Thursday Mikie arrived in the morning, and Laszlo arrived in the evening. Aside from picking them up, it was a quiet day. A couple family meals together.
Friday morning Keiko arrived, and after checking in at the hotel (because I couldn't ask her to stay with me in the cat-shit-smelling basement, or on the air mattress in Anne's study), we headed to the wake.
I've been to a few wakes, including my grandma's, but I've never had to attend one from start to finish before. 2-3pm was family only, and although it was just an hour, it felt like approximately 3 weeks. At precisely 2:04pm, I turned to Laszlo and said:
"You're in charge of this assuming, God willing, that I go before you. I want cremation. No wake. I will not have anyone going through this on my account. Just put up a picture of me. People get half an hour to be sad, and then start up the dance music, bring out some good food, and then everyone should laugh and tell jokes, and maybe share their favorite story about how I almost got them killed. I'm trusting you on this."
By 2:08, I wanted to run out of the room at full speed. I mean, it's weird to just be there nearly alone in the room with your father's dead body.
Not long after 3, people started to show up. That at least provided distraction. Although I had told few of my StL friends about the wake, because I wasn't thrilled about folks seeing me the way I expected to be at the wake, many people ended up coming, and in retrospect, I'm very glad they did. Talking to people kept me from dwelling on the situation, and I needed that.
The wake lasted until 9, and then we had to help pack things up, so we didn't leave until 930. That's 7.5 hours in the creepy funeral home. Again, NO FUCKING WAY do I want anyone to ever endure that on my account.
From there, we had dinner out at the Drunken Fish in the Central West End. It was pretty good. Mostly sushi, but they had teriyaki chicken for me. Teriyaki chicken is how I survive sushi places.
Saturday morning was the service. We had to be at the church early to help set up for the luncheon afterward, and from there we went across the street to the funeral home (at least it's convenient, even if it is creepy) for the funeral home prayer service. The deacon corralled me into doing one of the readings, which I didn't mind per se, but he asked me right before, which means I didn't have time to read it beforehand. As a result, I didn't feel my cadence properly captured the significance of the passage (the Love is Patient, Love is Kind passage), but people seemed to think it was OK, and between no prep and being something of a wreck, I'm giving myself a pass on that one. But I would have liked to have done a better job of it.
From there, Mikie, Willie, Laszlo, Mikie's best friend Nanna, and I carried the casket out to the car, and drove with it for the 30 seconds it took to get it in front of the church. We carried it into the church, and the service began.
It was a nice service. My mom is extremely active in the church, and so the entire priestly brass turned out, as well as many members of the parish. At the end, my mom stood up to give the eulogy. On some level, I think you had to be there to really feel how amazing the eulogy was, but I will transcribe here her copy of it:
"Mike was born in southern India in 1935 into what would be analogous to a middle class family in the United States. They were neither very rich nor extremely poor. Mike's father worked very hard on plantations to provide a comfortable life for his family.
One of nine children, Mike came from a very devout family rooted in our Catholic tradition. Walking to Mass was part of their daily routine. I don't know much about Mike's childhood except that he was a typical kid: he used to cut classes to go play soccer, and he and his brothers used to sneak out to see movies that their father didn't want them to see.
Although not highly educated himself, Mike's father believed in educating his children, including his daughters. Mike's parents were especially proud of him, since he was the first one from his village to graduate from college. Mike was especially close to his mother, who used to give him privileges that she didn't give to the others.
After receiving his BS in Chemistry, Mike worked in a chemical factory for a couple of years while he tried to figure out a way to come to the United States to go to medical school. In 1963, upon obtaining a student visa and a two-year scholarship from St. Benedict's College in Kansas, Mike came to the United States to take pre-med courses. His dream was to become a physician, return to India, and start a free clinic for the very poor.
