I can almost see all of them smiling.
“Does that mean free drinks tonight?” asks Wally.
“Is that any way to pay your respects, Wally?” Mrs. Jones chastises.
“Sorry,” he says.
“Well, those are her instructions, as best as I can read them. Does anyone have anything they’d like to say about Maddy?”
“I think she was really special,” says Guy. “She always made me feel like I mattered.”
“Yes,” says Richard. “And she had a real sense of justice, didn’t she?”
“I think it was very hard for her not to want to take care of people or to help them make their dreams come true,” says Mrs. Jones. “To the point where it superseded her taking care of herself.”
I shrink inside. Am I that transparent? It feels so strange to hear people talk about me as if I’m not there, but I am there, only I’m dead-there.
“Even when I was down, which is pretty much all the time, she picked me up with that spark in her eye,” says Wally. “And sharing Sid with us has always been a nice thing to do. Ya know…she let me take Sid home one night when I just didn’t feel like being alone. And she promised not to tell anyone, cuz I didn’t want to look like a wuss or anything.”
“That’s a lovely story,” says Mrs. Jones. “I liked that she liked to offer her opinion about whatever mattered to others and to her.”
“What did you think of her opinions?” asks Richard.
“She had strong ones,” says Guy. “Good ones. I think if she could have gone back in time, she would have really given it to that groomer who killed Dunlop.”
This time, through the sheet, I can see Richard smiling over that one.
“She didn’t think lightly about things, did she?” asks Richard.
“No. She was always thinking,” says Guy. “You could see it in her eyes.”
“Yes, I think you could call her a deep thinker,” adds Richard. “Let’s all take a moment to think deeply about Maddy in silence.”
I sit still under the cloth sheet, not really sure how to feel—after all, feeling dead is a whole new experience for me.
Perhaps a minute passes, then Richard says,“Let’s carry her toward the lake.”
Suddenly hands and arms grope my sides and legs and back as I am lifted from the bar stool and carried to the waterfront.
Great, I think, wondering if the finale is a toss in the lake. Well, that would surely wake the dead beast in me. Dead beast in me? Do I have a dead beast? What is it? Some part of me that refuses to live in the moment? The part that’s on a never-ending quest for perfection before life can be lived? The part that prefers to wallow in some form of self-pity? I feel my body placed gently down upon the docks. I hear the water lap underneath it. I feel Sid paw at my side and hear her whimper. Of everyone, I’ll miss Sid the most, I think. Sid is the one who opened my heart, got me out of a workaholic modus operandi because she needed me. To be needed. To love…so you can grieve. Would Sid grieve the most for me? In her own doglike way? What about Victor? Would he miss me? We started to connect but then he sent me away. What was that about?
I feel a light breeze glide over me. I wonder if dead people think the way I am thinking now, only from outside of their bodies. Did Uncle Sam feel that way? What if there were words left unsaid? How would they ever communicate to their loved ones again, or did it just not matter anymore from this altered state. Not to sound cliché, but maybe that’s why it’s so very important to say what you feel when you feel it, because the opportunity may never come again, at least not in the physical realm.
“Everyone, let’s lift the sheet,” says Richard. The sheet slides off me. “Madison, you can live again,” he says.
To my ears, it’s the most beautiful decree I’ve ever heard. Richard, Guy, Wally and Mrs. Jones all give me compassionate hugs. I bend over and hug Sid, who showers me with a facial licking.
“What was that experience like?” asks Richard.
“That was really powerful. I think that by learning how to die…I just learned how to live.”
“That’s exactly the point of the exercise. Most people don’t get that until they actually experience a simulation like this.”
“How do you know how to do this?”
“I used to teach it to funeral directors in mortuary school.”
“Well, you should teach it again. Everyone on the planet should go through this…including presidents and dictators! Think about it, it might curtail war and help social programs—”
“I told you she had strong opinions,” says Guy.
“That’s what we love about her,” says Mrs. Jones.
