9TH WARD
Dedication at 2pm Viewing will be held at the Eyre Funeral Home in Nampa, Idaho. February 6th between 9:00 a.m. and 10:30 a.m. Funeral service at 11:00 in the 9th Ward
KARL WALLACE
A Trip to a Funeral
My name is Tanner Farrell. This is my true story about an unusual week.
My Aunt Faye Ward Wilson died on Sunday or maybe it was a Monday. News of her demise was left recorded a day or two before I listened to my phone messages; the time was 10 p.m. the first day of February.
"Uncle Tanner this is Janet, I have some sad news. Aunt Faye died.” Janet is my niece. She is very attractive, smart, loving and caring, as was her mother my oldest sister. Being it was past my bed time, I suffered the news along with a shot glass of Jim Bean and went to bed. The morning of the next day, February second 7a.m., I was going through my daily routine at the computer. A yellow lined 8x10.5”note pad, pencil in hand, staring into the black wall behind the computer screen space, drinking coffee. After a time, my mind, hand and pencil began the schedule of the day. Plans, times, goals slowly unraveling written on the note pad.
The question of the day, what to do about Faye’s untimely death? Three red check marks were alongside “Faye’s Funeral” after the plans for the day daily schedule were completed..
This would be a standard Mormon funeral start to finish. Time is not of the essence, it will be programmed to go on and on the full day through. Mormon funerals are put off until everyone in the republic can attend. Their funerals commonly come on week-ends after a member’ heart stops.Family, friends, church brethren of the deceased give their opinion of why God will allow the deceased to go into the highest celestial kingdom. A clear case of telling God what to do. Anyone can express their opinion by way of song, books, and testimonies to why the Lord and his Son will allow the body and soul into the Celestial Kingdom whether they were a saint or sinner. I knew the routine; I was born and raised in the church. Sister Faye Wilson will be welcomed into the kingdom of God by all in attendance. That's for fact, welcomed. She was second to none for living the Covenants. Her ward bishop, elders, teachers, priests testifying in the name of Jesus Christ will mention in so many words there will be no standing in line for Sister Faye. In fact their testimony states without doubt her soul has already gone straight to her waiting husband, Elder Wilson, and so he will create a world of his own lasting for “Time and Eternity.” Raise your right hand. No objections? So be it.
A week should give me plenty of time to make my plans for my aunt’s funeral. Having been born in the year of our Lord 1915, it would make my Aunt Faye ninety one years old on February third if in fact that was her death day. By coincidence, her oldest sister Lottie, my mother, died a dozen years prior to her and at that time period and the same age. All of the Wards have good genes.
Half way through the second cup of coffee, its ok if I drink coffee because I am a Jack Mormon, I began relaying the customary funeral information to my kids. I have four boys and one daughter as far as I know. My daughter Natalie is my youngest child by a second marriage. Natalie is twenty-nine and lives far from Nampa, Idaho, Faye's residence before she died. As far as my two older boys there is an age difference of sixty-two between them and Faye. They had a few vague of past family reunions that Aunt Faye attended at cousin Ruth Petersen’s ranch in Bear Lake. Be that as it may none of my kids volunteered to take me, to the funeral. I would have to go alone.
After I called my kids, I called my deceased youngest sister’s former husband’s new wife (sorry forgot her name). She said they hadn’t heard about the death, was sorry and promised to tell her husband, Elder Jessup, and his son Jeff Jessup. Additionally, she promised to tell those on her side of the family tree. You the reader may have noticed several of my family members are dead. I’m the last of the Indians.
Two days passed, it was Wednesday February fifth. I decided I would get to Nampa all by myself, even if I I’d have to undergo missing Super Bowl Sunday.
My youngest son, Brian, did offer to fly me up in his plane if his mechanic got it put back together in time. A big if as his skydiving plane was in the shop being repaired by his mechanic who has Attention Deficit Syndrome. God knows if the plane could fly by Saturday.
A certain Mr. Rodney Snyder, a long haul mail truck driver and coffee friend, with no teeth, said he would drive me up Thursday afternoon after his dentist inserted his new dentures, if they fit. That was too questionable.
Thursday morning two days before the funeral February eighth, I woke up with a bright idea. I called my girlfriend Sonia Smith, a reservation lady at Delta Airlines. She is very good at what she does. I asked her if she could help me get a flight to Nampa. She said sure she could book a commercial flight out of Salt Lake City early Saturday morning which would arrive in Boise one hour before the viewing, have a car rental waiting at the airport, receive double air miles on American Express, return flight in the afternoon.
"Sounds perfect, I'll do that." I said.
