This is My Son

This is My Son.

A couple of Fridays ago, I came home to find the wife on her phone and completely dressed up. Hair up in a bun, fake eyelashes – the works. She’s talking, and I can tell right away that it isn’t a friend or member of her immediate family. The conversation has a tinge of formality. It ends with, “I’ll tell him.”

“Your mother’s cousin Jane died – her favorite cousin. The service is in an hour.”

“Aw geez… poor Mom. So she wants us to go, right?”

(Mom lives 780 miles away, and I’m thinking I’ll be there to convey her condolences, explain the distance, the regret of not being able to attend, etc.)

“Yeah, she came by a couple of hours ago to let me know”

“Huh?”

“She’s been in town since Sunday. She said she came down because her cousin was getting worse – but no one expected… The doctors had to keep resuscitating her, and her brother was the only other one there… but he was freaking out. And your Mom had to give the permission for the doctors to ‘let her go’ and then your Mom had to close her eyes.”

“Aw Jesus. First Uncle Bob (passed away 2 months ago) and now Jane? Mom’s gotta be hurtin’.”

So, fresh from a long day of work teaching millennials about health insurance and what to say on the phone – I immediately change into black, shave and eat a hot pocket.

At the service, my wife and I are introduced to everyone else there – my maternal grandmother’s side of the family. “This is my son and his wife Suzy.” Many times over.

Once the rounds were made, Mom heads up the aisle to pay her respects, say a prayer and (of course) check out the make-up. Not all morticians are created equal.

Let me pause here just a moment.

I have a brother, and if he’d been there (he lives even further away) Mom, of course, would be introducing the two of us to everybody. One might assume she’d use the normal convention people use when introducing two people to one person: gesture to the one nearest your person, say their name then gesture to the remaining person and say their name.

Mom, however, feels the need to introduce her sons in chronological order. Should the stranger shake our hands out of chronological order – Mom will be sure to establish the birth order. Proximity be damned.

So while Mom’s assessing the mortician’s work (terrible lips, just awful.) I mention to my wife how much nicer it feels to be introduced as simply a son – without establishing that I wasn’t born first.

Mom takes a seat beside me.

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah, Mom, I had a sandwich”

“So you haven’t really had dinner?”

“No Mom, but it's Ok. I’m here. I’m good.”

“Oh. The reason I ask is that the rosary is about to start. It takes forever”

“No problem, I can take it.”

“Oh…. Okay.” Long pause.

Mom now seems a bit fidgety - with a studious look in her eye. She gives a hardly noticeable sigh.

“I don’t want to stay for the rosary.”

“Oh? Okay.”

“But… I don’t want to be the first to leave. Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

“Huh? Ohhhh. Uh yeah. I am hungry.”

So my wife and I get up and leave as the rosary ladies are assembling at the front of the room, saying our goodbyes to the distant aunts, uncles, and cousins I’d just met.

It is nice to come in handy.