http://spiritspout.blogspot.com/2011/06/tequila-to-open-grans-funer...

This morning I awoke and felt uncomfortable. I'd taken a Lunesta sleeping pill so that I'd be able to sleep and not be an entire wreck at Gran's funeral. An unfortunate side effect of such a pill is often a nasty, bitter taste in one's mouth. I brushed my teeth twice, but I couldn't get rid of it, so I just embraced it. How metaphorical.

About midday I was listening to Adele, answering emails, feeling pretty low, when I got a text message from one of Mom's sisters, Toni. Toni asked: "Where are you?" Not thinking much of the text, I said: "Texas." (A rude response, I know...) She responded: "I'm outside your house." So I jumped up, in a foul, trollish mood, and walked into the 100 degree heat outside to find her.

Toni and my uncle, Carlos, had driven four hours from West Texas. Sophie, Scarlett, and Dad had all gone into town, so I had to entertain them. We sat on the porch until Dad got home, talking about what a surreal year it had been. They couldn't believe Mom was dead, much less Gran.

I hopped in the shower after about an hour and headed into town to visit the liquor store. I wanted a bottle of Jose Cuervo to take to Gran's service so that we could start if off right, with a fitting salute to a woman who celebrated life until the end. Gran smoked Virgina Slims, Pall Malls--you name it--until she couldn't smoke them anymore. And she loved drinking giant mugs of margaritas, too. She knew that all of those things would eventually kill her, but it never stopped her. Lung cancer caught her. It wasn't a surprise to her or anyone else.

When I got to the liquor store I contemplated purchasing the largest tequila bottle, but I figured that I might have one or two people, at most, join me in the salute, so I settled on a smaller 375 mL. bottle. I knew that my older cousin, Jon, would find the whole gesture insulting and disgraceful, but I didn't care. It would be true to Gran's spirit, not meant to be disrespectful.

As I paid for the tequila I told the cashier that I planned on taking the bottle to the funeral home as a tribute to Gran. She approved and said she hoped someone would take shots at hers one day.

We ate lunch at a Mexican restaurant before Gran's service started at 6:00 p.m., and then we made our way to the funeral home. Dad left our house before Sophie, Scarlett, and I departed. I decided to drive there alone. I blasted Adele's song "Hometown Glory" on loop and broke down as the reality of my destination set in. Another funeral for a strong woman in my life. In such a short time. It boggled my mind, and I cried hard.

I showed up at the funeral home with red eyes. I'd packed the tequila and seven shot glasses in a Beatles messenger bag that I'd gotten in Liverpool years earlier. In the bag I also carried a copy of Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov, the same copy that Mom had read last summer after I told her again and again that she needed to. I positioned the tequila bottle and shot glasses behind the podium at the front in the funeral chapel and snuck away to the bathroom, where I splashed water on my face.

People started arriving, and memories of Mom's funeral started coming back in waves. It felt strange to be in such a similar scene. The cast was composed of many of the same characters, but there were different ones now, too. I felt suffocated by some of the visitors, so I grabbed a cigarette from my bag and smoked it on the side of the funeral home. As 6:00 p.m. approached, I made my way inside, where I scanned the chapel for the preacher who was supposed to open Gran's service. He was nowhere in sight. Neither was Aunt Jenna. I walked into the lobby to find her and asked her what was going on. She told me that the preacher was lost. I loved it.

"Do you want me to go ahead and begin?" I asked Aunt Jenna. I was glad the preacher hadn't made it on time. Poetic.

"Sure. Can you? That would be great."

I followed her to the front of the chapel and confirmed with Dad that we'd start the ceremony. And then I exited to cut the music, telling people they didn't have to be so quiet as I briefly exited. When I returned I joked about the technical difficulties we were having with the preacher. I said it was no surprise he had gotten lost when most everyone in this world was lost most of the time. Then I started thanking people for attending and made a speech about Gran's life. A slideshow showed pictures of mostly Aunt Jenna, cousin Jon and his family, and other family members or friends who Aunt Jenna approved of. She had selected the photos for the program and had omitted a lot of photos that depicted crazier times in Gran's life. She'd also omitted some of the most important people Gran spent time with. It didn't surprise me. I wasn't going to pretend. I wanted to speak honestly about Gran and her life. And I did.

I sketched a brief biography of Gran's life, starting with her humble upbringing in Twin Bridges, Missouri. At appropriate moments the slideshow reflected pictures that fit perfectly with the moments of her life I was describing. And then I spoke about her life philosophy and her ability to face death head on. Gran knew she was dying. She wanted to die, too. After Gramps died in 2001 of cancer, Gran's life had been lonely. She sacrificed herself for the rest of the family, taking on the burden of her drug addict son, Craig, Jon's father. And then her cancer came and Craig died a horrific death. In October he most likely overdosed on sleeping pills. For a week and a half or so, Craig rotted in a friend's apartment until his decomposing remains were discovered by the apartment owners. And then Craig was taken to the morgue, where he stayed for another week or so. Gran just so happened to find out he was dead when a friend of his called her to ask how she was taking it. She had no idea what the friend was talking about. But when Gran learned that Craig had died, she felt pure grief. I can imagine the despair she felt. And then Mom died in January, which was the last straw.

My last significant conversation with Gran before she went into the nursing home had been about despair. I told her that I didn't find life worth living anymore, especially after Mom's death. "Gran, I've lost the most important person in my life, and I don't much care for life anymore. It all seems pointless. You live, you work hard, and for what? To die of a heart attack? In the prime of life? God is fucked up."

"Dylan, don't say that. That is sick to say. You're just sick. You need to get help. I hope you can talk to someone."

"No, Gran. I'm not sick. It's valid to wonder if life's worth living. I'd rather be dead right now. Craig in October. Mom in January. And now you, too. I can't deal with it. I love you. I hope you know that."

"Dylan, I know you love me. I hope that you remember wherever you are, Gran loves you. You can always call me. Anytime. I mean it. Don't ever feel alone. You can call Gran whenever. You'll get through this. I'm so sorry you feel like this. When Craig died and your grandfather..."

"I know you know darkness, Gran. I just have to go through it. It's hard. My life is completely destroyed."

"I know, honey. There's nothing I can say to make it better either."

That night after I hung up the phone, I felt closer to Gran than I ever had because I knew she knew my pain. And I also knew she felt helpless to help me. She understood suffering. Gran suffered a lot on this earth. But she faced life with resilience and bravery and dignity and a sense of humor.

I didn't talk about how Gran had sacrificed her life so that Jon and his family could be free of his father Craig. Gran martyred herself. As I started telling a story about calling Gran the night Obama was elected president in 2008, I could see Jon's face assumed a look of horror. I described telling Gran that my roommate and I were going to take a shot of tequila from the glass tequila-filled cello (she mistakenly thought was a guitar) she'd given me as a gift. Gran said, "I'm just here with my friend Jose." For a brief moment I thought she was having a romance. And then she'd finished, "Cuervo. Jose Cuervo." We'd laughed. What a wit. I filled a shot glass with Jose Cuervo and invited anyone else who wanted a shot to join me. Two of Aunt Jenna's friends walked to the front, and I filled blue shot glasses for them. I convinced Sophie to join us. And then we toasted to Gran and life, much to the horror of Jon and our more conservative guests. I loved it.

I will continue soon...