Are You Kidding?

 When I go, because I probably will, promise me that you will be sad. But at the same time, please promise me that you won't be too reverent. Please don't worry about hurting my feelings. Not because I don't think I will have any. I don't know about that. Instead, go ahead and feel free to have your share of fun at my expense because I deserve it. 

Many of you will remember the story about how I broke the news to my father that his father had died. I was asleep in the basement, having slipped back into slumberland after taking an early morning call from Salina, Kansas. It was the rest home where my grandfather had lived until he stopped abruptly that morning. My father was coming down from our mountain cabin, and when I heard him open the front door, I dragged myself to the bottom of the stairs and hollered up, "Hey dad, Ira kicked the bucket." And I went back to bed. It could be argued that I had only met my grandfather once, and I took my cues from my father who didn't seem to have a great connection with his. I wouldn't make that argument. 

Instead, I would say that I was raised with a peculiar lack of sentiment. Not on the part of those around me. On the contrary. I felt loved and cared for to such a degree that the bonds that were forged between me and my family and friends were strong and fierce. But when it came time to discuss all that emotion, I was predisposed to a high level of cynicism. This tended to generate a great deal of sarcasm in moments of high stakes emotion. It was most certainly a defense reaction to all that love that was squishing around in there. 

How else would one explain the way we treated my own father's passing? The pitch black humor that pervaded that time continues to be a source of stories I like to pull out when things get tough. What's funny about a plane crash? What's funny about a burn ward? If you hang around with me long enough, I'll probably share that with you. Because it's covering up the world of hurt that came with that time. 

Now my mother is dead. Her sons have been, for the most part, much more polite about showing their affection at her parting. This is probably because of the way we messed with her for all those years. Myself in particular. Rarely did an April Fool's Day pass that I didn't pull something on my ever-trusting mom. Quite often she would remark, in the wake of some measured jape or prank, she would wonder aloud, "I wonder if all mothers get treated this way?" 

The answer I'm going to stick with is "no." I believe that the love and connection that we felt was much more than the mothers who get a card on their birthday and a roll of the eyes every time caller ID shows her on the other end of the line. Is this a bit of rationalization on my part? Of course it is. It's how I make peace with the time I spend without her in my life. And it's also the reason why I don't expect any sort of somber moping about when I go. After the way I treated my parents? Are you kidding?