{"id":400,"date":"2016-05-16T08:56:57","date_gmt":"2016-05-16T08:56:57","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/?p=400"},"modified":"2025-06-02T22:09:03","modified_gmt":"2025-06-02T22:09:03","slug":"planning-moms-funeral-with-barbra-streisands-help","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/2016\/05\/16\/planning-moms-funeral-with-barbra-streisands-help\/","title":{"rendered":"Planning Mom’s Funeral with Barbra Streisand’s Help"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"P1000097_2\"<\/a><\/p>\n

In the last year of my mother\u2019s life, she was boomeranging between home and late-night trips to the emergency room every other month. This often meant lengthy hospital stays that left her even weaker than before. Every time it happened, I found myself mentally trying to prepare for the end. Her end. And there were so many things I still wanted to say and ask.<\/p>\n

During one of my hospital visits with her, as we\u2019re discussing how much she misses her art classes and how my younger siblings are doing, I decide to broach a topic that has been weighing on my mind lately.<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, I love you, and it\u2019s important to me that you get the send-off you really want, when the time comes. How about if we put our heads together and plan your funeral?\u201d<\/p>\n

She claps her hands and says, \u201cOh, that\u2019s a great idea. What should we talk about first?\u201d<\/p>\n

This was one of the many things I loved about my mother\u2009\u2014\u2009her practical nature; plus, the fact that we shared the same preference in curse words.<\/p>\n

She wants to be cremated like my father, but we\u2019ve never discussed where she wants her ashes scattered. Was it in the same place as his\u2009\u2014\u2009the canal behind the house they\u2019d lived in for 50 years?<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no. Don\u2019t dump me in the water. I can\u2019t swim,\u201d she says in all seriousness.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want to be scattered over the nearest Stein Mart,\u201d I say with a straight face. \u201cHow does that sound?\u201d We were the discount queens, she and I.<\/p>\n

Laughing and shaking her head, she says, \u201cI want to be close to you. How about sprinkling me in your backyard in Tampa? Would that freak you out?\u201d<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t even hesitate. \u201cFine with me.\u201d I\u2019m already imagining the perfect spot underneath my papaya tree, strung with wind chimes and bird feeders.<\/p>\n

Already knowing the answer, I then ask, \u201cSo, do you want a traditional service or do you want a kick-ass goodbye party?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo schmaltzy, depressing stuff,\u201d she replies. \u201cI like the idea of friends and family just coming together to share the good times we had. Let\u2019s do a party with invitations.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her right hand, the long elegant fingers now bruised and crooked with arthritis, trace invisible text in the air. \u201c\u2018Come celebrate a joyous life.\u2019 Oh, and put \u2018no gifts necessary.\u2019\u201d She guffaws loudly. It\u2019s a hopeful sound to me, and for just a second I forget how weak she\u2019s become.<\/p>\n

We agree that the perfect place to hold her bash is the Beardall Senior Center, where she\u2019d been taking art classes for years. She has made dear friends there who continue to call and visit when she\u2019s unable to attend.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about music?\u201d I ask. \u201cI\u2019m thinking a combination of Klezmer and Barbra Streisand. I know those are your favorites.\u201d She loves that idea and her imagination and sense of humor take off. \u201cOh, yes. Let\u2019s do Bab\u2019s version of \u2018Happy Days Are Here Again.\u2019\u201d And we howl with laughter.<\/p>\n

We come up with a few more Streisand songs including \u201cSomeone to Watch Over Me,\u201d \u201cHere\u2019s to Life,\u201d and \u201cSecond Hand Rose\u201d since Mom is such a dedicated Goodwill shopper.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want balloons and good food. Let\u2019s get TooJay\u2019s to cater it.\u201d They were the closest thing to a deli in Orlando and her favorite place for a kosher hot dog or pastrami sandwich.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wonder what your brother and sister would think if they knew you and I were planning my funeral?\u201d She gives me a sly co-conspirator\u2019s smile. My mother loves all her children, but she and I are bound by the secrets she\u2019s told me over the years.<\/p>\n

While we\u2019re making more arrangements, my mother\u2019s day nurse, Anne, who looks like she\u2019s twelve, comes into the room. \u201cWe\u2019re planning a party,\u201d my mother tells her, and I know what\u2019s about to happen.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, what\u2019s the occasion?\u201d Anne chirps, walking into the trap. My mother delivers the punch line with the skill of a borscht-belt comic. \u201cMy funeral!\u201d she says. Buh dum bum.<\/p>\n

Anne\u2019s perfect features scrunch into a look that says, \u201cOh, shit, they didn\u2019t tell me how to handle this in nursing school,\u201d and she turns to me for help. I shake my head. She\u2019s on her own.<\/p>\n

My mother shares the party details and tells her in a no-nonsense tone, \u201cIt\u2019s important to let your family know what your wishes are. After all, it\u2019s your funeral,\u201d and laughs at her own joke.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat a good idea,\u201d Anne fibs politely, backing out of the room. We know she\u2019s headed towards the nurses\u2019 station to tell everyone about the crazy lady and her daughter down the hall. We don\u2019t care.<\/p>\n

By now my mother is looking better, with more color in her cheeks. She reminds me of a tiny sparrow sitting up in that bed and suddenly the enormity of it all bears down on me and I want to go home. It\u2019s time to wrap this up for now, say goodbye, and drive back to Tampa while I can still keep my eyes open. Leaving is always a push\/pull.<\/p>\n

Seeing the struggle on my face, she smiles and says, \u201cYou did good,\u201d and tells me how happy she is with the arrangements we\u2019ve made. I take a deep breath and give myself permission to leave, and finally, to grieve.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In the last year of my mother\u2019s life, she was boomeranging between home and late-night trips to the emergency room every other month. This often meant lengthy hospital stays that left her even weaker than before. Every time it happened, I found myself mentally trying to prepare for the end. Her end. And there were […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":401,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[4,7],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/400"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=400"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/400\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":402,"href":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/400\/revisions\/402"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/401"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=400"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=400"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.judithdhenry.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=400"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}