Friday, February 18, 2011

The Wake

I’m totally breaking my “one blog post per day” rule today. It’s my blog and I can do what I want! I also realize that much of what I write in this post is inappropriate and I probably shouldn't talk about "me" at all, but if I think too much about Tiny Mike and his family, I'll melt into a puddle of sadness. 

Tonight we attended the wake for Tiny Mike’s mom. As EN works in the evening, it was all me. I attempted to drop the girls off at my parents on the way, but Sugar was adamant that she wanted to attend. I didn’t go to my first wake until I was an adult, so I wasn’t entirely comfortable with her attending. However, I couldn’t come up with a reason for her to stay behind that she wouldn’t argue with, so she came along. I assumed that the set up would be similar to other wakes that I had attended, so I could have her sit in the back and she wouldn’t have a close-up view of anything that might upset her. The room was very small and she we were very near the open casket. She stared and stared, but held it together and didn’t ask any questions while we were there.

The whole concept of a wake is a bit beyond my comprehension. They obviously aren’t intended to be fun-filled events, but saying goodbye to a body without a soul doesn’t work with my grieving process. The deceased doesn’t look much like you remember them and they are always dressed in something fussy and conservative. I’ll say it now: when I die, I want nothing like that. I respectfully request that the following rules be followed:

The Outfit: I would like lots of color. Something purple, red or fuchsia, starting with a proper push-up bra and thong set. I don’t wear these things now, but it’s not like I’ll be walking around pulling it out my ass so dress me for my last hurrah in one. The bra and panties should be a nicely matched set and will hopefully coordinate with the outfit. The shoes should be a killer pair of CFM pumps or my red cowboy boots.

The Face: Tramp me up, baby. I want lipstick, blush, even false eyelashes. My real ones suck, I want some biggies glued on to my lids. I’m even ok with sparkly ones. I’m dead! I don’t care who thinks I’m tacky.

The Casket: Do they make brightly colored ones? I want something fancy! This should also coordinate with my outfit. Very matchy matchy. It makes me happy. Also, for the wake, the casket will be closed. EN and the girls can have a final look at me, but I don’t want anyone trying to steal my cool eyelashes.

The Atmosphere: Play music, lots of good music. I request everything from The Pina Colada Song to Kid Rock to my country favorites. Maybe I should make a play list on my iPod, just to ensure that all my favorites are played. I would hope that there would be lots of flowers. I would like food and beverages served at the party wake. Everyone should eat, drink and be merry. Tell your worst stories about me. Laugh, whoop it up and have a blast of a good time. And since the casket is closed, I’m totally ok with people putting their drinks down on it, but please use a coaster. I don’t want any rings left behind.

The Eulogy: This will probably be written by Kate and she is aware of this. In a way, I hope I have some advance warning of my impeding death, only so I can proofread the sappy bullshit she comes up with. The eulogy will be read the next day at the funeral. I hope the funeral is a quiet, somber event, not due to sadness, but it’s my hope that everyone is terribly hungover from the party the night before. There will be a service, followed by my casket being placed in some mausoleum somewhere. Do not cremate or bury me. Worms and dirt creep me out. There will be no get together after the service. You will all need to go home and sleep off your hangovers.

EN will largely be in charge of the details, but I will need to appoint an overseer to make sure he follows my rules to the letter. If he fails in any way, you have my permission to shoot his ass off.

Obviously, I’m deflecting with humor and not focusing on what is important here: the sadness that one of my greatest peeps is feeling. It was so hard to see this incredibly funny and personable guy radiating such sadness. We did speak for a long while and laughed a little even, but I think it will be a while before his laughter reaches his eyes again. My heart aches for the pain that he, my sister and their kids are going through right now.

When Sugar and I left, she was quiet for a very long time. Then she mentioned how sad her uncle Mike seemed. She noticed that he had “lots of bags” under his eyes and I told her that he hadn’t been sleeping well. She asked what he’d been doing instead of sleeping and I said, “Missing his mama.” After a while she said, “Is it ok if I cry because Uncle Mike looked so sad?”

And that, my friends, is why we call her Sugar.

R.I.P Maureen, you were funny as shit sometimes!

Ice Princess

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