birth and death engraved on it. Neva took some photos of that, and said goodbye, once more.
After they’d talked with family some, we returned to her mom’s house, and the neighbors and some family members brought over food, for a potluck. I had meant to pick up something but just didn’t get it together in time.
I feel like eating after a death or a funeral, or even while a loved one is in the hospital, is such a positive coping mechanism. I suppose hospital coffee could be, too, while maybe less satisfying. Was it an episode of Gilmore Girls where they got coffee out of the nurse’s lounge that was higher quality than that from the vending machines? I know there’s an ER here that gives you free coffee drinks and hot chocolate, by the waiting room.
Macaroni salad with bits of ham, cheddar cheese, and some green olives. Sliced ham or pork. Two sizes of buns. Sloppy Joes. Pulled pork. Homemade salsa and Spanish rice. Veggies and ranch dip. A variety of pre-packaged snack chips (I selected Cheetos). The desserts came later. Lemon bars. Raspberry bars. Frosted brownies. Little cookie cups, made with chocolate chip dough, with either Rolo’s candies or peanut butter cups in the center, like cupcakes but made of cookie, and smaller. Those were AMAZING! Cinnamon rolls I didn’t even get to, because they were so BIG and there was so much to sample, all day.
That may not even be an exhaustive list. There was a lot of food!
We first ate at the tables she and her mom had set up, along with a canopy from their farmer’s market stalls. The neighbors helped supply more chairs.
Later, Neva started a fire in a pit she’d dug in the lawn and surrounded with stones. The next door neighbors shared their wood supply. We both had something to drink, and watched the flames and smoke. The smoke, I noticed, spiraled away from the fire, as it rose to the sky. Small bits of ash snowed all around. I could smell campfire on myself before I even left.
Her mom suggested telling ghost stories. She seemed to prefer true ones, about something or other spooky that any of us had heard or experienced, ourselves.
I told them about how growing up, I used to hear pots and pans banging around in the kitchen, like my mom was cooking, when no one else was home. It was comforting, at first. But I eventually got freaked out by it and yelled for them to stop. Didn’t hear it again after that.
Another night, in bed, I heard the distinct sound of a tennis ball thwacking against the wall beside the bed. And once, while I was in the kitchen with my mom, I saw a shadow that had three dimensions like a physical object, almost like a black vinyl jacket, flutter in front of the closet, above the floor. I had turned to see if something had fallen out of the closet, but there was nothing there. I asked my mom, “Did you just see that?” She said yes, but I’m not certain if we were talking about the same thing, especially since she interrupted me before I could ask anything else.
Her mom shared the “Devil in the Dance Hall” legend, that Neva had told me a version of, once before. I told them all about how I had adapted it and written something inspired by it, that was published by a literary magazine out of India. At the time, I had believed it a legend unique to the Oneida tribe, but later learned there are versions of it in many cultures.
We talked about places they’d lived or stayed briefly that had seemed haunted, nightmares Neva had about a creepy cellar… and the remains of a house in the woods nearby where a real-life murder had taken place. I guess you can still see the foundation if you walk near the creek, amidst the trees.
Neva and I went for a walk on a trail that winds through the elder village, where her mom lives, and stopped to check in on the wife of the man who’s like a second father to her, who had gone to the hospital that day but was later returned home and seemed okay. At least, nothing life-threatening, or super serious. She dropped off a plate of food for him, leaving it with his wife, just before she (the wife) went to lay down.
Her friend Tom arrived after work, and we drifted inside. She fixed him up a plate as well, and I ate all over again. Not sure if I had skipped breakfast? Even if I didn’t, I don’t imagine I ate very much.
I did have a bit of difficulty getting myself moving that morning. Possibly a late night, the night before. I do that, at times. Case in point, it’s now 11 PM. But that’s nothing. So I also had to take the freeway to get there on time, when we’d agreed to meet, ahead of the burial time.
I took the fastest possible route, which had an easier on-ramp, but did involve going over the super-high suspension bridge which always triggers my fear of heights, and some rather high ramps onto an adjoining freeway, which were also a little scary for me. BUT I did it.
Heading home, in the dark, I drove through town, and kept my eyes peeled for deer, while still on reservation land, where there were wooded areas on either side of the road.
Speaking of deer… I saw one casually sauntering across the road, on my way home, tonight. It had literally come out of someone’s yard, and was crossing through the neighborhood. There are some woods nearby, which I’m guessing was where it had initially come from. Still a bit of a surprise!
I once saw a fox crossing in that same area, but past the railroad tracks. And there are possums and other wildlife there regularly, as well.
All in all, I got to her mom’s house at 10:30 AM, pretty much on the dot, since I took that fastest route, and stayed until about 9:30 PM or so, when Tom said he had to get going since he worked the next morning.
I was off the following day, but it was still getting late to be away from home. I had the cat to check in on, who’d been home alone most of the day, and much of the day before. And it was a long day. We were outside for almost all of it, beginning with the burial. I ended up with a bit of sunburn. Hadn’t even thought to put on my SPF moisturizer, but I’d been in a rush and hadn’t done any morning skincare routine.
Neva thanked me for having been there, especially for having stayed all day, and told me how much it helps to have people around when “something like this” happens.
She seemed more at peace than she had the day of the wake.
And she has since checked in with me, and I’ve told her about what’s been up with my mom’s health scares. She offered to pray for her, and she’s STILL throwing me a birthday party, in spite of everything she’s had happen recently.
I mentioned this to my boss today, when she asked if I had any special plans for the birthday weekend which I’d requested off. I almost cried just out of sheer gratitude that Neva would still be so gracious. My boss said maybe she wants to do it, as a way of coping through everything. Having something positive to focus on. Something to do.
Whatever her reasons, I am so, so thankful.
Everyone coming together for her and her mom, between attending the viewing and the burial, and offering food, extra chairs, and firewood, and simply just by being THERE, made an immense difference, I think.
She got to see cousins and such that she hadn’t seen in a long time.
All in all, there was a lot of love going around, and not just in the form of food.
We talked off and on, or just sat in easy silence, watching the fire.
I overheard her and Tom talking about how she had made up a plate for her father. For his spirit.
It was a good day. A sad occasion, but also a celebration of life, and friendship and family.
One I will certainly treasure, which was why it was so important to me to share it here, along with the day of the viewing/wake. She’s important to me, and I’m thankful I could be there. And this way, I’ll have a record of it, that I can go back and look at, again, to remember.
All the Bright and Sparkly Things 
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