Thursday I got a call that Bea, one of my double first cousins, had died. One of her sons phoned her around 6:30 am as he did every morning (she was an early riser) and she told him she wasn't feeling well at all, but refused to go to the doctor. Around 7am, the son who lives with her tried to call her but then, and the rest of the day, she didn't answer. When he got home from work around 5pm he found her dead sitting in her recliner.

I knew her, and knew what she had been thinking-if she went to a doctor or an ER, she would have been hospitalized and the poking and prodding and needle jabbing would have started and she would die in a hospital, so she did it her way. She died in her own house sitting in her own recliner. There are worse ways to go.

Last night I went to her wake at the funeral home, and asked one of her sons if I could leave a memento with her. He said sure. I wanted to put a brand new Oneida stainless steel serving spoon next to her hand. She was a superb cook. But her hands were crossed over her midsection and I didn't know what other folks would think if they walked up to look at her and saw a spoon lying on her belly, so I tucked it near her elbow.
WELL! The spoon slid down, and I retreived it but this time, it quickly slid straight down and landed with a loud "Clank" on the bottom of the metal coffin.

It was like Bea was saying "I'm dead, and you still want me to cook!"
I hope today when the funeral home people are moving the coffin around, the spoon doesn't make a lot of racket and embarrass the family. But I envision that even after her bones are turned to dust, that stainless steel spoon will still be bright and shiny in there with her.

When my best friend died in 1985, I put a six sided die (or dice as you prefer) in her hand in the coffin. We had loved to play Yahtzee. (I know I spelled that wrong.) When my favorite aunt died, I picked some flowering vines from the fence by the church. The vines had star shaped red flowers, red her favorite color, and placed a small garland on the pillow next to her head. I was the last person on Earth to see her face as the lid was closed and the flowers went with her to eternity.

When an uncle died, an uncle who had always been so kind and helpful to me, I wrote him a thank you note telling him how much I appreciated him and thanked him for all his kindnesses, and slipped the note under the cuff of his long sleeved shirt as he lay in his coffin. That note went in the ground with him. I'm so glad that I had recently told him in person how grateful I was for his help.

I know one thing--white people don't know how to have a good funeral. The black folks do. They sing and preach and make a day of it. White folks' wakes are so sterile it's depressing. Her favorite music should have been playing. And I think a video of her going about her daily business and played on a screen in the room would have brought her to life so to speak. Oh well, just my opinion.

susil