Funeral, Family, and 2 essential Yogasanas

Without announcing the act of death, my mother informs me that today is my grand mother's funeral. All immediate family members are rounded up for a time in our old town in Ohio and I am to drive the coffin around in the back of my car, which, quite frankly, creeps me out.
It dawns on me that none of this is appropriate and that I must return to the house to get directions and dutifully herd the family where we need to be. My mother's directions are to a chapel outside of Philly, and the route is designated in a mixture of alien symbols of various colors (like an ailing ink cartridge) and poetic meanderings such as "the toll man takes his little toll", wobbly smiley faces and the like. I contend that these directions will simply not do. I get on the computer to find the address, and am pleased to find that the chapel is a lovely place with golden statues of the Virgin Mary and a red velvet backdrop. (David Lynch meets Holy Roman, with a dash of old Italian mini-cathedral)

Before leaving, Dave and I take side by side bubble baths in the living room with my family but a shower liner away. It's kind of disturbing to have them so close, but we really needed to relax.
I'm not ready to accept my grandmother's death. In fact, I'm not even sure that it's happened since no one is talking about it. To make sure, I go to her house - the old one in Lynchburg. She is sitting at her dining room table with the leaves dropped down, an exquisite set of lady's vanity utensils laid before. She appears to be writing checks.

I immediately see that she has passed, and this is her spirit, and that now is the time to tell her what I often tell her, the most important thing to say to someone that you love with your whole being. I am filled to the brim with a feeling suddenly - a radiant love, a spiritual force that envelops us. At this moment, there is nothing but love pouring forth from me and being returned by her. Her gooey brown eyes are bigger than normal, they reassure me that my speechlessness is forgiven. I say it anyway, crying joyfully.... "I love you so much, so much." She half chides me for being so sentimental and talks to me for a while. I don't remember what she said, too busy taking in the grace of her earthly personality, which I will miss so dearly. I try to respond at some point and she disappears.

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At the chapel, the coffin is laid out. She appears to be sitting straight up. No, it's someone else.
How could they have gotten the time wrong? How terrible! At least the chapel is everything the website promised. Bodies are shuffled, coffins are wheeled about. During the changeover, I get lost in the annals of the backrooms and basement, the green carpeted stairs that lead down to the beauty salons of the dead. I see inept funeral interns tossing around body boards and playing bumper cars with caskets.

Finally, it's her turn. I'm sitting with the family. Justin has spontaneously taken a yoga pose on the floor to celebrate teh funeral in his own way. He has extended his arms into child's pose, and separated his arms into segments at the forearm, wrist and finger bones, cut vertically into cross sections.

Various things start to annoy me. There's so much noise, and people are just scattered everywhere throughout the chapel like a cafe! I am so upset, I take a particularly noisy little girl out of the room to shake her, turn her upside down and give her a talking to. Actually, no, I think I'm just entertaining her - her body is long and narrow like a doll's. I return her and she's quieter after that, but many people are still being rude and I go through the crowd giving dirty stares.

On the way back to my seat, I see Dave's set up a virtual airstrip of power adapters for playing music. I totally forgot we were supposed to play! It's the last thing I feel like doing really, so I bail, which disappoints him a little. He wanders off, and a strange thing happens.
The woman in the casket from before reappears, balancing on long lengs that don't bend. She's going through the chapel, bumping every person on the head with a wooden cross to bless them. This is an excellent technique for crowd control, I think. She scratches the top of my head affectionately with her postmortem french manicured claws.

My grandmother appears to be peaceful in her casket. The preacher begins to deliver his sermon, pauses a bit for the body to noisily relieve itself of its last gasses and air, continues extolling the virtues of this magnificent lady. She shifts around a bit in the coffin, makes a few faces, then settles into savasana, a soft smile on her face. How nice, we all agree.