Belonging to a Club... in Understanding the Unthinkable

…I never wanted to join. When you lose a child, a part of your body has died. For women, it is that simple. There are times when my heart aches for him.

“Tears, idle tears, I know now what they mean;
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more”

Needless to say, Nick’s death took us by surprise. There had been no sign to be concerned. He’d gone with my husband’s sister and her husband to get away from the easy access to drugs and start fresh. He’d been doing great. He worked with his cousin that day, even talked to his Dad just a few hours before he died, no indication that anything was amiss. He and his cousin packed up their tools and headed home. They were making plans for the weekend, joking and laughing. His cousin looked away to make a turn, when he looked back at Nick to say something else, Nick had slumped over and was not breathing. They worked on him for over an hour at the ER. He never came back. It was quick and I’m grateful for that, at least.

I only remembered screaming “no” when the call came. It is still inconceivable to me that my Nicholas, the life of the party, is no more.

I informed everyone that I would plan the funeral and the only person allowed to veto me was my husband, who didn’t, so everything pretty much went my way.

The relatives arrived from my husband’s side and we cooked up a storm on the day before the funeral: Amish potato salad, New England potato salad, deviled eggs, pea salad, night before green salad, taco dip, cold cuts and cheese tray, Amish Yuzamati, Italian pasta salad with chicken/pepperoni/olives, Cole slaw, pineapple upside down cake, German chocolate cake, brownies, an apple pie and other large pan dishes that I cannot recall. Lots of people within the church, and, of course, my Life Group ladies, also contributed. As the church administrator said later: “Guess what you get when you cross an Italian with a Mennonite? Lots and lots of food.”

The week leading up to the funeral was brutal. Because of his age, Nick was autopsied, and because his remains had to be shipped back to us, there was a four day delay. The charge was not cheap, but I did manage to keep costs down by only running the obit 1 day ($350 versus $895 for 3 days…when Mom died, it was free), telling them we were spreading the ashes so no need for a fancy “memorial box” in white oak or Chihuly-style glass bowl (you sprinkle “just a few” of the ashes in the decorative bowl…apparently you change the ashes every time you dust?).

They showed me elaborate floral arrangements (we bought a casket spray for $395, which was damn elaborate enough in my book), one of which was a colorful striped fish swimming amongst a giant coral reef. Snake plants simulated sea grass and weird exotic flowers made up the coral. The thing was massive! All I could think was it was a new twist on that Italian way of saying someone had just been killed: “He sleeps wit da fishes”. When I saw it, I blurted out that it was ghastly. The funeral director said she liked it! Oops. Anyway, I am not so needy that I need to spend a lot of money to prove that I loved my son, and we had more than enough flowers.

After that, I had to rush home and deal with trying to listen to phone messages while more poured in, the doorbell ringing constantly with flower deliveries and friends and family bearing food. As I ironed a shirt for Nick’s viewing, I decided the definition of hell was ironing your son’s clothes for his funeral and the definition of irony was that he would have worn them wrinkled!

Last updated September 07, 2015