I sit here alone in the apartment I briefly shared with Mom, surrounded by objects reminding me of her. This is going to take some getting used to, but in many ways, I already have. Yesterday was a beautiful day, and I don’t mean just the weather was nice. The day was about as perfect as you could ask for to say goodbye to a loved one.
I got to the funeral home just before 9 am for the memorial service prior to the funeral. There was a full house at Feeney Hornak, then we proceeded over to Holy Spirit where there were even more people who turned out for the service. For a Thursday morning, a work and school day nonetheless, there seemed to be an extraordinary turnout for her sendoff.
We all walked the casket down the aisle to the front of church where I was the only one to be seated in the front row of chairs nearest Mom’s casket. When I came forward and sat down, my old friend Karen came right over and sat down next to me to hold my hand during the Mass. Karen is one of the few people who knows me the best and having her there to comfort me during the service was a great relief. I couldn’t have done it without her and it was nice to know someone cared enough to step up for me like that in my time of need. I love you, Karen, thanks for being my friend.
I was doing ok with the service until we reached near the end of it when my brother Tom’s friend Brenda Williams sang the old gospel song “Old Rugged Cross”. This did me in, the tears started streaming down my cheeks and I couldn’t hold back the emotion any longer. I had a good cleansing cry during the song and composed myself afterwards while my niece’s poem about Mom was read. We then proceeded out of the church the way we came in, Karen walking with me and holding my hand as we walked down the aisle.
After Mom was returned to the funeral coach (they don’t call them hearses anymore I guess), I returned to my friend Rich’s truck which was the first in line behind the coach due to our first arrival earlier that morning at the funeral home. As we started to leave the semicircle driveway in front of church, I had expected to turn right to take 10th Street out toward the cemetary, but unexpectedly the coach took a left turn. This confused Rich and I and Rich asked “What do I do?!?” so I pointed toward the coach turning left and said “Follow Mom!” and so we turned left.
A block later we turned left again down Shortridge Road and I realized we must be heading for Washington Street, the main East-West thoroughfare through Indianapolis. It is the East Side’s Main Street and is a high traffic corridor. Mom would be tying up traffic this day on the main road in the area for several miles. Turnout was rather large at the Mass and so we had a funeral procession that was about 1 mile long as we headed out to the cemetary. Mom’s final road trip managed to anger dozens of drivers all over the Washington Street corridor, much like when she was driving it herself in recent years. It just isn’t a trip with Mom unless you manage to piss off no less than 10 drivers and so we managed to pull that off.
The procession turned into Washington Park East and we proceeded to turn down some roads in the cemetary that immediately made me realize we would not be using the small chapel on the grounds to conduct her final memorial service but would instead be doing this tombside at the mausoleum where she would be interred in her chamber next to my father’s. This started to panic me once I realized this.
Sure enough, we pulled up next to the mausoleum where my parents’ final resting place is. As I got out of the truck my stomach started churning up acid and my pulse quickened. I was standing next to the coach as my nephews served as pallbearers and carried the casket to the elevator unit that would raise it up and into the chamber as I realized my legs were giving me some fits.
As Fr. Riedman started the service and was speaking, all that I could focus on was seeing my Dad’s casket in his chamber and then Mom’s being readied to be put into hers. Just then my knees buckled, sweat started pouring from my face and I felt myself going down. I straightened myself out with my cane and quickly removed myself from the area, walking quickly back to the truck where I could still hear Father conducting the service off in the distance.
I began sobbing uncontrollably into a full convulsive breakdown that I needed to have. I am glad that I was able to do this quietly and in private in Rich’s truck rather than tombside. When the bagpipes started playing I lost it completely again. Soon after, Rich reappeared and we left the cemetary to return to my apartment which is nearby. I changed clothes and headed out to my brother Kevin’s for the wake. We drank and told stories about Mom all afternoon and into the evening. I left there about 9 pm and came home to the cats, Jesse and Oatmeal.
This is how it is now, me and the cats. I have lots of issues to deal with because I had relied on Mom’s Social Security and retirement income to help with household expenses, but those payments stop now. My own Disability payment monthly is not enough to cover rent and utilities, let alone food and medicine and everyday kinds of expenses. I will have to work even harder to find ways to make up this lost income which I had relied on until now to cover myself. I have a few options before me and some ideas which I will begin pursuing immediately, but for now I am in quite a bind.
I will begin contacting various state agencies and departments on Monday, but I have an ocean of financial pain that I am about to start drowning in very shortly. I cannot work a conventional job because I do not have the physical capability to do so at this time. Even if I did have the physical capability to do so I do not have the transportation or access to decent public transportation to get me to a jobsite. Whatever work I find will have to be done from my home via telecommuting. New challneges are facing me on every front it seems.
