March 27th - Grandma's Funeral

The night after I celebrated my boyfriend's 32nd surprise birthday party, I lost my grandmother to a long and hard-fought battle with Alzheimer's. Her caregivers, my Aunt Dell, Cousin Cheri and Cousin Desi had gone to sleep on Sunday night and awoke Monday morning to find that Madame Bertha had slipped away peacefully in the night. Phone calls to and from Orlando zapped across the nation's telephone lines. We all took it hard although Aunt Dell had the most difficult time. Grandma was the matriarch of our family. A strong, proud and radiant character of an Alabaman woman. Though sketchy birth records claimed she was 94 years old, we figured that she was closer in age to 98. We knew that one day, she would no longer be with us...but to have never spent a day without her made that reality difficult to face. There were many of us she left behind. Ten children, more than one hundred grandchildren, about twenty great-grandchildren and seven great-great grand children.

I and Cousin Von traveled to Orlando by car to attend the home-going celebration. We arrived at my aunt's house at about 2:00am the following Saturday. We ended up staying up until about 4:00am. Why? Well, here's the thing about the Mootry family. Whenever we have an opportunity to get together, it's a given that we're going to spend the majority of that time laughing. I don't know why more of us aren't writers. There is no minor oddity of life within or outside of the family that goes unnoticed and we will make the time to talk about it. Also, a couple of cousins had some liquor so we had to have a libation. Aunt Dell is ultra saved and sanctified and there was no telling when we would get the opportunity again. God, it was so good to see cousins I hadn't seen in years. We ended up waking up a good percentage of the 15 people who were staying in that house. Then my sister, mother and I sniggled and giggled for quite a while in the room we were sharing. Love my family.

We woke up the next morning to prepare for the funeral. We all went around hugging and greeting each other. Exclaiming about the last time we had seen each other. Marveling over the changes in each other. Being fussed at about staying up into the wee hours of the night. Joking and ribbing and then finally discussing the details of the funeral that afternoon. It seemed that Aunt Dell didn't trust us all to drive our own vehicles to the church in a timely fashion because a couple of uncles had decided to ditch the family for Jack-in-the-Box instead of going to Grandma's viewing. We were therefore mandated to ride in the limo or the church bus after the good Reverend Rolly Murray Jr. arrived to say the morning prayer at 10:30am sharp. Thus we ate breakfast and then got all dolled up in combinations of white and black finery.

We stood out on Auntie's porch at 10:30am as we were instructed because we did not want to incur her wrath...not that she was a mean woman or would punish us in any way. 10:30 came and went and there was still no sign of the good reverend. I therefore took it upon myself to warn my various cousins and second cousins as to what to expect from the good Reverend Rolly Murray Jr. The good reverend was a short, little wisp of a man standing no taller than about 5'3 or maybe 5'4 on a good day. He sported long, manicured nails and a Jheri curl. Yes, you read it right. A Jheri curl. I don't even know where one would go to find the juice for that madness. Anyhow, for as long as I had known, Reverend suffered from Napoleonic complex and loved attention. However, he could sing very well and was known to minister with a ferocity rivaling that of any good Southern Baptist minister. I warned that there would be many stereotypical antics performed at the chapel for our viewing pleasure. Those antics would all work their way to a dramatic end where the good reverend would kneel in front of the congregation and have a red cape thrown upon his shoulders in the fashion of the late James Brown. My cousins found it hard to believe me but truth is stranger than fiction and I spoke no lie. We began to refer to him as Sexual Chocolate.

About an hour later, the good Reverend Rolly Murray Jr. arrived with his wife in an all white Cadillac. Arm-in-arm, they strolled rather majestically toward our large family. The good Reverend was slightly bent forward, licking his teeth and surveying his audience. I stole glances at my cousins and we stifled a giggled. They saw the Jheri curl and the nails. We all linked hands and followed in prayer before streaming into the limo and onto the bus. My sister and I sat in the back with the rest of the trouble-making cousins and had a good laugh about Sexual Chocolate while singing The Greatest Love of All and the theme song to Soul Glo. I think we all really needed to laugh. After all, we were going to Grandma's funeral.

We arrived at the church about half an hour later. Aunt had warned us that there was to be no texting and cell phones were to be shut off. Admittedly, I ignored that request by turning my phone to silent. There would be much on which to comment and I didn't want to spend most of the service crying. I suspected Grandma would forgive us for although she had been a very wise and God-fearing woman, she also loved to laugh and knew her children well. We streamed into the church as the choir sang Soon and Very Soon. Other mourners stood as we walked past Grandma and touched her casket. She had a very peaceful expression on her face. Her white hair a soft afro atop her head. It might as well have been a halo. I'll miss you, Granny. That's when the tears came. My sister and I sat next to our mother in our assigned pews, wringing our hands and wiping our cheeks with Kleenex.

