An Autobiography in Funerals

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Snap the flag in front. Figure eight. Spin the flag above. Wait, lost the beat.

It was only a few weeks away from our first parade and we were practicing our color guard routine with the marching band in front of Williamson Senior High School. I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket and chose to ignore it while I focused on my routine. After a pause, the buzzing came again. I knew I needed to answer it at that point. I stepped out of line and pulled my LG flip phone out of my pocket to see ‘Mom’ flashed across the screen. I answered the phone to my mom’s worried voice. “Your grandfather collapsed in the bathroom, and they took him to the hospital. I am coming to get you.” I remember the feeling of my heart dropping in my chest. I was only a junior in high school and I never experienced the loss of someone close to me.

My grandfather had been battling pancreatic cancer for a couple of years by this point. At this point in my life, I did not know how terrible cancer could be. I was unaware of how sick he was until that phone call came. I paced at the entrance to the driveway of the school while I waited for my mom to arrive. So many thoughts passed through my mind. I had no idea what was going to happen or even if we were going home or to my grandparents’ house.

I finally saw my mom’s Ford Taurus pull into the driveway and I hopped in as soon as she stopped. She filled me in on what was happening at that point. My grandfather had been on his way to the bathroom when he collapsed suddenly. My grandmother called the ambulance first, then my mom and Aunt Sheila next. I was told my grandmother was still at home and my Aunt was on her way to the hospital. I never really found it odd that my grandmother stayed home while her husband was possibly dying. This is something I would ask her about if I had the chance to do so.

My mom and I arrived at my grandparent’s house in Webster and there we sat waiting for news. The neighbors of course came to investigate (because they had nothing better to do) and spent the evening sitting there with us while we waited. I don’t remember what time the phone call came; I just remember it was dark outside. My aunt called my grandmother and told her that my grandfather had passed away from a heart attack.

My young sixteen-year-old mind could not comprehend the news I had just gotten. I remember feeling numb. My mom asked me if I wanted to go to school the next day and I didn’t know how to respond. I finally decided to go to school just so I would have a distraction.

The calling hours were only a week later, and they did an open casket. That was the day I vowed to never to an open casket funeral myself; seeing my grandfather laying there was too much. So many people had come to call on him and give us their condolences. I fought to hold myself together as so many people told me how sorry they were for my loss.

My grandfather had been a volunteer with the Webster fire department and was well known in the community. When firefighters die, the others in the department come to pay their respects. This was something I learned that night as I had around thirty men dressed up in their dress uniforms and shook all of our hands. I could not hold back the tears anymore and I felt my mom’s arm around me for comfort. This was the moment everything became real to me.

I don’t remember much from the funeral itself. I remember my grandmother was excited because she found a ‘rebel catholic’ minister for my grandfather’s funeral. My grandfather was of the catholic faith but got divorced so he was no longer considered a true catholic. My grandmother found a man who also got divorced, so he was willing to proceed over the funeral. At the end of the funeral, they closed the oak coffin and walked him to the hearse. My brother was one of the men carrying my grandfather out of the building. I never really thought to ask him how he felt this day. I never thought to ask anyone how they felt on this day. My grandmother wore a strained smile. My mom had a mask on, refusing to show any emotion. I never looked at my aunt.

We proceeded to Webster Union Cemetery where my grandparents’ shared headstones sat. My grandfather’s side of the headstone was already etched with May 3rd, 2007 while my grandmothers sat waiting for her time. I honestly could not tell you what went through my mind as my grandfather was being lowered into the ground. I needed to learn how to go through life without one of the most important men to me.

Kevin V. Lighthouse

February 8th 1960 – July 13th 2009

My father was not present at my grandfather’s funeral, which normally would be usual for divorced couples, but my parents got along really well for their situation. My father wanted to be there for me and my brother as he knew how important my grandfather (or bum as my brother, Lon, called him) was to us. Unfortunately, my father could not come because he was getting his diagnosis of stage 4 colon cancer.

My parents decided to keep this from me for the time being since the spring to summer was full of important events in my young life. I had my junior year regent’s exams followed by my senior pictures. My senior year of high school was supposed to be the best year of my life.

After I had endured hours of posing in front of a camera in the hot summer sun, my mom took me to a little diner (whose name escapes me) for lunch. As she sat across from me she finally came out and told me. “Your father was diagnosed with colon cancer around the time of your grandfather’s funeral. We decided to wait to tell you so the news wouldn’t show in your pictures.” I wasn’t mad that they waited to tell me. I was relieved, because I only had to wait a couple more days until I would see my dad rather than sitting on this news for an entire month.

I think I expected to see something different when my dad walked in the door. I imagined my grandfather and what the cancer did to him as he progressed through the disease. When my dad walked through the door, he was his normal self. I hugged him tighter than I ever had before. I would be lying if I said that I was not scared. My father told me that he would do everything he could to fight this and be around for as long as he could in my life.

He did fight and hard. He tried experimental treatments in hopes of a cure. He turned to religion, which in turn dragged me to a Born Again Christian church. In the end, even he could not defeat this disease. It was the weekend right before the 4th of July. I was spending the week with my friend April and her family up in Cape Vincent, which is right outside the 1000 Islands. We would be spending the fourth together and the following week I was to go to my dad’s house in Connecticut for the rest of the summer. My phone buzzed and I looked down to see the name Dad across the screen. I answered the phone excitedly, April and I had been playing Jumanji and her father told us that elephants weren’t allowed in the living room.

