Rest in peace

I put on my Navy blue suit yesterday and went to a funeral for my Aunt Peggy, my father’s sister, who died in her sleep a few days ago.

I didn’t expect it to be a real emotional experience, since I had hardly seen her in the past 10 years, and she’s been in failing health for a while. But there were still a couple of moments that got to me.

They used all pre-recorded music at the funeral, which was a first for me. The first song was some over-produced “contemporary Christian” song that went on longer than Stairway to Heaven, but wasn’t nearly as good. I bet Aunt Peggy wouldn’t have chosen that one.

But then they played George Jones’ version of Amazing Grace, in which he sings the first verse a cappella. I looked over next to me and saw some tears in my daddy’s eyes, so naturally I lost it for a minute. If you can sit in a funeral chapel and listen to George Jones sing Amazing Grace and see your daddy crying and not tear up yourself, then I don’t want to know you.

The whole experience was sad, but more in a nostalgic way than a mournful one. It reminded me how little I see anybody in my extended family – aunts, uncles, cousins. These are people who were once a big part of my life, and now there are some of them I hardly even recognize.

I remember as a kid, I would see my family a lot, not just once a year at Christmas. They weren’t just names and faces, they were central figures in my universe. We’d go over to an aunt or uncle’s house to eat, or just visit, or we’d see each other at one of my grandmother’s houses. I’d hear my mama and daddy talk about them, so I knew about their problems, their joys, their triumphs and their failures.

On my father’s side of the family, my uncle died about 20 years ago, and my grandmother died a few years later, and we all just stopped getting together. People moved away, and I’d go years without seeing some of them. It’s a shame.

One thing that struck me at the funeral is how much older everybody is getting. My poor Uncle Joe, married to Peggy for 60 years, was just a shell of himself. The years and a case of Parkinson’s Disease have taken their toll. My memory of him is that of a hard-working, down-to-earth man with a firm handshake and a quick laugh. The man I saw at the funeral was not my Uncle Joe.

And Aunt Peggy was quite a character, a Dolly Parton-type who was partial to wigs, jewelry, makeup and flea markets. Her house was always loaded with things she picked up at flea markets. My mama never could understand why somebody wanted “all that mess” in their house.

I got together with my mother’s side of the family not long ago, to celebrate my grandmother’s 97th birthday. That was nice, but we probably won’t see each other again until Christmas, unless something bad happens, God forbid.

But, what to do? It’s a problem without a solution. I could say I’m going to make more of an effort to see everybody, but I know that’s not going to happen. Everyone is too scattered with too many things going on in their lives. Sometimes, memories just have to suffice.