The Final Journey Part 9 (The Viewing)

Tuesday October 11

Perhaps this was what Gram meant when she said those last coherent words on Wednesday: “I have to get the hell out of here.” Those words kept ringing in my ears all morning Tuesday as I woke up early and got ready for the viewing that would begin at 2 p.m.. I kept asking myself, did she know or were those just random words that turned out to be coincidental? Could this be why she shook her head, “no” when I asked if she wanted to go to the hospital for the transfusion? I’ll never know.

I tried to emotionally prepare myself for the day and evening ahead. I was restless. I felt lost and empty. I was terrified and couldn’t stop trembling.  Although I was fine being alone with Gram’s dead body while still at the nursing home, seeing her in a casket and being in front of loved ones would be different. Real. Final.

I kept busy. For some reason, I had an overwhelming urge to give of Gram – to share her with my family. I began to go through boxes of her things that I had stored in my house since I moved her out of hers. When I emptied her house seven years ago, I packed things hurriedly in an attempt to avoid realizing the emotional impact of what I was actually doing. I went into “task mode,“ whereby I did what I needed to do without allowing emotions. Many of her things I had since unpacked and either given away or sold – any proceeds going to what would become her assisted living fund. Other things – those more personal, such as boxes of knick-knacks and items from her bedroom, framed pictures I took from the walls and dressers, and even some kitchen items, I couldn’t bear to unpack back then. It just didn’t feel right. Now, today, it felt right.

I discovered items that I had forgotten existed. Memories of Gram and all the years in that house came flooding back. I had placed the items in the boxes systematically based on location back then and that made it easy now for me to remember exactly where each item was in her house – how things were arranged on the furniture, how pictures were hung on the wall, how pots were stacked in the cupboards. There was clothing, too. I had kept some of her clothing at my house as it was too much for the nursing home. 

I thought of my family – my nieces, Gram’s great granddaughters, mostly. They were the youngest and knew Gram the least. I wanted them to have something – something that might prompt a story or a question or even a memory. I thought of my sisters, too, and Mom and Jude. I wanted to give each of them something and this was a good day to do it, knowing we would all be together. Tara and her daughters, Olivia and Bella, live in Virginia and I didn’t know when I might see them again. I found a dainty, embroidered kerchief that I gave to Aubrey. I found Gram’s wind up musical dog statuette that she bought because it resembled Bobo, the Bichon Frise and Poodle mix that drove us all crazy for years. I gave that to Bella. There was another kerchief for Olivia. There were sweatshirts and sweaters that I would give away – either to those who bought them or anyone who wanted them. There was a Steeler sweatshirt that Jude bought. Heather took that. There were her gloves and a colorful, nylon headscarf that Gram wore with her red winter coat. There was a photo collage that Michelle had made for Gram’s wall at Elmcroft. And there was the bright orange pumpkin sweatshirt that Jude bought. It had the face of a Jack-O-Lantern - triangle eyes and nose, and a serrated mouth. I loved when Gram wore this sweatshirt at Halloween. I called her my Great Pumpkin. I gave the sweatshirt to Jude.


I packed the items for the kids into small boxes and put them into the back of my car along with everything else. I would hand them out when everyone was together at the funeral home.

We had all agreed to all arrive at the funeral home by 1:30 p.m. That would give us thirty minutes as a family to do our private viewing before it was opened to the public.

I had several stops to make before then. I needed new pants for the viewing. I headed out toward Gibsonia. I knew I could hit Kohl’s there. I also needed to stop at the credit union and while there, I would ask about the process of closing Gram’s account when that time came. I would stop to see her old doctor, Ginny Balderston, too, whose office was right across the street from the credit union. Dr. Balderston wasn’t available to talk when I stopped in, but the staff was kind and sympathetic and agreed to pass the information on. Dr. Balderston would call me later that evening to express her condolences. 

Since Gram’s old house was right behind the doctor’s office, I drove by it, too. Actually, I parked in the lot across the street and just sat and reminisced for a few quiet minutes. I allowed the rush of forty plus years of memories to overcome me for those few minutes. I bawled, then I had to go.

I went back home, showered, and got ready to go to the viewing. I would stop at Carlisle’s Bridal Shop on the way to the funeral home. After many years on the North Side, the owners had recently located the shop to McKnight Road. Gram had retired more than 20 years ago, but if there was anyone still working there who knew her, I wanted to tell them of her passing. Over the years, I had emailed Blaine Workman, who was the owner, Betty Workman’s, son, about Gram's condition. Gram always liked “Blainey." Those times and now this time, Blaine responded graciously and with true love and concern.

“Can I help you?” I heard as I walked into Carlisle’s. The woman’s voice sang the words in a necessarily loud way due to the almost acoustic nature of the racks of gowns that filled the showroom. I couldn’t see her at first. I only heard her friendly voice. There were a lot of mirrors in the place, which explained why she saw me before I saw her.
“Hi, I’m Elizabeth Berberich’s grandson,” I began. She walked toward me as I explained how Gram worked for Carlisle’s on the North Side for forty years and how she had passed away a day earlier.

                “I wondered if anyone who knew her still works here.”

                “I’ve been here thirty years,” the woman looked at me, perplexed. “I don’t remember her.”