It came time to shut the casket. The plan was that Grandma's daughters, my mother, Aunt Dell and Aunt Bea, would all shut the casket together. However, when they all went up to do so, a bit of a struggle ensued. We all theorized that Aunt Dell was going to cut up the worst because that was how she mourned and many of the family members remembered how she tried to get into the casket at Granddaddy's funeral. She refused to close the door on her mother's casket and therefore about four or five others sort of wrestled a little with her. In the midst of my tears, I couldn't help but notice the absurdity of it. Aunt Dell is just a little old lady but you would have thought they were struggling with a UFC fighter or something. I said a quick prayer and returned to my crying. The casket was successfully shut and the service proceeded with readings of scripture, the singing of Faded Rose and a very moving poem recited by Cousin Desi. It was all heart-breaking.

However, when the good Reverend Rolly Murray Jr. took to the pulpit and began to sing Willing to Run All the Way, I took out my cell phone and prepared myself. He sang that song for a good twenty minutes. In fact, in the middle of the song and with a smug chuckle, he announced how he thought he was going to sing it again. In the program, his sermon was called "words of comfort" but I will have to say it was more like a study in Baptist ministry theatrics. For anyone who hasn't been to a Southern Baptist church service, no matter your religious or non-religious beliefs, this is something you need to see. It's like New Year's Eve in New York or Mardi Gras in New Orleans. It is an unbelievable event and a wondrous occasion that can only be fully experienced first hand.

The minister began to speak in rather a calm and conciliatory voice. He spoke of Grandma being a good Christian woman and how she had imparted great wisdom in the lessons she'd taught her children. He then began to reference the scriptures that would support the gist of his message.

No matter the church or the minister, the message is always the same. You need to come to Jesu, NOW. It started off rather murky. He referenced Steven seeing heaven and wanted so desperately for us to see what he (the reverend) or perhaps Steven saw. At this point, Reverend's voice grew louder and his dedicated team of deacons began to call out "well," "uh-uh" and "amen" during each pause in Reverend's speech. Reverend did a peculiar thing. He said the word "sentence" and then spelled it out for us by spelling it s-e-t-e-n-c-e. I turned and gave a couple of my cousins a look.

Von texted me: What is this? Akeelah and the Bee?!?!


I replied: He's trying to get us to see what he sees..and that is vowels and consonants.

The sermon continued. The point of it was that Steven saw Jesus in heaven and chose to go and be with him rather than stay on earth with us. That was the choice our dear grandmother had made and we needed to accept that. We should rejoice knowing that if we came to Jesus here and now then we too would make that same choice to dwell with our lord and savior forever. During the course of his message, Reverend's voice grew progressively louder, he began to dance about it in that Black minister sort of way, the deacons began to echo and respond more and more constantly, and the organist took to accompanying the rhythm of his words. Reverend managed to spell p-o-s-s-i-b-l-e and p-r-o-m-i-s-e-d for us without incident.

About an hour later, after Uncle Lec signaled to Cousin James to bail, the Reverend brought it home with the following:


Jesus was laid to rest on Friday (GASP and organ) and was there all night Friday night (GASP and organ) and all day Saturday (GASP and organ) and all night Saturday night (GASP and organ) but on Sunday (GASP and organ) he rose! (GASP) He rose! (GASP) He rose! (GASP)

I returned my cell phone to my purse and watched knowingly as the good Reverend stepped calmly from the pulpit to have his wife wrap some sort of tissue around his neck before lovingly placing a black and red-lined cape about his shoulders. He looked a lot like Count Dracula.

We ushered out of the church in a rather indescribable state. There was the sadness we felt for Grandma but then there was the performance we'd just witnessed. How do you rationalize the two? What would Grandma have thought of that. When were we going to eat? Sigh. Our procession rode to the cemetery where Grandma was to be interred. Caped Reverend said a few words before we said a final farewell. As we walked away from her site, there was a gentle breeze in the air. Again, we'll miss you, Granny.

I vascillated as to whether I should record this particular memory on this blog. But then I realized that as I delve deeper into my decade of thirty, the funerals are likely to be more frequent. Funerals are every bit as much a social gathering as a wedding or parading my ass around somebody's nightclub. And just as anything else in this reality, they are often humorous reminders of the beauty, complexity and ridiculousness of life. Most importantly, funerals remind us to appreciate each moment we have to experience this strange living state. Thanks, Grandma.