After two years at St. Benedict's, his scholarship expired, and no one counseled him on how he could possibly fund medical school. At that point he had two choices: go back to India, or go into a different field of study that would offer him a scholarship. He didn't want to go back to India without a degree; his fear was that everyone would think of him as a failure. Consequently, he got into the master's degree program in organic chemistry at Creighton University with the arrangement that he would teach a lab in exchange for free tuition plus a stipend.
In 1968 he graduated with his master's, and again was faced with going back to India or continuing to go to school. He applied, and was accepted into St. Louis University's Ph.D. program in organic chemistry with financial arrangement similar to Creighton's. In 1970, in order to supplement his stipend, he got a part-time job at St. Louis University Hospital in the chemistry lab where I was working. His job was to set up new procedures. I taught him how to use some of the equipment, and hung around a lot. I wasn't interested in him; I was interested in what he was doing.
Occsionally throughout our marriage, Mike recalled the first time he really noticed me: we were in the elevator together at the hospital and I was wearing black jeans, a red shirt, no make-up, and my hair was in pigtails. Mike didn't like make-up because he thought it was phony. One day, he invited me to shoot a game of pool in the student center. He was rather stunned when I beat him badly, and since Mike didn't like failure, he had to ask me out again to try to beat me. And so our relationship started out as a competitive one.
In 1971, when we decided to get married, Mike wrote to his father informing him that he was marrying an American girl. His father wrote back and said, "You realize that you are breaking 500 years of family tradition." Mike didn't care, but it put the fear of God into me, especially since we were gonig to be married in India. However, I was very grateful and relieved when his parents and siblings accepted me with their characteristically warm Indian hospitality. The thing that really saved me was that I was Catholic.
Mike wanted to show me the beauty of his country, and so we traveled around, starting with Kashmir, where there were gardens and lakes at the base of the Himalayan mountains, then to Agra to see the Taj Mahal, and to Bombay where his sister, who is a Carmelite nun, lived. On the way home, we spend a few wonderful days in Rome. When we got back to the United States, Mike initiated the process of becoming a US citizen. I told him that I was willing to go back to India with him if he wanted to try and start a clinic, but Mike, in his wisdom, said that I wouldn't survive.
Soon after finishing his Ph.D. in 1975, Mike obtained a postdoctoral position at SLU. Subsequently, in 1977, after receiving his citizenship, Mike began working at the VA Medical Center in geriatric research, where he stayed for almost twenty years.
We have been blessed with five loving, beautiful, intelligent children. The reason I say five is that our goddaughter, Anne, has become an integral part of our family, and she has never failed to be tehre when I needed her. Mike tried to live out his broken dream of becoming a physician through our children; however, much to his frustration, none of them wanted to become a doctor.
At some point, I began to go through some personally difficult times that Mike didn't understand, and we began to drift apart, increasingly straining our marriage to the point where we were on the edge of divorce. I wanted with all my heart to be able to role model for our children what it means to be faithful, and I wanted the opportunity to prove to Mike that I would take care of him when he got old because he doubted that I would. I think we both knew that something disabling would happen to him. I remember feeling so disappointed with I thought we would split up and my desires could never be fulfilled. But we both believed very strongly in commitment, and one day, I could feel the power of the Holy Spirit orchestrate a series of events that would begin the process of healing our relationship. Never underestimate the power of God.
Even through the most difficult times, Mike never failed to show his love for me. He would do things like warm up the car in the winter before I drove to work, or stop on his way home from work to pick up a banana split for me. I have often said that no one else on the planet would have put up with me. God has a way of fulfilling our deepest desires that is often beyond our imagining. I always thought that something would happen to Mike, but not when he was so young, and not before the kids were grown.
As most of you know, on May 31st 1996, Mike had a severe stroke leaving him with right side paralysis as well as unable to read, write, or talk. Willie was thirteen, Mikie was fifteen, and Maria had one more year of college to finish. Gus had already graduated from college. I learned in an instant that control is an illusion; we don't have control over our lives.
It has been my privilege to have taken care of Mike during these last 13 years. It is what has given me an underlying peace and joy even during the bumps in the road, and perhaps it has been the most formative time in my spiritual life.
