The things they buried

Grandma Lil’, my mother’s mother, died at 89.

She had been holed up in a nursing home for far too long. It was a death mourned, yet one too that, based on her dwindling quality of life, brought relief to us all – it was one of those deaths.

At the funeral home, before the lid was closed and sealed, I witnessed my crazy uncles put two items in the coffin: five Hoyle playing cards fanned in her right hand (Jack of hearts, Jack of diamonds, Queen of hearts, King of hearts, and Ace of hearts, the perfect euchre hand if hearts is trump – a loner); and a cold can of beer smuggled in from the nearby K of C. I’m not sure why it had to be a cold can of beer … well … you know … considering the circumstance.

Now before you hastily judge what my uncles did as lowbrow, keep in mind that the writer Christopher Buckley, as reported in his memoir, Losing Mum and Pup, buried his famous father, William F. Buckley, with a jar of his favorite peanut butter, along with his wife’s ashes and a TV remote control. You’d be hard pressed to name someone more highbrow than the Buckleys.

A rosary, in my grandmother’s left hand, was pressed to her chest.

The grandsons were pallbearers.

We carried our grandmother through the cemetery rain. The ground was a muddy mess. The dress shoes, worn by my brother Pat, were sucked from his feet by muck when he veered off course, as if the dead below played a practical joke. Seeing him straining with only his white socks showing in the mud caused my grief-stricken mother to laugh with surprise and exclaim, “Patrick lost his shoes.” A few others chuckled. At least something good came from Pat’s misfortune.

The coffin lowered as Grandma Lil’ staked claim to her predestined six feet, which is one of life’s few guarantees.

Today, I still think about those other things buried with Grandma Lil’: her rosary; her cards; her beer.

I still think she would have approved.

Those three items summed up her simple life. Before the nursing home, she was a devout churchgoer and a fierce, lifelong euchre player; and all through my life, rarely did I see her without a beer. She was that kind of grandmother. Sauced on Saturday nights more than not. She enjoyed her life … well, most definitely the weekends.

It was the perfect send-off for her, put into play by my crazy uncles, the gesture done with the utmost respect for their dead mother.

I think about my own inevitable dirt nap now, one that hopefully won’t begin for at least two more decades, pending my quality of life. I hope to make it through a few more pets and Corolla year models first.

What simple items summing up my life should be placed in my coffin? I think about that from time to time. These things have changed as my interest in things have changed. It’s best to keep it simple, I guess. Here are some good old standbys:

• My worn paperback copy of The Stories of John Cheever, my favorite short story collection, as well as The Short Stories, by Ernest Hemingway. While you’re at it, toss in the first Scholastic book I ever ordered from school, Arnold Lobel’s Frog and Toad Are Friends, which hooked me on reading. It’s very thin and won’t take much room. Heck, throw in a few other books too, preferably some I haven’t read yet (I keep a stack of unread books beside my bed). I anticipate having plenty of reading time. I’ll need light source, obviously. A flashlight maybe … scratch that … a flashlight must be held and aimed at the page. That sounds too tiring for someone who is supposed to be eternally resting. A lantern maybe.
• Some Jimmy Buffett records. To keep it manageable, just include those from A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean to Coconut Telegraph. I’ll also need a turntable. Please make room.
• My son and daughter in the same photo, both smiling, to show I’ve been a good dad despite worries to the contrary. I want to be buried with a photo of my wife, Brynne, too. There’s plenty of us together smiling (I truly don’t know how she does it). A photo in St. Croix will do. We have great Caribbean smiles.
• A rosary, for superstitious reasons – thanks for the idea, Grandma Lil’. Who knows? – maybe that string of beads is the big key to it all. I’ll need to buy one, though stealing one seems more fun.
• And finally, a trusty crowbar … just in case I change my mind about the whole damn death thing.

If space becomes an issue, please remove my shoes. Give them to my brother Pat, a potential pallbearer. He might need a backup pair, especially if it rains. I hope it does rain. It seems easier to leave in the rain.

Email Scott at scottsaalman@gmail.com.