Someone recently asked if I remembered when they used to bring deceased family members home for visitation before the funeral.
Yes. I remember.
They brought my Daddy home in August 1962. No air conditioning back then. It was stifling hot. The smell of all the flowers was sickening sweet.
Family came from all over. I had never met some of them before. They took turns sitting up all night with Daddy's body and gossiping about other family members who weren't there yet.
Daddy died on Mama's birthday. People kept reminding Mama of that fact causing more fits of wailing and tears.
My stomach hurt.
It was like that for a week at least. We were waiting on my brothers to come home from halfway around the world. They finally arrived in their crisp white sailor suits and we had the funeral at Hopewell Baptist Church in Blacksburg.
It was a sea of black hats and grim ladies waving those paper Shufford and Hatcher fans.
My Grandma sat stoney faced fiddling with a little lace handkerchief. She had cried so many tears that they all seemed to have dried up that afternoon as she prayed and grieved the loss of her firstborn son.
Her face still haunts me. Everytime I hear the word despair, I think of Grandma's face that day. Sad is not a strong enough word.
Shufford Hatcher shuffled the family into black limousines after the funeral. My first grade teacher patted my shoulder through the window and told me she loved me. I stared at her blankly not knowing what to say.
The limos took us to the fairly new Frederick Memorial Gardens graveyard in Gaffney and we all gathered at the grave. I was sitting in a chair beside Mama near the preacher. Everyone felt sorry for Mama. She was a young widow. Still in her 40s back then.
I have no memory of leaving the graveyard that day. A part of me still lies there.
I was seven years old. My younger sister has no memory of our father, but I remember.
That day was the last time all my siblings ever gathered together in one place. There were six of us then. Now there are three.
Wakes fell out of fashion later in the 1960s. People stopped bringing their loved ones home. I'm okay with that. I think it is best for the children to not have to live through a parent's wake with the body present.
Yes. I remember when Shufford Hatcher was the only white funeral home and people used to take their loved ones back home for visitation. I've tried and tried to forget, but I still remember.
