Which Way's Up

I had no intention of writing anything at all today.

Find the right words? They are all lost.

When my husband got the call that his mother was in active cardiac arrest, everything around us stopped.

His second phone call to me was silent. I asked if he was there, thinking he’d inadvertently hit the mute button with his cheek. His response told me everything.

I’m here. I haven’t said anything because I don’t know how to say the words.

This was a joke, right? This wasn’t really real.

She’s dead. My mom died.

A terrible dream? Was that it? Was this just a terrible dream?

This wasn’t the order of agony that we were preparing for.

His mom was the youngest of all of our parents—the youngest of our children’s grandparents. She was going to outlast everyone including, perhaps even my husband and me.

This can’t be real.

Even now, five days later. How can it only be five days later? Why does it feel like we’ve been doing battle with a fog for months?

When will we wake up?

I’m going to share a story that has been told multiple times in the past few days as we worked through funeral arrangements. While this has been a time filled with grief, if you know our family at all, you know that we also find humor in nearly everything. This can be very beneficial in difficult times. I suppose it’s a form of emotional protection.

My career as a writer is about to come full circle.

After graduating from West Chester University, in 1993, I secured my first job as a writer with the town’s newspaper, the Daily Local News. I’d finally done it. I’d finally nabbed a coveted spot as a journalist. I was thrilled to accept a position in…Obituaries. Yes. Obituaries. Honestly, I could have cared less what I was writing as long as I could finally get that first paycheck from a newspaper. And obituaries? That sounded pretty straight forward.

Three weeks after my start date I was cruising along when the phone rang.

Thank you for calling the Daily Local News, Obituaries…this is Jyl, how can I help you?

“Hello. This is Donahue Funeral Home calling. Can you tell us if there is someone new writing obituaries?”

I mean…I’d been there for three weeks, so…no, not me. No, sir, no one new here. Did you need help with something?

“Well, yes. We noticed a misprint in an obit yesterday. We went back a few weeks and saw the same misprint multiple times. Are you sure there’s not someone new?”

Still didn’t click. No…?

“Okay, well, can you let Beverly explain to whoever keeps writing ‘Massive Christian Burial’ that it’s supposed to be ‘MASS OF Christian Burial?!?”

Beverly was my manager. I wasn’t quite sure what to do because right until that very moment I did, in fact, think the term was ‘Massive Christian Burial.’ I was the one putting that to print over and over, assuming that those Catholics really must have some big send-offs.

I made the slow walk to my manager’s desk and told her the story. I didn’t even make it to the halfway point before Beverly’s eyes burst to the size of saucers as she grabbed that day’s edition, quickly flipping to the obits.

“I’m assuming this is your work.” Beverly said.

Yes…but in my defense…I’m not Catholic…I just thought these people must have had a lot of people who loved them.

By day’s end, I had been moved to my second position as a writer: Classified Advertisements.

This week, I will be tasked with my mother-in-law’s obituary. It is truly a full-circle moment as I return to those first roots as a writer. It is also the exact moment when, perhaps, Massive Christian Burial would be the perfect moniker for the event.

With the church expected to welcome over two thousand people to her Celebration of Life, yes, she really did have a lot of people who loved her.

Myself included.