Dearest Rachel –
I’m looking forward to a relatively slow day today, honey. Granted, the boys are going to the movies tonight, and have invited me along because I expressed interest in the film when it came out – maybe my concerns about making stuff ‘uncool’ for them by expressing interest in them are unfounded – so the evening is spoken for. But there’s not so much going on with and during the day, so I can do a little catching up on things; which goes for both my ‘office’ work and contacting you.
I’m not going to go into the details of the ‘office’ work; even though most of the procedures weren’t codified until after your departure, they’re mundane enough to hardly be worth telling you about. They aren’t so much boring as they can be tedious – I mean, that’s office work for you; just enough unpredictability that I can’t program the computer to handle it for me, but not enough that I could describe it and make it sound exciting, or even interesting.
So what I am going to tell you about are the errands that we had to run yesterday; errands that basically happen only a few times in one’s lifetime, if that. I don’t know if they were things you had to deal with for either of your parents, even; you took on the responsibility of delivering the eulogy for both of them (and I’m still regretful that I didn’t think to record either one), so you never had that interview with the pastor that I had about you, or that Mom, Jenn and I had yesterday about Dad. There were stories told about him that I’d forgotten that they remembered, and others that I could corroborate and add to here and there. It’s something of a pre-service remembrance, so that those who have to actually stand up and talk can know what they’re talking about.
Of course, given Dad’s own prominent role in the church, there were nearly as many stories from Pastor Scott that we weren’t aware of as there were from us. It’s not as if he really needed us to tell him what he was like as much as there was a need to get our perspective on him that may not have matched his own – a husband and parent isn’t the same role as that of elder or mentor. Still, roles aside, Dad was easier to explain in detail than most people might be, because the character was the same regardless of the role. It’s only the additional, otherwise minor details, that add depth to Pastor’s understanding and as a consequence, would add to whatever he would be saying about him come Tuesday.
Of course, there were other specifics to be hammered out. Dad being as organized as he was (and having all these years to plan out what it should be like), he had a list of songs and other particulars he had already given Pastor as to what the service ought to be. One of the more amusing (and understandable) ones was his stipulation that there not be an open mike for tributes. Honestly, that makes sense; he would never claim it, but let’s be honest, if we let people go on about him, the service could take days, maybe weeks. Just a few, hand-picked speakers (although one of his picks might not be able to do it, as it happens), and leave it at that.
I actually thought it might take longer than it did, but we were out of there in about an hour; which is probably less time than the funeral itself is going to be.
From there, Jenn drove us to the cemetery itself, as we had to make the arrangements for the plot. Of course, the folks have plots among the rest of the extended family – and even an extra one, which I’ve petitioned for myself (which works out, as you’ve been turned to ash, according to your own wishes; more on that later) – but there was still the matter of arranging for a headstone, as well as the fees for digging up the space, and later, installing the headstone. The fellow at the cemetery office had told Mom that she didn’t need to bring anything to the consultation, but she took that a little more literally than he’d meant it, which is to say she hadn’t brought her checkbook. Not that it couldn’t be paid by credit card, but as they apply a certain percentage additional charge for credit payments, he suggested that a check be brought over today (which I understand Jenn did this morning). That charge isn’t insubstantial, either; the costs involved here nudge up into the five-figure range, so even a percent or two adds up to a couple hundred dollars.
I see why companies advertise “final expense” insurance plans; it’s like being able to impulse-buy a decent automobile, between the cemetery and the funeral home – both the service and the goods (like the casket and the flowers) – not to mention the gathering afterward where folks will need to be fed, given the hour of the day. You don’t begrudge it – indeed, it’s the least you can do – but it is something to deal with, and maybe something that needs to be dealt with as much ahead of time as possible.
At least Mom’s headstone will be sorted out when the time comes, as we were recommended to examine headstones. I don’t recall which of them said it, but either Mom or Jenn expressed momentary regret that they couldn’t employ one of the Robertson boys (descendants of Truman, the founder of Fort Wilderness), who was a sculptor and engraver for a monument company in Wisconsin. As it so happened, the supplier for the cemetery was located in Wisconsin, and we looked it up; it was in fact that self-same company. I won’t say it made us feel better about the process, but it was nice to have a certain connection like this.
Additionally coincidental (or was it?), Mom chose one of the simpler designs for Dad and herself, at which point, we were driven out to the plot. It so happens that his parents had chosen the same exact design (albeit in a different color) for their “companion stone,” as it’s called in the business, apparently. So while it seems unfortunate to be reduced to such a minimalistic marker, there’s a certain consistency that is reassuring in its own way.
While there, I couldn’t help checking out my own space, next to Dad’s eldest brother who died so young (despite having served in the occupation army after WWII). There’s not the kind of room for a companion stone, but I would want to see something along the lines of the one I told you about a few years ago. Now that I know who provides monuments to this place, I should probably get in touch with them and arrange for one to be custom-made for the two of us for that narrow space. Ft’s not like the shaker of your ashes won’t fit in my casket, so a part of you can be buried there with me, but a standard companion stone won’t work in that spot.
Well, that’s enough musing for the day, and I should get on with my ‘work.’ Keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me well; I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 