Old southern women love funerals.  Not the actual death of the loved one, but the funeral.  I have suspected this for sometime, but what with the sudden increase in the number of funerals I’ve had to attend, it has been confirmed.  There is a whole process to a southern funeral.  This is true whether the deceased is a member of the family, a cherished friend, or a casual acquaintance.  It begins with the phone calls.  It is important to get settled in to a comfortable chair with your iced tea or coffee (seasonal choice) because this is going to take a while, after all you are going to call everyone you can think of.  Then you start dialing and answering all the questions.  You have to ask about who is taking the family what…”well, I thought I would take a fruit salad.  You know Nettie Sue will be baking that horrible Chess pie she always thinks is so good.  What are you taking, and don’t say ham.  I was over there yesterday and they had ham coming out their ears!” Then you have to discuss clothing…”what are you wearing? I figured I’d just wear a nice knit pantsuit if I went to the visitation, but if I go to the funeral I’ll wear my blue floral dress.  You know, the one I wore to church a couple a Sunday’s back when we had that guest preacher come?  But don’t worry about what to wear.  When John Earl died Sylvia wore pants to the service! Pants!…and her the widow…shameful is what it was. But people just wear anything nowadays.” (You’re beginning to see why you need a comfortable chair and a beverage aren’t you?) 

My father passed away last April, and I had the unpleasant task of being on the receiving end of the love and concern of several old southern women.  I quickly learned that some were truly trying to comfort, and some were just fishing for details.  “Was your mama with him at the end?…Did he go in his sleep?…Did he leave enough to keep your mama taken care of?”  I knew better than to be rude too, because if word got around to my 77 year old mother that I had tongue lashed some nosy biddy, she just might have taken a switch to me right then and there.  Now remember, all of this is before the  actual funeral service.  This is when you are still just dealing with the shock of what has happened. 

The next step, after you have gotten the details, is to discuss whether you are going to the visitation or the actual funeral.  There are a lot of factors that determine which service an old southern woman will attend: can she drive at night? (visitation is almost always in the evening), will her flowers have arrived at the funeral home by then? (you don’t want to get there before your flowers/plant), who else is going to be there?  I described the idea of the visitation to one of my children as the last family reunion the deceased will ever attend.  There is a lot of truth to that.  If it weren’t for the corpse and the crying family one could almost believe there was a party going on. There will be pictures passed around, and stories told, and “I haven’ seen you since you were knee high to a grasshopper!”, and “you don’t look like yourself!” which is always a head scratcher, and occasional hugs and kisses for the bereaved, who if they have been truly southern raised will either be standing at the coffin weeping openly or working the room like Jerry Lewis on Labor Day.

I have never understood the need for an open coffin.  I don’t like people staring at me now, I sure as hell don’t want them gaping at me when I’m dead and can’t do anything about it.  And I can’t say that any of these observances are limited to the south, I just know that they happen there…frequently.  Back to the subject, the corpse  is lying on a pedestal at the front of the room like a bizarre center piece that everyone must pay homage to.  And they do.  At this point you will hear the most unbelievable comment that will ever come out of one person’s mouth, “Don’t he look natural?” (I know it’s grammatically incorrect, but you’re in the south fool).  The answer is… No!  I have never been to a single service where I would have said yes to that question.  My dad was wearing makeup and looked Asian for God’s sake!  He never did that!  “Why he looks like he could just sit up and talk to you.”  Well, the first thing he would say would be, “get this damn makeup off of me” and that would be followed by “who told them I was a Chinaman?”

The finale…is the total number of visitors who sign the guest book.  Each man, woman, and child crossing the threshold must sign the guest book.  I once believed that this was so the family could realize who had attended, after the fact.  I know now that it is more than that.  It is a pissing contest.  “She didn’t have a very good turn out.  I bet there weren’t fifty people there.” Or, “there were people standing in the aisle waiting to view the body.”  And my favorite, “You would have thought there were a lot more people there than there was, but I counted the names in the guest book and if everyone signed there was only eighty-two.”  I know it sounds petty but that’s what old southern women are sometimes.  I’ve been taking notes because in thrty years or so it will be my turn to pick up the flag and carry the colors.  I want my mama to be proud.

I mentioned before that death in the south is less about death, and more about the fact that you’re still the one outside the coffin.  I have no reason to believe that is going to change anytime soon.  I think maybe the open casket thing is so all the old folks can go up and look and make sure it’s really not them in there.  I don’t know,  I just know that my aunts and uncles are reaching there late 70’s - 90’s range so my research on the southern funeral scenario is far from over.  Every time the phone rings and it’s mom calling I wonder if she’s in her comfy chair with her ice water ready to ask “did you hear?”

1 Comment »

1. 

   My sister from another mother,
   If you agree to bring a hammer and nails to my funeral to make sure the lid is secured, I pledge to do the same for you. And remember, the song is “Spirit in the Sky” and turn up the volume. I want those pews to shake.
   Love ya

   Comment by PMS — December 23, 2008 @ 5:10 pm

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