Book Talk and Funerals

Monday: One of my Red Hat Society sisters lost her husband and a bunch of us went to a visitation wearing what the queen instructed should be “understated Red Hat attire.” I don’t know the newly christen widow well and the funeral home was the same one where my husband’s memorial service was held, so I had two good reasons not to go. Still, having been in her shoes four years and two months ago I can still remember how comforting it felt to have so many people come by to express whatever they had to share. And although all those people become a blur at times like that, the numbers do count. They flood your mine with their stories of how the deceased touched their lives and express how they share your sorrow or they just give you moral support with their wordless presence. It all helps you to get through the difficult hours and days ahead.

My biggest problem with going to the visitation was what to wear. My wardrobe is getting tired, especially my supply of purple tops and none of my red hats were suitable. I’ve been living in sweats all winter so I pulled out a pair black dress slack and dress shoes and I felt naked without the warmth of my bulky knee-high knit socks and my bling boots. I need a shopping trip to the Dress Barn and I have penciled one in like a dentist appointment, both unpleasant but necessary. I went hat-less but with a small, red rose bud in my white hair. I rushed the season with a long sleeved, purple cotton blouse that is fairly new and my only real tip to the Red Hat Society was a black scarf with small red and purple hats in the design. I was properly understated and very cold.  

When I hugged the widow and whispered that I was sorry for her loss, she replied, "Well, you know what it's like" to which I said, "I do" and she continued, "I'm holding it together now but I'm scared for when the funeral is over and I'm all alone." I didn't know what to say---I was actually surprised that she remembered my back story---but I told not to be afraid to call someone if she needs to talk it out.

Tuesday was the Book Talk presentation at the senior hall where a librarian---who can recite whole passages of books---told us about twelve Great Reads. Even non-readers would enjoy listening to her reveal the plots of books like, The Zig Zag Girl, All The Light We Cannot See and A Town Like Alice. The latter of which I put on my wish list at Amazon. It’s based on the true story of a ‘death march’ that took place in Malaysia during WWII of all woman prisoners. She summed up the book as being about history, survival, romance and cultures. I keep books on the wish list until I either have enough rewards points on my Visa card to make my book purchase practically free or I have enough books that I want to buy to get free shipping.

Being a week about books and funerals reminded me of a quote I’ve been saving from The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough:

“And gradually his memory slipped a little, as memories do, even those with so much love attached to them; as if there is an unconscious healing process within the mind which mends up in spite of our desperate determination never to forget.”

Maybe it is healing for widows that our memories start to fad, but that thought isn’t comforting to me at all. I hate that so many of the experiences Don and I shared are getting hazy and harder to recall. Is it part of the natural healing process or is it old people loss of memory? Whatever it is it's not welcome. I’ve never had a great memory to begin with while Don had a photographic-like memory. He never forgot anything and I relied on him to fill in details when my memory of something was too fragmented. He used to tease me about it, too, saying he could take me to the same places over and over again and each time I'd react like a kid seeing my first carnival midway. Having our memories slip away after a spouse dies probably explains why it's so hard to downsize. Without the memory triggers, objects and souvenirs to keep our memories cemented in our heads, what will happened to them?

Being at the funeral home on Monday reminded me of many things including the memory of the time we crashed a funeral of a stranger, in part, because of Don’s language disorder after his stroke. If you want to read what I wrote about it in my caregiver blog click here, Funeral Crashing Aphasia Style. It's a funny memory that I hope I never lose. ©