And so Gus, Maria, Dan, Mikie, Nini, Willie, Anne, Laszlo, and Keiko... especially all you young people who have yet to go throught the twists and turns of married life, know that marriage may at times be difficult, but marriage is for keeps, and nothing will give you more peace and joy than being faithful to your commitment: for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.
And Mike, I know that you are here with the angels celebrating life with us. Save me a spot next to you. I love you."
Again, I'm not sure that reading it conveys how powerful it was when my mom delivered it. And I also want to point out that she never once wavered or faltered in any way in delivering it. I always knew my mom was tough; she had to have been to have gotten through the last 13 years, or for that matter, through many of the other things she's experienced in life. And there have been many times when I was impressed by her, or proud of her, etc. But at the end of the eulogy, for the first time ever, I think I was actually in awe of her.
At the conclusion of the service, we again carried the casket, this time down the church steps and into the hearse. Then we went to the graveyard, where there was another short service at the grave. At this one, we were caught off guard by the deacon inviting any of the kids to say anything. Willie got up and gave a nice contrasting eulogy, entirely extemporaneous, which we all wish had somehow been recorded. My brother is, well, a unique character, and whatever else you may think of him, he always lets you know *exactly* what he thinks.
He spoke about not knowing my dad real well, and how he'd learned things about him listening to the eulogy (as had I). He mentioned that my dad kind of kept to himself, hanging out upstairs in his study a lot watching kung fu movies. But he also was always willing to help with homework, and then my brother said we kids were all thankful, and that my mom and dad had done a good job raising us. Then he said -and this is the part I remember well- "My brother Mike is the bravest person I know, my brother Gus is the smartest person I know, my sister Sweetpea is the wisest person I know... and I like to think that I'm the funniest person I know." That got a good laugh, and was really just what was needed at the time.
After that, we all headed back to the church for the luncheon. We were all emotionally exhausted, and hungry, so it was a somewhat subdued lunch, but it was nice to be done with the process. Here are a few pics from the luncheon:
Anne, Willie, mom, me, Mikie. And my sister, in pregnant absentia.
With Laszlo and Nanna...
Me and Keiko
Laszlo, introducing some levity into the mood. And reprising one of our iconic college-era photos.
With grandpa (center) and cousin Joe. We are simple folk, plain and true. And are clearly all exhausted and sick of picture-taking.
After helping break down the luncheon, we headed back to the hotel to change, and while Keiko and Anne did girl errands (beauty store, baby registry shopping for my brother), Laszlo and I got ready to tear down The Dwarf House.
The Dwarf House was a project that Willie had done in carpentry class in high school. It was a one room house just big enough for a small family of dwarves. It had at one point had a functioning electrical system, windows, etc., but over the years had had its windows broken, and was no longer plugged into the main house so lacked any actual electricity. Effectively, it was like a little dwarf meth house, a blight on the property and an eyesore for all the neighbors.
I had been plotting its destruction for a very long time. It took up half the parking pad in the back. And it had been there TEN YEARS. Willie showed no signs of ever doing anything with it, and I was in need of venting some pent-up energy, so I recuited Laszlo, Mikie, and Nanna to systemically destroy The Dwarf House. It took several hours, because it turns out that Willie was very good at carpentry and built the house very, very sturdily. But we did succeed in destroying it completely.
In the evening, we went to dinner at Cunetto's, which is awesome family-style Italian served in ginormous portions. Then we headed back to the hotel, because we were all wiped out. Poor Laszlo had an early morning flight. Keiko left Sunday afternoon. I left Monday morning, emotionally exhausted, but glad to be on the other side of the whole experience.
In the end, it was the support of friends that made the whole experience bearable. Losing a parent is tough, but it was a powerful reminder of how blessed I am to have so many people in my life that care. For that I will always be grateful.
1 comment:
Gus, We were sorry to hear about your dad from J. Thanks for letting me join in this difficult day through the blog.
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