Today we buried my nephew Brian, a sweet young man with a heart of gold and an addiction to heroin. Brian's addiction got the best of him and he died from an accidental overdose. More info about Brian will follow, but I wanted to capture a few scenes from the family gatherings and funeral. All of this really happened. Serious.
Scene #1: Father Fudd. Elmer Fudd
Brian's funeral service was held yesterday at St. Charles, where he was baptized and attended school through eighth grade. A new priest, Father Carmelo, celebrated his funeral mass. Father is completely deaf but speaks fairly well. It was interesting to hear that type of speech impediment when Father began to speak. "Today we way to west ower deaw bwother Bwian." It took a little getting used to but 'aawwwww, well GOOD for HIM!' I thought sanctimoniously. However, things quickly took a dark turn.
During the homily, Father began by talking about how difficult it is when someone "takes their own wife." Naturally this raised a few eyebrows. Lots of sideways glances followed from the family. "Ok," I rationalized in my mind, "you could argue that administering drugs that accidentally kill you is taking your own life". Then he said . . . the S word. A collective gasp from the audience. Father, not hearing anything plows ahead with the S word again. And again. And again. And again. S S S S S. That wascally wabbit just turned my newphew's funeral into a giant bwooper.
My brother shouts out "it was an accidental overdose!" Nothing. He says the S word again. And again. Then Brian's grieving mother, my sister, takes matters into her own hands and bolts onto the altar. Father doesn't hear her saying "Excuse me!" He is looking down and finally looks up when she is standing next to him. "It wasn't a suicide" she whispers. He has a puzzled look. "it was NOT a suicide" she says. Finally he takes a step back to read her lips and she says it again.
He nods and she leaves the altar. Father Carmelo looks down and pauses much too long, then picks up where he left off. We are left waiting for a retraction that never comes. Then he starts warbling awkwardly "wet us pwocwaim the mystewy of faith". It was fight or flight. Giggle or Grimace. Among the family it was 50/50.
Scene 2: Backstage with Omar
Another nephew, Omar, is mentally and physically handicapped. A brain injury at birth has left him without the ability to speak or reason. He is 24 years old and severely autistic, with a penchant for taking off his clothes in public. On airplanes, in stores, and now, in church. My sister Carol cares for Omar every day with patience and devotion. Omar was not happy about being in church, so my husband Bill took him out to let him walk and not disrupt the service. Omar needed to use the bathroom. Coaxed out of the women's room, Omar went into the Men's room, then removed shoes and socks. While Bill picked up the discarded items Omar shed his pants in the blink of an eye. My sister is clever - for underwear Omar wears snug-fitting under-armor. That was the only thing standing between Omar's junk and Bill. Bill wrestled Omar's pants back onto his 180-lb nephew while he thrashed like a gator. Finally Bill won. He collected Omar's shoes and socks and headed back to the sanctuary.
Scene 3: Martinis, Carbs & Tantrums
Scene 3 is all about the twins: GpaK and Omar. It was a long day. Visitation went from 3-6pm, followed by a long debacle-of-a-mass. My family met up shortly later at a local Italian restaurant.
As you know from this blog, GpaK is a character. He loves his martinis and has a history of occasionally having one too many (which happens to be two). I decided to let the other family members sit with GpaK at dinner, since some were in from out-of-t0wn. I noticed that his empty martini glass was full again. During this second martini and 14th piece of bread, someone made a suggestion that he stop the carb cram. He didn't like that . . . and a struggle ensued for the bread. GpaK and my brother John were going AT IT for a crust of bread which eventually flew up and showered crumbs on the table. "So you're the hand of GOD, reaching down to grab my bread?!" yelled Gpak. "You're acting like a two-year old!" shouted John. "You're acting like a ten year-old!" replied GpaK. To retaliate the destruction of the bread, GpaK eats a heaping spoonful of parmesan cheese while glaring at John. Good times.
Meanwhile, my sister Carol is enjoying a bit of freedom. Surrounded by family at the restaurant, she has left Omar sitting next to me at the table. I am buttering bread for Omar at a frenzied pace and continue to glance up to see where Carol is but only see the back of her head. Omar's shoes and socks are off but that's a battle for later. He's rocking back and forth, water glass down, more bread, back-of-Carol's head. Rinse, lather, repeat. Butter, bread, back-of-head. He's eating butter from foil packets. Carol's hair is really kind of pretty from the back. Glanced up too long and Omar slips out of his pants like Houdini. Bill runs around to help me, reaching OVER my brother Bob who has been enjoying a peaceful dinner across from Omar. Bill starts wrestling with Omar and his slippery pants. Bob thinks three is company and four is a crowd and continues to eat while Bill is on his hands and knees. Carol's hair is still looking really nice.
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