Today while I was at lunch I received a telephone call.
"Hello, this is Gina (not her real name) from Belson Funeral Home (not their real name, either). We were just callin' to find out how thangs are goin'?"
How "thangs" are "goin'"?? Hmmm....let me think on that one for a minute.
"Well, Gina...she's still dead."
Silence on the other end of the line, then, "Ah don't believe Ah've ever heard that one before."
Obviously she's never dealt with someone like me before. I think she thought I was rather callous as I laughed out loud. What else am I supposed to do? Cry out my sorrows to a total stranger who is over 250 miles away at the moment? I wonder what she would have done if I'd broken down in a weeping mass of hysteria, bemoaning the fact that Mom was gone and I just couldn't stand to live another DAY or take another BREATH without her here.
I don't mean to belittle the grief thing. It's real, and it hurts. A lot. But honestly, what do these people, the same ones who made the mistake of giving Mom the Groucho eyebrows when all we asked for was a little bit of eyeliner, think they're doing? It's not as if they're trained counselors or anything. Gina is a receptionist and bookkeeper. And for goodness sake, if they were, why on earth are they waiting a month and a half after the fact to see how we are?
But hey, they're sending us a book, embossed with Mom's name, free of charge.
In other news, I'm leaving now to go pick up Mom's wedding rings that have been resized to fit my fat fingers.
So Gina? Thangs are fine. Jes' fine.