The funeral home people had arrived. They came in their suits with solemn faces. They made their condolences. Mom’s bedroom was in the back of the house. As a single story, two-bedroom home, there just wasn’t any place to go to shelter us from what they would be doing to remove Mom from her home. We had been through so much these months, it seemed as if we could handle just about anything, but seeing Mom leave in a body bag might just put me over the edge. Having no other choice, my siblings and I settled in the second bedroom/den just across from Mom’s room.
There hadn’t been many awkward or silent moments between the three of us over the course of these months, but this was one. We talked in whispers, as if we didn’t want to interrupt something sacred happening. We sat and waited. We heard the gurney moving, and from the corner of our eyes we saw it make the turn into the hallway just outside the den door. Just as it passed our view, bam! We shot each other a quick glance and stifled a giggle. The small commotion in the hallway and the whispered conversation between the two morticians indicated that one end of the gurney had collapsed. Obviously frustrated and trying to maintain a professional appearance in front of a grieving family, they did their best to quietly rectify the situation and complete their task.
Once they had managed to move Mom out of the house, a feat of engineering considering the sharp turns they were forced to maneuver, we moved ourselves to the kitchen to begin our discussions on notifying family. We didn’t want to call too early or wait too long. How would we break the news? Eric suggested that we start off the conversation saying that Mom’s legs were looking really good now. That’s when I lost it. Hysterical laughter. I crossed my legs. I’d pushed three kids out of this over-40 body, and I hadn’t used the bathroom since I went to bed, despite being awake since 3am. Too late. It began as a trickle, but my cross-legged penguin run for the bathroom left a trail of pee on the floor. Yes, just when my brother and sister thought they were done cleaning up someone else’s bodily fluids, I had peed all over Mom’s floor from kitchen to bath.
Great, now I am laughing and crying and soaking wet. Hurrying next door to change would be an event that I would always be thankful for, because it was in returning to Mom’s house a few minutes later that we were all given the most amazing gift of laughter. The gurney, that just a little while before couldn’t stay up, now would not collapse. In a normal situation the legs of the gurney fold under as it is pushed into the back of a hearse allowing it to roll on a second set of wheels. This gurney was having none of that. This gurney was standing erect.
SLAM! BANG! SLAM! SLAM!
Maybe back up a little further and push a little harder.
SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!
Tears! I’m on the ramp leading to Mom’s back door looking on in morbid fascination. I’d be peeing myself for sure if I hadn’t just emptied my bladder all over mom’s house. I stopped on the ramp that led up to the back door of Mom’s house. I desperately wanted to take a video of this. It’s hysterical. Is that too tacky? Is it wrong to take a video of your mother in a body bag, hours after her passing, as two mortified morticians desperately try to get her stubborn old body into a hearse? I reluctantly opt out of videoing it. I rushed in and grabbed my siblings. We race to the front bay window for a better view. We are all hysterical. This is such a Wagg ending to Mom’s life. The gurney finally gave way.
I am now providing my siblings with the dramatic retelling of the earlier portions of the story. “It was the funniest thing. EVER!” The voice behind me disagrees.
“No, it wasn’t. It was terrible, and we are incredibly sorry and embarrassed.”
The funeral director couldn’t be convinced that this was the most fitting ending we could have imagined. She was extremely apologetic, and her young partner did not even return inside the house. She took her leave like a walk of shame. Once she left, we burst back into laughter. That would last for much of the morning, and was topped off when Eric returned holding the card they left on Mom’s bed.
“Please accept our sincere sympathy. As we take your loved one into our care, take comfort in knowing that we will treat them as if they were a member of our family. We appreciate the sacred trust you have placed in us.”
“Sensitivity Sincerity Support Service”
