It's not the kind of invitation delivered via Evite. It doesn't come with a gift registry, a list of hotels, or directions to the rehearsal dinner. How do you rehearse for this kind of thing, anyway? You really can't. There are too many variables, too many unknowns. Some happen at a cemetery. Others at a lovely location. The one we went to yesterday, in honor of our dear friend Chris Rose, the kindest, gentlest, sweetest soul, took place at a beautiful country club, her home away from home.
Given all the stages of grief, I'm kinda surprised Kubler-Ross left out the one that always hits me the hardest, pre-memorial. I'm referring to the most unspoken stage of all: What To Wear. I know, it makes me sound shallow and not terribly evolved. Too bad. I was honoring a wonderful lady I absolutely adored. I needed to look nice. I couldn't show up in my standard Pandemic-wear. Sweatpants, faded T-shirt and slippers. The wardrobe issue overwhelmed me, and soon, I slipped into Denial. Until Thursday, when reality set in. I needed to perform an emergency dress intervention without entering a germ-ridden mall. I ordered a black dress online, and paid way too much for shipping. What's more enticing than "Two-day delivery?" At this moment in my life, nothing. I felt so good. I knew Chris, who always looked sharp, would approve.
But then, the cruel emails started arriving: "Your shipment is being prepared!" "Your shipment is on its way!" "Your shipment will arrive on Monday!" Excuse me? Monday? I didn't pay extra for Monday. The memorial is Sunday. Boom. I slipped into Bargaining. If I promise to be the best human ever, the dress will arrive on Saturday. If I track the shipment, and keep tracking it, the dress will arrive on Saturday. It didn't help that FedEx kept teasing me. "Your package is in Bloomington, California!" Where the @#$% is that? I looked it up. Somewhere in San Bernardino? At least it wasn't Indiana.
I toggled in and out of Denial, Anger, Bargaining and Depression. Back and forth I went, managing to fit in a new stage: Noshing. "This cookie will make me feel better." And it did. By Friday night, I landed on Acceptance. I went into my closet, grabbed a dress that might be too cheerful for a memorial, and decided it was okay. Not great. But okay. A sense of calm descended. I knew that Chris, who faced many challenges in her life, including the death of her beloved son, was guiding me, telling me to chill. I knew we would've had a good laugh over my wardrobe insanity the next time we ran into each other at Gelson's. Saturday afternoon, the dress arrived. Chris was working her special brand of magic from the Great Beyond.
