a funeral

Today Shari’s mom (Roberta, aka Bobby) is buried.  While she had been sick for many years, the heart attack she suffered on Thursday was unexpected.  She died the next day.  Next week she would have celebrated her 80th birthday.

Zelia, Alexander and I drive up to Sands Point where the funeral is being held. We arrive just in time.

Shari and her two sisters are close.  One lives in Hong Hong and had just returned there after summering here.  The other lives in New York.  Shari and one of her sisters speak, along with Shari’s son Sam and a niece.  All pay tribute to a much-adored woman.  The intimate sanctuary cannot seat all the many people who have come to say good-bye.

After the service, Zelia, Janice, and I return to Shari’s dad’s apartment to set up all the food.  And there is much of it:  bagels, lox, cream cheese, tuna spreads, white fish spreads, salmon spreads, cole slaw, sushi, sandwiches, chocolate covered fruits, plain fruit, cakes, cookies, crudités, home-baked mandel bread, and on and on.  No one leaves hungry unless they want to.

I meet many of Bobby’s friends and family.  I see many people I haven’t seen in a long time.  This shiva is not a sad one.  People remember wonderful stories of Bobby and tell them with smiles.  It must be comforting to Shari and her family; I hope it is.

I get home after seven.  I call my mom.  She is sad.

My dad lies in a hospital bed in Boston, awaiting transport back to the rehabilitation center on the Cape.  My dad is in pain.  He is disoriented.  He has no quality of life.  My mom, as strong as she is, now lives a life full of stress and wonder.  Each day is a challenge, and her ability to improve my dad’s state of being is limited.  There is little anyone can do.

I think Shari’s mom would be smiling; today’s service and tributes are beautiful.  It’s too bad we can’t attend our own funerals.  But who really knows.  Perhaps we do.