I remember tasks from my early years as a programmer when I would be assigned to read through a very complex batch of code, trying to find an error. In those days, code had lots of GOTOs and IF-THEN-ELSEs and other twists and turns. Such code was frequently referred to as "spaghetti code." I mentioned the other day the death of a local woman who is related by blood or marriage to lots and lots of people in the area. Visiting hours are tonight, the funeral and burial are tomorrow, and Youngstown is crawling with out-of-towners who have flown in to pay tribute to this passionate and compassionate woman.
Last night many of them gathered at the home of her first husband. (Her second husband predeceased her.) As I tried to untangle the names and relationships of everyone who will be at the funeral home tonight or the church tomorrow, I felt like I was back in my "spaghetti code" days.
"Wait, she's whose aunt? And whose grandmother? And …?" I've tried to imagine drawing the family tree of this woman, her immediate ancestors and her descendants, and I can't imagine the piece of paper that would be required to display all those lives.
Yes, I have had four marriages and numerous short-term and a couple long-term relationships. But would I be included in the people who are notified when any of these men pass on? I would only hear about FOMC's death because we share two lovely young men who are our sons, and because he's the grandfather of my beloved grandchildren. Would I be expected to show up for the services? I sincerely don't believe there's a chance in hell that I would be included. The balance of the Menu of Men Past? I won't even be notified that they are no longer on this earth.
So to try to sort out the relationships between all these uncles and cousins and friends who are here this week? It boggles my mind!
The only conclusion I can draw is that this woman, whom I met only once, must have been a pretty spectacular woman to generate this kind of will-to-honor, this drop-everything-and-get-home migration.
May her family derive comfort from the love of all who knew her.
2 comments:
I'm writing out all my requests now because I want it done right. I want an irish wake. (tho I don't think I'm Irish except maybe twice removed) And I want there to be lots of booze and loud music. No crying. And I want a bio degradable coffin. My husband is so freaky. He wants to be cremated because he is afraid of ants. I said, if you go first, can I have your privates preserved. He looked at me horrified and said,"you may go tomorrow, in the fish pond." No sense of humor at all.
I like your ideas. My daddy, who died in 1984, told my mother that he wanted her to have people back to the house and have hors d'oeuvres and other edibles. She said that was silly and didn't honor his wish, then kicked herself for years afterward.
Post a Comment