Point of 'VIEWS'--(viewing)

IT was Friday--January 6, 2012. Although I am retired from doing hair, I still keep my hands in 4 little ladies hair, every week, on Friday. (Wish sometimes that wasn’t so, but I am here to serve the widows.) The simple joy of doing these women is ONLY that they keep me entertained at their idiosyncrasies. They are all in their late 70’s and one of them is 81 and I have done her hair for 20 years. I got to admit, I don’t love the fact that they dominate every single Friday that I am in town, but that is my fault. When I spoil, I do it well. And they are also good to me.

Yesterday was a Friday, and I sit writing this on Saturday morning after looking down at my calendar of events since the week is over. Not sure why I am writing about these women, but it’s on my mind so I thought it was the perfect scenario seeing that I am all alone in my office and it’s too cold to walk my dog, I am reminded for whatever reason, that I had a full week with “people”. My joy, my ministry, my love and my life…..people.

A funeral was brought up in our conversation with two of the ladies who were in my “Steal Magnolia fashioned” Salon, located in my basement. One of the ladies had just been to the funeral the day prior. The other lady, who also knew the deceased, expressed her intolerance for funerals and opted to go to the viewing instead.

This is where the conversation got cleverly awkward and tricky.

“Well, I just can’t do funerals.” One said. She continues; “I cannot even stand the thought of people starring at me, and what about all that horrible makeup “they” put on her, it was AWEFUL!”

“I didn’t think she looked that bad;” the one in my styling chair said while rolling her eyes at me in the mirror.

“She looked dark and dreary; she didn’t even look like herself, it was so bad.” the other said.

“She looked like Sherri to me.” The one in my chair said.

“Well, all I know is this; I do not want people looking at me when I die, I mean it.” she said

I thought to myself; you aren’t going to have a choice when you are dead. I almost voiced it, but kept it to myself and let them have this conversation. 

They continued talking about FUNERALS. The one sitting behind me says; “Holly, all I could think about while I was viewing Sherri, was how good you made Jo look. Remember when I went with you to do her hair and makeup for her funeral?” She asked. I nodded. 
“She looked so pretty.” She adds. “But I still don’t want people looking at me!” the opinionated  goes on to say. 

The other one says; “It’s closure for most people.”

“Well, I don’t care, I am going to tell my daughter she better not allow people to look at me, and I mean it! She better just leave the casket closed and then just bury me!” She profoundly expressed.

I finally said; “And why are we having this conversation about death?”

This went on for a few more minutes, the one sitting behind me wouldn’t stop, while I was styling the other, she just kept expressing negative and contrary comments and I cannot even form the verbiage to explain those dynamics. But I felt  it was now my turn to pipe in.

I said; “Can I tell you a story about my sister Mary Ellen, when my daddy died?” They both got quiet and the one that was in my styling chair said; “sure, go ahead.”

I looked at the one behind me, through the mirror to make sure she was done speaking. She was not sure she was done with her words, but she saw my sincerity and became still long enough to hear what I had to say. I began to talk.

I pulled away from the styling chair for a few seconds and I began to tell them that when my daddy was very sick and dying, things began to get chaotic and hectic during the end of his sickness and ultimate death. The abolishing feeling after his death was so horrific that there was little peace for my sisters and for me, although I handle death and sicknesses very differently than they do. I became strong during this time, very resilient.

I stepped back toward the chair to continue styling and said; "It was my mom and I along side daddy in his final hours. Mary Ellen could barely visit ICU. Though very reluctant she did.
I felt the last of his dying pulse and I was also there at the morgue to make sure he looked good and most of all, looked like himself, for the viewing."

Devastated at the loss of Mary Ellen’s sole employer and best friend for more than 26 years, she silently could not pull it together during this horrific time. Rhonda was a complete wreck too, and Dawne, the oldest, recluses from it all until she knew to come out. People just handle things differently. I am the youngest of us four girls and I'm different and particularly during daddy's death.

So, I was at the church for the wake/viewing, waiting for my sisters and my mom to get there. I had just walked away from the casket for the countless number of times. I just adjusted daddy's jacket and took notice of every detail while he lay there. I even re-combed his hair, one more time. I stared at our empty vessel that we all loved and adored.

There was Mary Ellen standing reluctant, at the doorway of the entrance to the church's auditorium. This venue was the place where she had spent countless hours with our preacher daddy, and she just stood there, waiting. Though I knew she would appear to be the strongest outwardly, she was completely torn up on the inside. (She is a year older than me, but I was always her confidant, as if our ages were reversed.)

I met her at the threshold. She expressed to me with fearless anxiety and with her hand up by her mouth she whispers; “I have been such a wreck and then I looked down there and saw daddy and I thought; oh, good, daddy’s here.”

Those are words I will never forget as long as I live.

The very presence of daddy's physical form was waiting to say good bye to his little girls, and waiting for us to say good-bye to him. 

Funerals are not for the dead, they are for the living. "Though our pagan ways are not always acceptable to everyone, it is profoundly a way to let go, once and for all"-- as I spoke with passion to my two ladies, who were now staring at me.

I went on to say my daddy always said; “Put me in a box and put me in the ground, because he didn’t care about all the hoopla. But the hoopla is not for the dead, but for us."

I wouldn’t ever have wanted my sister Mary Ellen to miss the opportunity to feel the peace she felt when the entire world around her as she knew it was completely catastrophic, and yet, there his peaceful body lay. It eased her."

“We’ve got to allow people to say good-bye. It might actually be the only way for others to let go.” I said.

The one in my styling chair said;"I agree"..... with subtle tears in her eyes.”