Intelligent words escape me when I need to say them the most!

I do not consider myself a socially awkward person.  I don’t think I have a problem talking to people.  I sometimes talk to strangers while standing in line at the grocery store (no, I’m not THAT crazy old lady who turns to the customer behind her, smiles just a little too crazily and says something like “there’s a great sale on fancy feast cat food today. I’m gonna buy 3 cases. The neighborhood stray cats are going to be happy today.”)  If a stranger makes small talk at the table next to us at a restaurant, I’ll politely converse with them.  I’ve also been known to initiate small talk by saying how adorable their children are or to ask what they ordered because it looks delicious.  Hell, I talk to all levels of professionals, from admins to presidents of large companies, for a living, all day every day.  I can talk to people fairly intelligently and easily.  EXCEPT at a funeral.  For some reason at a funeral there is a switch in my brain that shuts off.  The one that sends the signal to my mouth saying “this is an appropriate comment of condolence and comfort you say in this situation” before I speak.  For some reason at a funeral I turn into a bumbling, mumbling idiot!  It’s a wonder I can even form a complete sentence, however it’s probably a sentence I should NOT say, like “there’s a great sale on fancy feast cat food at HEB today.”  Even before the funeral, I start getting very nervous and my hands get clammy and my stomach starts to turn in on itself…general anxiety at the thought of having to address the family members of the departed.  Fortunately, I have not had to attend very many funerals in my adult life. 

A few days ago, my mother tells me Jack passed away.  Jack and his wife, Martha, were the first people my mother, sister & I met when we moved to Austin some 35 years ago.  They lived across the street from us and quickly became a permanent fixture, as close to family as possible if you will, in our lives.  So, when my mom was telling me, I immediately braced myself for what I knew was coming next, the dreaded “His funeral is Saturday, I’d very much like it if you went with me.  It would mean a lot to Martha and to me.”  I’m relieved this conversation between my mother & me was taking place over instant messenger so she couldn’t see the immediate distortion of anxiety and despair on my face.  I told her I would have to think about it and get back to her.

Some of the first thoughts I had were of excuses of why I couldn’t go.  “oh, I wish I could but I’m going to be cleaning my oven.” Or “I wish I could, but I’m going to be studying up on my quantum physics.”  Please know these excuses were not to be rude or insincere at all.  I was truly saddened by Jack’s passing and I wanted to pay my respects.  But in a way that wouldn’t cause me to convulse in a full on panic attack at the thought of talking to Martha and their family.  Then I started to think about my Dad’s funeral and how people spoke to me.  Unfortunately, because it was MY Daddy in that coffin and I was an emotional basket case and deeply devastated and numb and mildly sedated, I couldn’t really remember actual words spoken to me.  NO, I wasn’t blitzed at his funeral!  I just had to take the edge off because I tend to cry at pretty much anything…I’m a crier…and I didn’t want to full on bawl during the service.

For as long as I can remember, Jack & Martha have been a significant part of our lives.  When we lived across the street from them, they were pretty much surrogate parents to me & my sister.  I know they are the primary reason my mother made it those first couple of years as a single parent of two small girls in a new, big city without one single trip to the mental hospital.  I know they were her strength and support when she needed it most.  Even after we moved from that house and throughout the years, Jack & Martha were always the first to arrive for Christmas Eve dinner, graduation parties, weddings & receptions, baby showers, birthday parties, they were always there!  I also remember Jack as always smiling and happy and fun to talk to and just nice to be around.

“Ok, Lara, time to suck it up, put aside your fears and do this to show sympathy for Martha and support your mother.” I finally decided.  I knew it was going to be tough but I was determined because Jack & Martha have done so much for us.  I had to mentally prepare myself for several days but I went.  I told myself I was NOT going to cry!!  Yes, I was very sad and I know it’s ok to cry at funerals.  However, I also know once my waterworks start, there is no stopping the oncoming flood of tears and I’ll wind up crying over the craziest things for the rest of the day.  I made it about ¾ of the way through, holding fast to my resolve not to cry.  Then someone got up and read letters written by Jack’s granddaughters, saying goodbye to him.  Cue the full on bawling from Lara!  When I cry, my nose sees this as a signal to flow full throttle.  Thank goodness we chose a pew that had a box of Kleenex on it, almost as if it were a sign from above, because I couldn’t get them out fast enough.  My sniffling can be heard for blocks and sometimes a pig like snort escapes.  I needed to stifle this with the Kleenex before the church was completely quiet for the final prayer.

The service ends and we are directed to the front of the church, where the family is waiting to accept our condolences and sympathy.  Nope, I can’t do it.  I can’t go through this receiving line and talk to the family looking like a puffy eyed Rudolph the red-nosed rain deer.  Besides, I wouldn’t be able to shake their hands or hug them, considering I’m now carting about four thousand cried on and wadded up tissues, with NO trash can between me & them.  There was no way I was going to open my mouth!  I probably would have told them I prefer liquid laundry detergent over powder because the powder tends to clump and not fully disperse unless you dissolve it some of the water before you put the clothes in the washing machine.

Marcus and I said goodbye to my mother & sister on the walk over from the church to the reception hall, where they were hosting a reception for the family, and left before I could say anything completely stupid to anyone.

Maybe Martha will read this one day, maybe not.  But if she does, I want her to know my heart grieves for her and with her.  Jack was a wonderful man and I’m deeply sorry for her and her family’s loss.  I just don’t know how to verbalize it, but I can convey my deepest sympathy here, by writing it.

I don’t know if I will ever be completely rid of my “funeral anxiety” and I really hope I don’t have to make any more attempts at it again anytime soon.  But for now, I’m off to HEB to get cat food and laundry detergent because they are both on sale!!