Making Choices (continued)
Back at the office, Bill and I sat on a comfortably padded bench in front of her desk while our saleslady prepared the purchase papers. I felt quite content about the entire situation…almost smug. I knew that Diane really liked this gravesite. I had felt her contentment and approval so vividly.
Finalizing the sale took longer than we had expected. The saleslady had to call her boss a couple of times to question him on details. It wasn’t long before I became fidgety and restless. An impatient, gnawing frustration began to build inside me.
In defense of the saleslady, she had apologized several times for the delays. I had no idea what could possibly have taken so long. The minutes seemed like hours and, at least from my point-of-view, the transaction had become a long, drawn-out process. I became increasingly more agitated as the time went by. A host of intense emotions had built up. I was traditionally a pretty laid-back person. What in heaven’s name had come over me?
As I sat there waiting, I began to clinch my jaws to keep from saying anything. I had the distinct feeling that, if I opened my mouth, something would come out that I hadn’t intended to say. The extreme anger and frustration that I was feeling just wasn’t me. It was, however, so like my impatient sister Diane.
Time continued to drag on and nothing seemed to be getting accomplished. Finally our saleslady excused herself and went out to the reception desk to make yet another call. I noticed, by her body language, that something was not right. That observation just added to the frustration that I was already feeling. I don’t believe that Bill noticed my teeth-clenching silence. Or that my knuckles were white from clutching the front edge of the bench we were sitting on. I was trying with all of my might to hold back the intense anger and frustration that was waiting to erupt. What on earth could be taking her so long?
By the time our saleslady returned to the room, I was ready to explode. I continued clenching my teeth and listened politely to what she had to say to Bill. “I’m sorry” she said, “but I can’t sell you the plots that you want. The family who owns the ones next to those has first right of refusal for purchase and we can’t get hold of the contact person.”
Then it happened. It was more than I could do to control my anger any longer. I relaxed my jaw and my teeth unclenched just the slightest bit. With that unintentional opportunity, words gushed out of my mouth, without my permission. “You WHAT?” I had said to her, in a very rude manner, but not nearly as terrible as it might have been. The saleslady was startled by the outburst because I had been so quiet. Oh Diane, I thought to myself, don’t get us into trouble now.
The saleslady had been very nice and extremely apologetic. Bill was confused as to what the next step might be and I was trying to control a ferocious beast inside of me. I absolutely could not, would not, allow my clenched mouth to relax again. The representative left the room to make yet another phone call.
When she returned to the office where we waited, our saleslady had a considerably less panicked expression on her face. She explained to us that she had been on the phone again with the cemetery owner to convey our extreme disappointment. He came to the conclusion that they could open a part of one of the established areas that had previously been closed to further development. She offered to drive us to look at those additional plots and we accepted. My jaws were still firmly set and I was again white-knuckled as I clutched the seat of the golf cart. I still felt as if I would explode with anger and could not risk opening my mouth to say anything. We rode to the new area in silence.
We finally arrived at the new site which looked very similar to the area that Diane had liked so well. The anger inside of me began to diminish. We, again, followed our leader but she seemed confused as to our exact destination. Finally, she admitted that she wasn’t sure of the precise location of the plots from looking at her diagram. She needed to go back to the office for a tape measurer. We chose to stay and wait.
Bill stood where the saleslady had left him but I was impatiently pacing, so I decided to wonder around. These grounds were also meticulously manicured. Mature trees shaded the graves. They weren’t quite as large as the trees in the area that Diane had liked so well, but they were very nice.
As I walked, the anger and frustration inside me seemed to melt away. There were tombstones with names such as Jacobson, Jones, and even Cox. Cox was our mother’s maiden name. These names were all within sight of each other as well as the new plots.
I continued to walk and eventually arrived at a grassy area under a shade tree. A branch from that tree reached over and sheltered me from the sun. I stood very still while a rush of wonderful peace-of-mind filled my being. A warm breeze again touched my face and gently brushed against my hair. I felt a peaceful contentment in every fiber of my soul. Oh my, Diane truly loved this place. I stayed there, basking in those wonderful feelings.
My serene feelings were interrupted when Bill and the saleslady, with her measuring tape on the ground, came up behind me. “Here it is” the saleslady said. And there I stood, right on the plot for which she had been measuring. Bill was visibly shaken when he saw the gravesite was where I stood. I had already known that was the spot. Diane had guided me there…I had no doubt
When the saleslady, diagram and tape measurer in hand, had walked back to the golf cart Bill approached me, looked me straight in the eye and said, “Does Diane like it here Terry?” I replied, “Oh yes Bill, she absolutely loves it here.”
We returned to the office and signed the papers for Diane’s gravesite and the family cemetery plot. Looking back, I think that was the turning point for Bill’s belief in my sister’s decisions that came though me. He never requested my opinion after that incident in the cemetery. From then on his questions were always, what had Diane wanted, or what had she thought about this or that. He knew, as I had known, that Diane was making the decisions about her own funeral arrangements.
From the cemetery we went directly to the mortuary. Diane’s body had not arrived from Leesburg yet, but we needed to select the casket and leave her clothes. After brief introductions, the director led us into a room where there had been a variety of caskets on display. I never realized that there were so many styles and colors of caskets. I kind of liked one that was a light pink and very feminine with roses hand painted on it. But that was just something that had attracted my attention and tastes. I really had no preference for Diane. The selection was vast and any number of them would have been appropriate.
Bill looked at pricing more than the style or color of the coffins. He had spent substantially more money than he had planned at the cemetery, but Diane wasn’t concerned about money. She had made her selection.
I knew immediately what her choice was when I saw that beautiful casket with the last supper carved into the side and biblical figures on each corner. As soon as I had put my hand on the dark mahogany wood I felt her approval as it seemed to flow from the wood and into my hand and body. When I touched the neutral creamy rose colored satin pillow, I noted to myself how beautiful it was going to match her dress. Had that been a coincidence? I don’t think so, I’m sure Diane planned it that way from the beginning.
Although the casket that Diane chose was one of the most expensive available, Bill didn’t question her wishes. He purchased the one that we knew she wanted.
We left the mortuary and headed home, stopping by a florist on our way. At the counter we leafed though numerous books of beautiful arrangements and floral blankets for the coffin. There were so many types of flowers and arrangements from which to choose. In the end, there wasn’t really a choice at all.
Diane wanted roses. Red roses were always her favorite in life – it makes sense that they would still be her favorite after death. So the floral blanket on her casket consisted of hundreds of red roses. It was absolutely beautiful and she was very pleased. The grouping and arrangements selected to be from the children matched flawlessly. They were just as she wanted.
When we returned home, each of her children had to have a new outfit for the funeral service. Whether they really needed outfits or not hadn’t been the issue. Diane wanted them all to be dressed to perfection -- beautifully appropriate. So it had been up to me to take them shopping and purchase the perfect mourning clothes for each. There were finely pin-striped black matching suits for Shawn and little Trevor, a stylish black printed outfit for Dorrie, a black printed skirt with soft grey angora sweater for Angie, and a tiny black velvet dress with a wide white lace-lined collar for tiny Tiffany, just nineteen months old.
Somehow we got all the arrangements made for Diane’s funeral and burial. Everything turned out beautifully. If Bill and I had been able to take credit for the selections, we could have patted ourselves on the back and said … “Job well done”. But they weren’t our choices. They were really pretty easy after I had stopped fighting Diane and we just listened to what she wanted.
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