I was not greeted by my dad’s voice; however, it was my stepmom’s Sindy’s voice. “Your father has taken a turn for the worst. We need to get you down here now.” Tears began to pour down my face and April instantly pulled me into a hug. When she did that, it knocked some sense into me and I told my stepmom where I was. She said they would call me back when they figured out a plan.

April’s parents offered to drive me back to my mom’s which was an almost 3 hour drive. That was not needed though. My Aunt Sandy and Uncle Doug travelled up to Watertown to pick me up. Watertown was only a thirty minute drive for April’s parents so it was more manageable. Even in the midst of these events, I was worried about being a burden. April pulled me into a tight hug and told me to call her if I needed her at all. I promised that I would as I climbed into my uncle’s car and off, we went.

As I walked into my dad’s house, I imagined running into his arms and holding him as tight as I could. I was met with a vision that I was not ready to see. My father had always been a working man and never liked to sit still for long. Now I saw him lying in a hospice bed, hooked up to a machine that pumps pain medication into his body with the touch of a button. I just collapsed onto him and began to cry at the sight. I was not ready for this.

It only took a week. I sat by his side every day and night, not wanting to miss out on a moment with him. There were times where he had to tell me to take a break and step out of the room for some air. The second half of the week, my dad only slept. This was the point where we had to take shifts watching him knowing that his time was close.

One night I was sitting in the living room with my friend Dan (his mom Margarita was helping to take care of dad) laughing and joking about the fact he could fit in my pajama pants. Sindy came into the room in tears and said it looked like my dad’s time was there. We all went into the room and stood by his side until he breathed his last breath.

The funeral was on August 2nd, 2009, at least 3 weeks after he passed. My father had requested to be cremated and this is when I decided to do the same when I passed. It was much easier to see a small urn at the front of the room instead of an open casket. My step aunt Jill sang You Raise Me Up at the start of the service. Now I can’t hear that song without crying. The room was full of people who came to support us in this loss. Family from New York. Friends and family from Connecticut. My father touched so many lives and it showed that day when there were rows of people standing in the back because we ran out of seating.

We had a celebration of his life at his house and that is where my stepmom did the only nice thing in my time of knowing her. She presented me with a small urn that has a portion of my father’s ashes. It is a light blue heart shaped urn with three butterflies hand etched into the top of it. Each urn was special in its own way because it was hand etched and that made it one of a kind. She remembered my father’s song for me was Butterfly Kisses so this meant the world to me.

JoAnn Statt

March 24th 1940 – August 30th 2011

After losing my dad, I had to focus on the promises I made him. He wanted me to finish my college education and just not let his death define my life. Unfortunately, depression acts on its own and I struggled with my schooling to the point I was put on academic probation in my second to last semester of school. I pressed on and focused more on my relationships than I did my classwork.

I was dating a man named David during this time and once we both graduated from Finger Lakes Community College, we decided to get an apartment together. Well, we were kind of forced into it since his mom was moving to Alabama to be closer to his sister and she was selling the house. We got a crappy little one-bedroom apartment in Camelot Square in Canandaigua where the two of us began to make a home. It was just us and our two cats Shadow and Pipa. For a little while I began to feel happy again.

Over the few years since my grandfather passed, my grandmother began to deteriorate. She traded food for scotch and stopped taking her medications (which was bad for someone with Atrial Fibrillation). We spent one Thanksgiving at her house in those years and it ended in a nightmare. Thankfully it was just my mom, my Aunt Sheila, my brother Lon and myself. My grandmother got a couple bites of food into her stomach and proceeded to throw up in the kitchen sink right after. This was the day I learned just how bad alcoholism can affect a person.

We did not spend anymore holidays with her after that. We barely even saw my grandmother after that and honestly that was fine with me. Every time I saw her, she grew thinner and sicklier, which brought me back to my father. I couldn’t watch another person in my life deteriorate like that. I couldn’t watch her kill herself slowly with alcohol.

Toward the end of August, I received a call from my mom. I answered the phone to be told my grandmother had passed away. An important fact about my grandmother is that she was a collector of guns and promised to shoot someone before she passed away. So of course, the first question I blurted out was “How did she die?!?!?!?” My mom told me she passed from a heart attack in the same bathroom my grandfather died in. A fun fact I learned that day was that when a person is experiencing a heart attack they feel like they have to use the bathroom. That is why so many people die in bathrooms.

I told my mom I was relieved to hear it was a heart attack because I was concerned about her guns. My mom questioned why I was concerned and I reminded her of what my grandmother had promised. To this day, we still don’t know if she kept her promise.

Her funeral was small compared to the other two I experienced in the previous years. It was just our intimate family and a bagpiper. My grandmother was always so proud of her Scottish heritage and encouraged us to do the same. The bagpiper played Amazing Grace as my grandmother’s urn was lowered into the plot next to my grandfathers at Webster Union Cemetery. It felt weird to be there six years later saying goodbye to my grandmother, both headstones complete with death days.

Losing so many people in just a short period of time has vastly changed my life and the way I see things. I am sad for the opportunities that have been lost with these deaths. My daughter will never know her grandfather or her great-grandfather. My father is not here to walk me down the aisle when I get married. I can’t ask for advice from either of them when I am struggling as a step parent. These thoughts cloud my mind and I can say for sure these events are what brought me into depression. These are the events that have shaped my way of thinking for my adult life.