Final Goodbye
Posted Sat, 09/27/14
The night before Dad's funeral last Tuesday, a nurse at the care facility where Mum lives convinced me to take her to the service. I wasn't going to entertain the idea because I felt seeing Dad in his casket might send Mum into an emotional tailspin. However, the nurse told me Mum really wanted to go, that she needed to attend to provide closure for herself.
Sheila and I picked Mum up around eight-thirty last Tuesday morning. She looked beautiful, wearing an ankle-length navy floral print dress with a light black sweater. The ride up Parley's Canyon was calm, aside from nutty drivers and glaring sunshine. We arrived at Probst Family Funeral Home in Midway around ten o'clock, where Mum saw Dad for the first time. I wanted to make sure Dad looked good enough for an open-casket viewing, anxious to preserve his dignity. He suffered in the final weeks of his life, losing a great deal of weight. However, the funeral home did a splendid job. Dad looked peaceful and serene, much more like his old self than he did the day he died. I told Mum to make the call: open or closed casket? She said to leave it open, so we did.
Her reaction to seeing Dad was eerily calm. There were tears, of course, but she maintained control of herself. After we sat down, Mum turned to me and asked: "Why is he so cold to the touch?" The question took me aback for a split second, but I answered the best I could: "It's just his physical body, Mum. Dad's spirit is in heaven now." She agreed, saying: "At least he isn't suffering anymore."
The service was well-attended, with more people showing up than I ever expected. People from Dad's work life (going as far back as thirty years ago), nieces and nephews I hadn't seen in ages, old friends and some folks I didn't even know on sight. The speaker was Alan Smith, a former Mormon bishop who used to visit Dad at home, in the hospital and care center on a regular basis. Dad liked Alan very much, although the two men never discussed religion. While Dad did believe there was a "higher" power somewhere, he was consistently against any sort of organized religion. He figured the bigger a religious organization became, the more corrupt they were.
After the service, the procession from Midway to Heber City Cemetery took about ten minutes. Probst provided a tented area with covered chairs, where Mum and I sat. Dad's grave was prepared and ready, just one space over from "Irene Mondoux Watts" (Mum's mother and my grandmother), who died in 1970. Military honors were performed at the graveside, with a bugle rendition of "Taps" and a gun salute. By this time it was after two o'clock in the afternoon. I think the loudness of the gun salute startled Mum considerably, also made more intense by the fact her medication was beginning to wear off.
The ride back down Parley's Canyon was a complete emotional unravel for Mum. She was beside herself, accusatory and hostile toward me in particular. It was a vivid reminder of how she used to behave before being medicated and placed in a care facility last April. Needless to say, the hour-long trip back to Avalon was a literal nightmare. She tried to make a run for it when we finally got there, but an aide came to the rescue and got her back into the facility. It was a horrible ending to a very stressful day. I fully understand it was the disease talking and not my mother, but it was still hard to take on that particular day. She has since forgotten about the incident, which is perhaps the only blessing.
I'm above and beyond impressed with Probst Family Funeral Home. Dad's service was perfect, and I believe everything he would have wanted. The military tribute at his gravesite was also done to exact detail, including the gun salute and formal presentation of the US flag to my mother.
Clint Probst and his staff treated me and family members with respect and compassion, which was noted and appreciated by everyone who came. The facility is beautiful, and my father looked more peaceful and natural than he has in a very long time of suffering. I know he would have approved of the entire day - from the facility, the procession to Heber and the graveside ceremony with military honors. I may have chosen the casket and selected the clothes Dad wore for burial, but Probst flawlessly carried out the rest.
On a related note, last July Dad and I met with a representative of Olpin Funeral Home. The purpose was to pay down the cash value in two life insurance policies in order for my mother to qualify for Medicaid. At the time, my father had no notion of dying or tying up loose ends. However, he didn't care for the person sent to represent Olpin (nor did I). Dad later decided to cancel the whole ball of wax, preferring to trust his instincts. I'm glad he did. In hindsight, Olpin was willing to charge $10,000 more than Probst for a similar casket and service. There was a definite sense of preying on those vulnerable with grief via Olpin, as if it was simply par for the course in daily business.
Please rest in peace, Dad.
*Related Blog Posts: Sad Adieu (09/21/14), Final Goodbye (09/27/14), Bad Sniffles (09/28/14), Reading Binge (10/19/14) and Dad's Marker (12/09/14).