Gallows Pole

My grandmother was a great woman. Lived to be 86. Loved her family, and I loved her. Tremendously.

I went to California when she died, and part of the process was helping my aunt clean out her apartment. I hated doing it. I felt like a vulture descending upon the bones. At the same time, it was kind of funny. The woman had old band-aid tins filled with different kinds of buttons. More buttons than anyone could use in a lifetime. She had two dozen cans of grape soda in her refrigerator. Why does an elderly woman need that much soda? She had a filing cabinet with birthday cards set aside for the future. OK, I can see a year in advance, but she had a 21st birthday card for my daughter who was one at the time. My Grandma Mac was not ever going to live to see my daughter's 21st birthday.

So what does a MacNair do when they don't want to confront the seriousness of death? We crack a joke. My siblings and I, when we weren't thinking about how much it sucked that our grandmother wasn't around anymore, joked that she probably had a collection of angel's feathers in heaven. I even cracked in my eulogy that she had my first week's itinerary in heaven all planned out for me, and she had a part-time job as God's secretary already lined up for herself. It brought the house down. Applause, at a funeral.

I told my mother that when she dies, I am going to fill her grave with about three feet of baby powder or flour, and prop her up in front of it. I'll sell shots at her with a baseball, and when she falls in she'll make a cool cloud. My father, when he dies, will be stuffed and placed in his recliner, wearing his skivvies and a t-shirt with holes, his mouth open so we can throw peanuts in it. OR... we will bury him with a pound of scrapple, a puzzle magazine and a Chinese take-out menu. We could cut my mother's legs off so she could fit in a child's casket. I'll bury her up to her neck in the backyard, cover her head with honey and let the ants loose on her.

Good god, am I tasteless. But you know something? Some people have no frame of reference for processing the unthinkable. How in the hell do I go from my mother being there to her not being there? Well, I'm telling you right now, my brother and I will likely crack jokes. So be ready, and just deal with it.