“Does this mean free drinks now?” asks Wally.
“Yes,” I declare. “Free drinks for all of you!”
Back inside the bar, Richard and I pour free drinks for Wally, Guy and Mrs. Jones, while a bevy of other regulars enter.
Richard turns to me. “So, what was it like writing the letter to Sam?”
“It was strange writing with my left hand. It forced my thoughts to slow down and between the thoughts these epiphanies kept popping up.”
“Like what?”
“Like I realized that if I ever get married, Uncle Sam would still be there. He could still watch me walk down the aisle because…he didn’t really die. He’s still with me, here, just in a different way.” I look at the black ribbon on my black T-shirt. “I realize…I don’t have to wear the black ribbon anymore.”
Richard smiles. “You got that? Most people don’t get that, but when you do get that, it’s in the most profound and powerful way.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “It’s powerful. Look, Richard, I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you write this all down? Turn it into a pamphlet or manual on how to grieve and how to create meaningful tributes. You could call it the ‘Pamphlet on Grieving & the Nontraditional Personalized Tribute Experience.’”
“I’m not a writer, Maddy,” says Richard. “But I’ll tell you what. I’ll talk it through and you write it up. I’ll cover the grief part and you cover the tributes, and we’ll co-author it.”
I feel the old flame in my eyes flicker to life. “Okay, you’re on,” I say. We clink glasses.
“Hey, Maddy,” says Rocky from the other end of the bar, still in his mailman attire. “I forgot to drop this in your mailbox. From Winston Capital in L.A. Can I give it to you here?” He pulls out a letter for me.
Richard recognizes the name on the envelope. “Go ahead, take five,” he says.
Sid and I cross over to the outdoor patio, away from customers. I open the letter. “Now what do you suppose Mr. Winston has to say, Sid?”
Dear Maddy,
Life sounds good on Clark Lake. Sorry not to write sooner. I’ve been embroiled with a merger-acquisition in biotech. Talk about merging cultures and organizational behavior. A leader who can’t bring the two together inherently affects productivity. When goals aren’t clear, people’s roles in companies aren’t, either, resulting in a chaotic clash between personal and corporate objectives. Aside from that, the launch of Designer Tank was a success. Norm Pearl decided to integrate all of our products into his office-apartment-lofts in NYC. Funny how you seem connected to all of this. They all ask about you and I’ve told them you’re on a retreat and doing well. They said if they can help with the resurrection of Lights Out, to let them know. In the meantime, how’s the digging? Need an extra hand? I happen to be good with a shovel. Let me know. Perhaps an advisory board meeting is in order. Any local bowling alleys around you?
Yours truly,
Victor Winston
“What do you think, Sid? Want some company?” Sid and I slip into the back office where an antiquated computer sits.
I get online and send Victor a quick e-mail: “Dear Victor, Yes…come for advisory board meeting. Digging is all done but polishing the uncovered relics is an option. Come whenever. You can always find Sid and me at the Eagle’s Nest. Beers are on me. Yours, Maddy.”
I send the e-mail and write a quick one to my lawyer, Todd Lake. “Need you to please trademark ‘Pamphlet on Grieving and the Nontraditional Personalized Tribute Experience.’ That done, I register a blog Web site for the pamphlet. And suddenly I feel very much alive.
The next few days I spend catching up with family in Ann Arbor. I take Andy to the movies and to the park with Sid where we all romp together. I meet Rebecca and Keating for lunch. I have dinner with Sierra and the ever-elusive and charming Milton, whom I say I approve of when asked in private by Sierra. I try to talk to Daniel, but his doom and gloom overwhelms him. I tell him he should try pseudo-dying sometime, it might help, but I receive only a dumbfounded expression in return. I take my parents to a klezmer concert and bask in enjoying the moments with them, especially the moments when Eleanor dotes on Siddhartha.
