Death in Appalachia

My great great uncle passed away last week.

Saturday:

Dad shows up at my house and talks me into eating a buffet at Golden Corral. Not my thing but it was my grandmothers 67th birthday so I decided sure why not. It was a fairly quite ride to eat considering how my family is usually chatting it up about something, other than dad constantly saying we need to get to the funeral home no one said much to each other. We ate and my grandmothers keep saying it was the best birthday dinner she ever had. After eating dad was driving like a mad man to get to the funeral home that was 50 miles from where we ate. I'm not sure if everyone was lethargic or what but the only audible sound was coming from the tires pulling along the worn-out asphalt.

We arrived and everyone was all smiles as we walked into his visitation and none of my family knew who I was. I guess I've changed that much in the last few years. It was for the most part entertaining to see what a cold group of people they could be to an "outsider". It was a lot like that movie Next Of Kin, except everyone was whispering "who is that guy?” If you've ever noticed there is a particular lay out to a country person's visitation:

Parking lot/hallway: anything goes; any topic to converse about nothing is untouchable.

Coffee/smoking room: Again for the most part goes, except the topic has to be late 80's or earlier in history.

The visitation room 10ft or more from the body: light conversation, but it has to start about the deceased, volume of speech is kept low, and small chuckles are permitted.

The Visitation room 10ft or closer: whisper or don't say anything all, look at the flowers, look at the deceased for a minimum of 45 seconds, then move back to 10+ft, and make sure you say something about how natural they look.

Format for leaving: If you're related you stay a couple hours, if you’re not you stay at least 30 minutes.

After I reintroduced myself to my extended family and let my mom/dad explain what happen to me the last few years everyone was much friendlier but still keeping their distance. I kept looking at my great great aunt and it was breaking my heart because she reminded me so much of my great grandmother, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't starting to tear up a little. we made our way around the different sections of the funeral home, talked to people I hadn’t saw in year, in some cases never saw in my life. As we were leaving we passed the coffee/smoke room and stayed in there for about another hour talking about the 70's and how much tobacco they use to plant.

We drove back though the backwoods going home traveling past my people's home place, and we talked and talked about the history of my grandmothers’ people. Land they owned, crops they planted, kids they had.

It was about 12:30-1am before we got to my parents’ house so I figured as long as I was there I might as well go to the funeral the next day, I laid down on the couch as dad watched shitty movies into the night.

Ever since I was a little kid I use to have dreams after someone close to the family had died. They were always dreams about pastures or someplace around a barn just them in what they would consider a natural habitat. That wasn't the case this night. I kept waking up from terrible dreams about a daemon who feasted on the hearts of the living and the kicker was it looked like my deceased uncle. To say the least it really unnerved me. Daisy seemed to stay a little closer than usual that night but she’s always a great comfort when the bewitching hours are in full swing.

Sunday:

I woke up the next morning to a nice country breakfast of sausage and eggs; we didn't have any biscuits so we had to eat light bread instead. Through the night daylight savings time had sprung forward so we couldn't waste time. We got dressed and went back to the funeral home. As we walked in this time everything was much more somber than the night before everyone was down to a whisper and tears where being soaked up by sweaters and work coats that had that sweet musty barn/hay smell to them. We took our seats and the funeral started. Some of the more musically inclined family members started to sing gospel hymns it was kind of eerie in a way. Another family member had written a song just for him, and to my surprise sounded like a legit country song it was very impressive actually. The first preacher got up and told about my uncle's life how many children how many grandchildren pretty much the fun facts. The next preacher got up and preached about how we never know when we're going out of this world so we better find god now. As the service ended we had the walk by of the casket, as the room emptied the crying got progressively louder. we stood outside waiting for them to bring my uncle no one said a word it was complete and udder silence except for a few who were still crying hysterically which made you feel very odd. As we followed the hearse to the cemetery I kept thinking about how his last ride would be though his home place. He was born and died on the same farm, and buried deep in the same ground. The cemetery was high on a hill overlooking his farm, no one said a word other than a few old men, the wind was blowing and the stones looked immortal, some of which were just rocks. I could hear a dog or two off in the distance and someone riding a four-wheeler through the neighboring valley as the Preacher said his last prayer, as they prepared to lower him into the ground. There is no louder silence than that of a burial.

It amazes me that 13 years to the day my uncle's sister (my great grandmother) passed away, it makes me wonder about March 6th maybe if there is some planed destiny or maybe it’s a roll of the dice. No one knows how they’re going to leave I'm sure 13 years ago he wasn't thinking about his death on that day.