                “Oh. Ok. Well, I’ll just write down the details of her viewing and leave it here in case there is anyone who might know her.”

                “Ok, thanks. I’ll make sure I post it here at the desk where everyone can see it.”

                As I finished writing and turned to walk out, the woman threw her arms up in the air, “Are you talking about Betty? Betty Berberich?!”

                “Yes.” (I had forgotten that her colleagues at Carlisle’s knew her as Betty, not Elizabeth.)

                “Oh, I remember Betty! I worked with her for years! I’m so sorry to hear.”

                “Thank you.”

                “Oh, I could tell some stories! She said in a way that spoke directly to the mischievous and sometimes crazy character that Gram so often was. “She was a spitfire.” She smiled a wide smile. “I’m Charlene.”

                Over the next two days, I would hear the phrase, “I could tell some stories” many times. It was always accompanied with a smile. And with each time, I would smile knowing that so many people shared memories of Gram.

I arrived at funeral home early – around 1:15 p.m. My family would arrive by 1:30 p.m. My arms were loaded full of things: the small jar containing a portion of Chubb’s ashes, the small urn that contained Bobo’s ashes (Gram wanted Chubbs and Bobo buried with her.), some photo albums that Michelle had made over the years that I grabbed as I left my house. These albums were beautiful and perfect to share at this time. They were loaded with photos from Gram’s 80^th and 90^th birthday parties among others. I also had my laptop and bag full of paperwork in case I needed if for the funeral home "business."

As I walked in through the characteristically somber and quiet entryway toward the viewing room where Gram was, a heavyset woman in a “mourning-appropriate”, all-black, one-piece dress and dark-rimmed glasses approached me. “Hi, can I help you with those things?” I don’t even know if I responded as I turned and dumped the things from my arms into hers. I was focused on and cautiously walking toward Gram. “I’m ______. You may remember me from Ogrodnik’s. I used to work there.” She followed me toward the viewing room.
“Oh OK,” I replied, distracted and very nervous – afraid of how I was going to react to seeing Gram there. I was too much of a wreck to even note her name, but I did notice the nameplate above the viewing room that said, “Elizabeth ‘Gram’ Berberich.” “Gram" had become her namesake these last several years, so it was appropriate.
“I remember her,” she continued, as we approached Gram, who looked so beautiful lying in that casket. “I took care of her son when he passed.”
“Oh yes,” I said. I was longing just to be alone with Gram.
“OK, let me know if you need anything.”
“Thank you.”

Gram did look beautiful in that casket – at least to me. Her new red sweater stood out over the perfectly pressed white blouse that I had previously obsessed over. Her hair looked better than it had in months. Her hands were peacefully folded over her abdomen in the typical way. But she was thin, frail, and tiny. Her face showed the weight loss now more than ever. I could tell by the irregular lines at the corners of her mouth and the slight distortion that they had broken her jaw to get it closed. I sobbed uncontrollably. My knees trembled and wanted to collapse my body. The kind, heavyset woman, whose name I had already forgotten, turned back and came to me. She hugged and comforted me. I don’t remember what words came out of my mouth while I sobbed. I was hyperventilating. It was probably fifteen minutes before I was calm enough to speak clearly.

I walked outside to find my family arriving. We all walked in together and each proceeded to the casket to pay their respects.

Later, I asked them to come outside as I had some things to give them. We stood together in a circle at the back of my car with the hatchback open. Once again, I was sobbing as I reached for the little boxes I had packed so carefully for the girls. I handed them gently to the girls as I explained why I wanted to give that item to them. Then I proceeded through sweaters and sweatshirts and pictures. We were all sobbing by the time I finished.

I’m not sure why I was driven to give those things away that day. The urge to give of Gram was strong, no doubt, but there was perhaps another reason, too. I was compelled to finish my “job;” to be the good grandson and make Gram proud of me one last time for doing it well. I had been the dutiful Grandson; the good steward. And don’t misunderstand me, I loved every minute of it, was honored to do it, and never for one minute resented it. But now, I wanted to wrap it up - the “stuff,” the paperwork, all of it – neatly, well-organized, and put away – for Gram and for me. I wanted to be left with just my lifetime of memories. Gram used to say, “Finish what you start, Mikey.” Wrapping these things up would be a testament to what she taught me about caregiving. She was the expert, after all.

Much of that day and evening at the funeral home is lost from my memory, overshadowed by emotions. I remember, however, the outpouring of love and sympathy throughout the day. And there were many visitors - staff from ManorCare, friends that I haven’t seen in years – some didn’t even know Gram. “I feel like I know her.” Of course, there were family members. I loved hearing all the stories. There was so much love and laughter – reminders of a life well lived.

At home that evening, I finished the last of Gram’s laundry and neatly folded and packed it away to donate to ManorCare. I kept a sweater and pair of pajamas for myself. I wanted to remember her scent and have it when I missed her. That scent that was so familiar for so long. I didn’t ever want to forget it.

I found a rusty old nail in the washer. I laughed out loud and shook my head as I picked it out. I never knew what I would find when I did Gram’s laundry. She picked up so many things in her travels at ManorCare. A nail was only par for the course. I smiled as I picked it up and held it between my fingers. I reminisced for what seemed like 10 minutes. I will keep this nail forever.