When Sid and I return to the Eagle’s Nest a few days later, I am devastated to learn that Guy died the night before in his sleep from some sort of undetected heart condition. He had no family, and so Richard and I decide to put a funeral together for him.
Richard and I enter Guy’s apartment and discover that he has very little in terms of possessions: a painting by Lillian Jones of him in green overalls standing outside the Eagle’s Nest on the dock at Clark Lake; a box of photos of him as a child and as a teenager, the only hint of family members, frozen in the past; several first-place ribbon awards from high school for most innovative in engineering and design; and several boxes of metal parts and circuit boards.
We load up his possessions and place them in Richard’s truck. Then we drive up to Sally’s house on three acres of land. Guy’s fenced engineering feat glints in the sunlight.
“I’ve never informed someone of a death before,” I say to Richard.
“Just be compassionate and emotionally available,” he says. “When a survivor’s pain touches your heart, a bond is made. It helps them through the grieving process. But to get there, you have to be willing to be touched.” He pauses to reflect as he puts the truck in Park. “When I was a funeral director, I learned that what people really want is to know that you’re just doing the best you can.”
“When you were a funeral director, Richard?” I pose, poignantly. “What makes you think anything’s changed just because you’re working in a bar?” I smile at him and then open the truck door to step out.
Sally takes the news hardest of all. When she breaks down, I gently hold her in my arms and tell her how much Guy enjoyed doing that for her.
Sally weeps. “I should have done more. I should have told him how much he meant to me after Joe went. I should have had him move in with me. Maybe I could have saved him,” she laments over and over.
“Sounds like you guys had a really special relationship, Sally. Please be comforted knowing that Guy was very fond of you. All he ever talked about at the bar was you, and how much he enjoyed looking after you.”
Her eyes light up for a moment. “Really?”
“Really,” I assure her.
“Sally, you know that Guy didn’t have any family. You have a lot of property here—how would you feel about burying him on yours?” says Richard.
Sally stops crying and looks at us both. “Why, I would be honored to have him here…but what about a casket? He should have a nice one. Mahogany. He always liked mahogany…but they’re well over five thousand at Tribute in a Box,” she says. “I remember from when Joe died. And they’re the only ones around here. I’ll help pay for it, but I won’t give a cent to that Tribute in a Box company after the way they took advantage of me.”
“I’m sure I have a mahogany casket left in stock at the old funeral home from before Tribute in a Box took over. We can use one of those,” offers Richard. “And they’re much less expensive.”
“Fine,” says Sally. “Count me in for five hundred.”
Richard and I share a look
“Don’t we still need a funeral home?” Sally asks, wiping her eyes with worn-down tissues.
“No. We don’t have to, unless we need the space for viewing and a service,” explains Richard. “If we have a viewing we most likely have to embalm him. If not, I can make sure his remains are washed and disinfected. Maddy and I thought we’d have a memorial service for him at the bar.”
“A memorial service is nice. And the three of us can have a graveside prayer for him. Will you both come to that?”
“Of course,” says Richard.
“By the way, what was Guy’s favorite food?” I ask Sally.
“Well,” she says coyly,“he used to say he lived for my sandwiches and lemonade.”
“Was there any kind of music he had a preference for?”
“He liked it when I played Beethoven as he worked, but he always talked about Roy Vernon’s singing,” she says with fondness. “He asked me to go with him to hear Roy sing on Thursday nights at the bowling alley…but I just haven’t been able to leave the house since…you know.”
We say our goodbyes and head outside to the truck.
“Isn’t a mahogany casket at least three or four grand?” I ask Richard.
“Yep. I’ve got a thousand I can put in to cover it, but then I’m figuring on another five hundred for all the liquor at the service.”
“I can put in five,” I say.
There’s a look of gratitude in his eyes. “Maybe others will pitch in, too.”
“Hey, Richard. Do you mind if I take a run at some ideas for the memorial service?”
He smiles. “Not at all.”
