Masthead header

Surprise at a Funeral

jewish cemetery

It’s not often you get a surprise at a funeral, and at this one I got two. On a June day in 1991 I met my parents at Mount Carmel cemetery which straddles Brooklyn and Queens, New York. We were there to bury my grandmother Harriet. Though any funeral is sad, my grandmother had lived a full life, and had enjoyed every day until her sudden death at age 91. The funeral was in the morning but I already felt wilted with my shirt stuck to my back, and my hair damp and stringy.

We arrived at the assigned section and there was my grandmother’s grave and my grandfather Joe’s headstone, which I expected to see. Beside that was the stone marking my mother’s grave. My knees nearly gave out, as the shock of seeing the headstone washed over me. Already hot, now I felt dizzy and a little sick too. There it was Ruthann Lowell, December 3, 1931—April 5, 1965. In the twenty five years since her death, no one had mentioned where she’d been buried, in fact she was rarely mentioned at all. When my mother died I guess my father felt that my brother and I were too young to attend her burial.

I needed to walk away. I went a little bit down the path, only to encounter the second shock. Just a few plots down from my mother’s grave was the grave of someone unknown to me, but with my exact birth-date, etched on his tombstone.  Despite the weather this was a real Dickensian moment; coming upon a grave with your own birth-date on it. The day felt too oppressive for all this internal drama. We didn’t talk about my mother, ever, and I didn’t think pointing out the coincidence of me sharing a birth-date with a dead stranger at my grandmother’s funeral was appropriate.

In 1991 I was 33, the same age my mother was when she died. The year I expected to die. At that time I wasn’t aware that it’s pretty common for someone whose parent has died young (especially the same gender parent) to expect to die at the same age. For most of my life I’d assumed without mentioning it to anyone, that I would die at 33, as my mother had. I wasn’t sick, but neither had she been. The cause of her death was a stroke, but why a 33 year old would have a stroke remained a mystery to me until I saw a doctor who had known my mother.

I can’t even remember how I ended up in his office, but it was not coincidental, he knew who I was, knew I was Ruthann’s daughter. What I wanted was birth control pills, and he said “Absolutely not!  That’s what killed your mother.” Oh, that might have been useful information. As a result of the subject of my mother being taboo there had been many such surprises and revelations over the years. Many of the bits of information I learned about my mother came from Julie, my stepmother, who undoubtedly heard them from my father, though he never was able to talk to me about her.

The brief service for my grandmother ended, and my parents took me to a nearby diner for lunch. I didn’t mention anything about the shock of seeing my mother’s tombstone, or even acknowledge that I had seen it; I knew the rules. I did tell them about seeing the grave of a young man born the same day as me, who had died at 23. Then we talked about other things.

Facebook Share|Tweet Post|Pin Post|+1 Post
  • December 16, 2014 - 9:53 am

    Peggy Gilbey McMackin - Tough story Nancy. I’m not certain I could have held to the rules. And then, another conversation surrounding birth control alternatives might even been had at your pre-college luncheon.ReplyCancel

    • December 16, 2014 - 11:50 am

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Peggy, I was trained on those rules very young, and very effectively!ReplyCancel

  • December 16, 2014 - 12:23 pm

    Carolann - My mom passed at a young age as well 🙁 So sad a story but a great lesson for folks too.ReplyCancel

    • December 16, 2014 - 3:43 pm

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Carolann, losing a parent at a young age has become so rare (which is good) it makes many people uncomfortable. Veterans of this are in a sort of club. So though I am of course sorry you had to endure this, I am glad for the ‘company’.ReplyCancel

  • December 16, 2014 - 2:45 pm

    Jane Gassner (@Jane_Gassner) - I know that cemetery…or the one next to it Mt. Hebron. That’s where my family is. That’s where I will go. I cannot imagine having such important things unsaid in a family. I hope the silence has ended.ReplyCancel

    • December 16, 2014 - 3:39 pm

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Jane,
      To one degree on another the silence persisted throughout both my parents’ lives. They are both now deceased, and my siblings and I often surprise each other with pieces of the family history only one of us knows. My take-away from this is that secrets are often toxic, and I have spent my life trying to be forthright and transparent (where appropriate).ReplyCancel

  • December 16, 2014 - 4:34 pm

    Nate - I share your aim to be as transparent as I can. As a genealogist, I see it as my duty to dispel the secrets that were left unsaid. I figure they don’t matter anymore to those that have passed through. By doing so, I came across the fact that one side of my family has a rare heart condition running through it. Learning that probably saved my life.ReplyCancel

    • December 17, 2014 - 9:49 am

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Nate, so glad you found an important answer. I think the really challenging piece is all the questions we don’t even know to ask.ReplyCancel

  • December 16, 2014 - 6:51 pm

    Christine - I completely get that feeling, when a series of little coincidences and surprises fall together into some kind of pattern that seems impossibly non-random. Thanks for sharing this story.ReplyCancel

    • December 17, 2014 - 9:50 am

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Christine, it’s amazing all the random things that fall together and make up our understanding of the world.ReplyCancel

  • December 17, 2014 - 7:53 am

    Audrey - A wonderful, heartfelt post. Thanks for sharing this.ReplyCancel

    • December 17, 2014 - 9:51 am

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Audrey, thanks for stopping by.ReplyCancel

  • December 17, 2014 - 8:19 am

    Cyn K - I can’t fathom why the location of your mother’s grave was kept from you. I can maybe understand not discussing the cause of her death when you were younger, but not once you were an adult. Funerals are stressful enough without added surprises.ReplyCancel

    • December 17, 2014 - 9:52 am

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Cyn,
      I believe withholding information ‘to protect us’ was such a habit that it never occurred to anyone to break the pattern. I also never asked…ReplyCancel

  • December 17, 2014 - 8:53 am

    Michelle Longo - Those reminders of the ones we’ve lost are so hard, particularly when they come at such moments. I agree finding a grave of someone with my exact birth date would freak me out even on the best of days.ReplyCancel

    • December 17, 2014 - 9:54 am

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Michelle, it was quite a confluence of events!ReplyCancel

  • December 18, 2014 - 12:12 am

    Asha - So many important facts about us get lost when we lose our parents, don’t they? And all the more complicated for you because nobody was talking about your mother. Your piece raised so many important points about the secrets that families keep.ReplyCancel

    • December 18, 2014 - 10:36 am

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Asha, losing a parent is a permanent condition, with no cure.ReplyCancel

  • December 18, 2014 - 4:47 pm

    celeste noelani - I breathed a huge sigh of relief and solidarity when I got to the part where you mention expecting to die at 33. My father died at 47, so when I turned 37 I FREAKED OUT because I only had 10 years left. Recently I realized (hey math!) that he actually died at 46 and it was weird to say the least.

    I wanted to extend my deepest condolences, and thank you so very much for sharing.ReplyCancel

    • December 18, 2014 - 5:10 pm

      nrlowell@comcast.net - Celeste, I had the year wrong as well! because my story was limited in word length I abbreviated all the drama around that… Thank you for sharing as well!ReplyCancel

  • February 24, 2017 - 12:07 pm

    Unfinished » Chefs Last Diet - […] contemplating my upcoming birthday in March. Each successive year reaching my birthday feels like a bigger accomplishment, and as long as I’m here, I remain unfinished. If I view death as the finish line, then I […]ReplyCancel

Your email is never published or shared. Required fields are marked *

*

*

CommentLuv badge

T w i t t e r