"The ordinary cost on short notice is $225," she said, "But if we were married it would be free."
“I’ll pay the $225.00” just this time,” I said.
Actually, I’m good at marriage, I’ve done it a couple of times already. In the morning, I arose with the lark. I put on my best suit, the one with gold buttons, and drove to the airport. I went in long term parking, forgetting my flight would be coming back that afternoon. I parked in the boondocks. Delta had farmed me out to SkyWest who had the pilot hold the Plane because I was late getting back from the boondocks. The door closed and the plane moved out on the tarmac as the flight attendant led me to my seat. We lifted off for the 350 mile flight. I sat down about to relax when my cell rang. Sonia started giving me instructions where to go after I got off the plane, but suddenly the flight attendant said, I "What's the problem?” She pointed to an exit door and asked,
“Do you minded being in the emergency exit seat?”
“No, I don't mind, it’s my favorite seat. I can get out ahead of everyone.”
The plane landed at 8 a.m., one hour before the viewing. I’m the last passenger out of the plane. I carefully follow the earth Google map down the road to the car rental Avis lot. Son-of-a-Gun, there was a vacant field where Avis Rental use to be. The Google map was two years old. I limped the mile back to the airport, walked up to the Avis Car Rental Desk. They asked for my Utah driver’s license and I signed their agreement. They handed me the car keys and pointed a finger my red rental Pontiac sports convertible. I had missed the viewing by this time but could easily be at the funeral by eleven. All's well that ends well. I headed west, pedal to the floor, nine miles to Nampa nothing but desert. I got off at the next exit. No Nampa. The convenience store people tell me I have been driving east instead of west. I bought a recent road map, threw the Google map in the garbage, drove back through Boise going 90mph, my gray hair blowing in the wind, winding through the traffic on Interstate 80. I exited Nampa Creek and criss-crossed town a couple of
times. I just know my hair will turn even grayer after this day’s perils.
11:00a.m. the funeral has started. I remembered that the funeral was on Green Hurst. There are three Mormon Church’s on Green Hurst. Mormon churches like crows are all over the place. I top at the first one, wrong church. I stop at the second one, a church Seminary. I drive on. Suddenly, comes a gleam on my face, as I turned the corner… the church. Hey, what the heck, I passed this church when I first entetown.
I walked up, opened the door walked into the foyer, and cracked open the chapel door. It was filled rows and rows of people.
My first thought was, I would be happy if that many people showed up at my funeral. With the amount of friends and family I have, I wouldn’t draw enough to fill the front row. The whole town knew and kindly regarded Faye; therefore great was the sympathy and regret when she passed away.
I couldn’t walk in on the proceedings with my hair looking like an explosion in a mattress factory. So I stepped beside the door, and recorded the funeral while standing beneath a ceiling speaker.
Praying, singing, all of the participants laid into it totally humble. There just wasn't any let up. The choir leader stood up warbling, followed by a Quartet. “Someday My Love There Will Be Songs,” melts everyone. The tears come down into going plum straight home, deep down to where you live and it fetches the Mormon Sisters. “Child of sin and sorrow, filled with dismay, wait not till tomorrow, yield thee today. Grieve not that love from above and so on. It's beautiful, every one cries and doesn't try to hide it either. Once the singing ends, it goes back to talk and prayer. I was beginning to think I had gotten there a too early.
Eventually, out pops the casket, through the door, held up by eight pall bears, heading for the transport limousine. The hugs and handshakes begin in little groups. My mother’s favorite brother, Uncle Howard, is one of the pall bearers, and a staunch member in the faith. He asks me where have I have been all his life? I don’t know.
Ever body leaves, most of them going to the next session, the cemetery for the dedication. After the dedication many will come back to the church for a smorgasbord buffet, Jell-O included, prepared by the ward Relief Society.
I'm all alone now in the church parking lot.
Much as it was to be bullyragged, with my final amount of energy one more time I sped back to the airport. I check the red gas burner in and pay for the extra gas I used. I then hurry to the departure gate desk. No seats for the standbys; I wait for the next flight. No seats for the standbys. The 8 p.m. flight has a seat. I catch the shuttle bus to the #10 long term boondock parking. I got home in Ogden at 10 p.m. back where it all started. I drank a double Jim Beam on the rocks, (same rule as coffee), crawled in bed wherein there would be no more frantic discretions. I love Mormon funerals. Super Bowl Sunday with the guys will be a heavenly cup of tea, no pun intended.
I don’t mean to be sanctimonious, but did anyone see or heard Fay’s spirit/ body pass heavens way?
To read more Karl Wallace stories go to: karlwallaceblog.blogspot.com
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