I remember the extraordinary painting that Lillian Jones made of Guy fixing Sally’s fence. I head over to the library with Sid to have a talk with Mrs. Jones about it.
Later that day, I take Guy’s box of photos with me to Ann Arbor. Sid accompanies me. I meet with Sierra, and later with Eleanor and Charlie, and I even get Daniel to sit still and listen to me.
Two days later, Richard closes the bar to the public for the entire night and devotes the time and space to Guy’s life celebration ceremony with about twenty townspeople and bar regulars who knew him. A memory board with photos of Guy is erected at the entrance of the bar, along with a donation bucket for the cost of the funeral. The paintings by Lillian Jones sit on easels on either side of the fireplace where a circle of chairs has been placed.
Richard and I start out by serving everyone Guy’s favorite draft ale. Siddhartha makes sure no one feels alone, making herself available for instant companionship with a lick on the hand in return for a pat on the head. Once everyone is seated comfortably around the fireplace, my natural inclination to produce the ceremony kicks in, and I ask Eleanor and Charlie, who are there, to help pass out sandwiches to the mourners. My brother Daniel sits quietly in the back of the bar with a pen and pad of paper in hand. Sierra and Milton stand by for support and video assistance. I first invite Sierra to project a life bio video of Guy on the TV monitor. The threeminute video displays a montage of the photos from the box in Guy’s apartment, and the paintings of him by Lillian Jones. It all plays to the symphonic strains of Beethoven. Everyone mentions how they never knew he had won awards for his engineering designs.
I get up and explain that usually a life bio video includes interviews of family and friends, but there was no time or budget for that and so instead we’re inviting those present to take a turn and tell stories about Guy as the torch is passed. In this case, the torch is one of the metal contraptions that Guy invented. The contraption is first passed to Lillian Jones who starts the storytelling, and then there’s Wally, and all the other bar regulars and townspeople who either knew Guy or had hired him in the past. If someone is shy, my mother masterfully puts them at ease with a prompt to get them going, and Charlie humorously reminds them to have another sip of beer.
After everyone’s spoken, Mom introduces a surprise mourner, local singer Roy Vernon. Roy stands up in the back of the room. I see the shadow of someone else back there but I’m not sure who it is.
Roy moves toward the fire and stands before everyo
ne. “I didn’t know Guy the way you all did. I knew him as the guy who was there every Thursday night to hear me sing, the guy who truly appreciated my gifts, and I came to count on seeing him there. After a while, his presence alone became a source of inspiration for me…and so this one’s for Guy.”
Roy sings and plays his guitar. Everyone is in awe as Roy nears the end of his song. The entire bar is silent. Suddenly, Sally appears from the shadows and slowly comes forth, holding a pitcher in her hand. Everyone knows this is the first time Sally’s left the house in the ten months since Joe passed. Their silent respect for her fills the room. Richard immediately offers Sally a chair. She sits and listens quietly as Roy sings another song. Siddhartha is by her side, as if sensing that she’s in need of support. There’s a huge round of applause. Sally has tears in her eyes. Then Eleanor asks Sally if she has a story to tell.
“Yes, I do,” replies Sally, and she slowly stands up holding the pitcher in her hand. “Guy was an amazing man. After Joe left, I couldn’t function, but Guy was always there…to help with chores, to bring me groceries, to fix my fence…and then some…” Everyone smiles, as her fence is the talk of the town. “He got me to laugh again. He used to sit on the porch at the end of each day with a glass of lemonade, just appreciating the sunset. I never saw a man so content with every moment. So I, uh, brought some of his favorite lemonade for everyone.” There are tears in her eyes.
“That is so beautiful, Sally,” I say.
“Thank you for sharing that,” says Richard. He helps her with the pitcher. “Everyone, grab a shot glass for some of this delicious lemonade.” Everyone cheers for Sally, recognizing that in a deeply ironic way, Guy’s death brought Sally back to life.
The Funeral Planner Page 27
