Saturday, July 3, 2010

I'm Like a Freaking Yo-Yo Over Here

This post has nothing to do with being offended.  I just need to let some stuff go. Yep, it turns out that I am, in fact, human. No need to worry.  I'll be back to my Mustardy self in no time.

This morning I played for the funeral of an 18 year old boy.  He may have died due to alcohol poisoning.

I walked into the church overflowing with people, firmly resolved to keep my emotions under control. I'm the dork who cries at weddings and funerals of people I don't know. And then others try to comfort me with things like, "Oh, were you close to the deceased?"

"No, I didn't know him at all."

Awkward silence usually ensues.

Today, I actually held myself in check pretty well. Until the hockey team lined up in a double row along the center aisle. Achingly beautiful, in full uniform and holding their hockey sticks, they looked on, grief and bewilderment clouding their faces, at the casket holding their friend and teammate passing before them. 

That's when my face crumpled up and the tears blurred my vision so I couldn't see the music in front of me.  It's a good thing that my hands can do their thing while the rest of me falls apart.

To my surprise, the presiding priest came across as having a mind and a mouth that were in full communication with one another. And, here's something I never thought I'd say, I might consider attending his church, just to listen to him speak. Yes, he was that thoughtful and captivating. Maybe miracles do happen?

At one point during the eulogy, the priest walked to a woman sitting in the front row who was holding a baby in her arms. Now, what he didn't know, and what I could see from my vantage point, was that she wasn't just holding the baby. Underneath the blanket that covered her, she had undone her shirt and was breastfeeding the child.

The closer the priest got to her, the more nervous this lady looked. And when she realized that he wanted to use her baby to illustrate a point he was making, you could almost see the hamster frantically running on his wheel, as she tried to figure out her course of action. Just as he reached out his hand, she managed to slip her breast out of the baby's mouth and deftly tuck it back into her bra. With literally not a micro second to spare, another Catholic Church sex scandal had been averted. (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

At this point, I had my lips tightly pursed together, and my body was about to explode due to the effort of keeping thunderous laughter from erupting out of my mouth. The kind of inappropriate laughter that can only make its appearance in church, or a dramatically serious play or other solemn and quiet gathering.  I finally allowed it to escape under the guise of a coughing fit, while giving thanks that the waterworks had run their course and I, once again, had full use of my eyes and facial muscles.

Not for long, it seemed. My professional composure cracked once again during the prayers.  The priest called the mother, father and sister of the boy to come and stand around the casket. And, as he put his hand tenderly on the box holding the body, he asked the people gathered to forgive any wrong done to them by the boy who was no longer here. In the silence that followed, I watched men gruffly wiping at their eyes, young adults being enfolded in their mother's arms and the family at the center of this tragedy holding on to each other for dear life. Once again, I disintegrated. And with a vengeance. Transformed into a massive puddle of grief, I gave up trying to hide the tears.

You know those films that advertise themselves like, "You'll laugh, you'll cry, you won't know what hit you"?  The whole morning was like that. Several hours later, I still feel like I've been worked over by the thugs of a mafia boss I owed large amounts of money to. And, as I sit here typing, I know that I have to pull myself together and play a massively energetic show tonight, when I'd rather it be just me and my piano, giving quiet comfort to each other.

So, for me, and anyone else who needs it, I present to you Miss Liza Minelli, here to save the day:

3 comments:

  1. ((((Mustard)))) Just sending you some hugs. An incredible post. I am sad and all emotional today,too. Sad that a sweet, energetic 18 year old girl jumped off a cliff to her death in Simi Valley. Sad that I have had, along with my brothers, to move my Mother into a nursing home. Sad that I have to clean out my Mother's house, touch her things, look at her photos, and be flooded with memories. Sad that my favorite aunt, my Dad's baby sister, has left to go home after her vacation here. Sad that my wonderful college graduate son can't find a job in this wreck of an economy. There's more, but your post was just so perfect. You share my feelings and that makes things a bit better. It's good to know we are not alone; that there are a few people left on this earth who can actually express an emotion.. Thanks for Liza and for being my friend. You'll be great at the piano tonight, Mustard. Because that's the kind of woman you are.

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  2. Thank you so much, Songbird! I treasure every moment of life and am as good to people as I know how to be (silly and offended blog posts notwithstanding). I'm glad you are my friend. And your Drummer Boy is a sweet testament to the wonderful mother that you are. It's only a matter of time until his immense talent takes him to the heights of success.

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  3. Mustard, you *are* very good to people. And a great friend. Thanks for the kind comments about my Drummer Boy and me, My plan is that you will play keyboards for all his movies and recordings, etc. and I will be his business manager and he will be the next John Williams/Danny Elfman/Leonard Bernstein...ASAP. In the meantime, hoping to meet you for lunch soon--when do things kind of calm down for you? I am trapped 8-5, M-F in my office near Marie Callendar's....

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