You're gonna miss me when I'm Gone.

So. Island funeral.
Irish descent. The waking, the gathering and the letting go.
From the earth we come and to the earth we return.
Relations and friends I have not seen in years.
The chaos, the calm.
The peace that passeth all understanding, and the.
Ironic moments.

We are pulling out of the driveway on our way to the funeral.
Potential daughter in law is at the wheel of her souped up second hand
clunker, adult son is next to her.
I'm in the back, for once not in yoga pants or jeans,
hair teased and upswept,
a jackie O style little dress, my mother's last minute borrowed heels,
red lipstick and sunglasses, ( cause you know, tears at the gravesite)
and attitude.
My nan would be proud.
Daughter in law to be is wearing a flamboyantly floral sundress,
her enthusiastic 40 GG breasts spilling happily out the top,
sparkly flip flops and purple toenail polish, hair in barettes.
There's an issue with the muffler, but it only adds to the ambiance.

Let's do this, I say into the momentary silence, and she puts
pedal to the metal, and we roar off down the highway.
Some rock tune comes on blaring from the speakers,
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone,
not the country version but rock,
with heavy driving bass beat,
son and I start to laugh out loud,
and we're all singing.

Memories. At the wake last night,
and suddenly the strains of Amazing grace, that saved a wretch like me,
fill the small room.
Dischordant, fervent and impassioned.
My aunt who has early Alzheimers,
has wandered out to the organ,
and let loose.
No one is sure what is happening for a few moments, (the second Coming)??
Till Uncle finds his wayward wife.

I was the sole female pall bearer,
and it all went well, till we stepped up onto the
small platform surrounding the grave,
and I lost my balance temporarily,
and teetered precariously, almost tripping in.
Nan would have laughed. No, she would have howled.:)

At the casket with my son,
in the funeral parlor.
I'm taking in what her casket reads,
1918-2015,
Truly. Amazing.
She looks good, I say, Real peaceful.
Son nods.
But dead, mother.

Yes. There's that.
But good dead, you know? I mean, almost a century..

It went better than my grandfather's funeral
a couple of decades ago,
where we had to hold tiny nan up,
during a howling february snow storm
at the gravesite, as she appeared to
in her grief to consider throwing herself in.
Fisticuffs broke out between the two surviving brothers,
we were all drinking whiskey to stay warm in the savage cold.
Passing the flask as he was lowered.

The rural minister is fetching.
Half the funeral party misses the turn off to the rural cemetary,
and winds up confused in the parking lot of Walmart.
There's feels and laughter and tears.
Dirt and blue skies and roses.
Children and grandchildren and great grandchildren.

And it is good. And life. Goes on.