To Shiva or Not to Shiva

I certainly get the concept of Shiva -- the Jewish ritual of mourning. The family of the deceased shuts down for a week, friends and well wishers bring food, and kaddish -- the prayer for the dead, is said. Mom wanted none of that, and as I sat in the quiet house yesterday, the day following her death, I was relieved. Almost all of her friends and family other than her kids have passed -- either away, or out of her life. So if I hosted Shiva, I'd simply be in my role of gracious host to MY friends -- and I absolutely was in no mood to do that. Shiva. My friend Jorge emailed me asking if we were having it -- and reflected on its having the same name as the Hindu god, Shiva. He then recalled a great "Simpsons" episode where Homer saw Apu at the Quickie Mart, noticed the many armed Hindu Ganesha, and said to Apu "Boy, when they were handing out religions, your people must have been at the back of the line." Jorge can always make me laugh... So yesterday I fielded calls from close friennds, and a few well meaning but not so bright cousins, who offered condolences and then felt the need to tell me THEIR tales of loss, or impending loss in the case of my mother's one surviving sibling. I begged off the phone at those calls --again, I'm in no mood to hear others' tales of misery. I recalled when my Dad died. There was no funeral, but many of my Mom's neighbors and aunts flooded her small condo. Mom freaked out, retreated to her bedroom, and asked me to make them leave. I remember trying to politely usher some of these ladies away, and they grew mean and ugly, like characters from "Where the Wild Things Are." Mom got peace when the house was quiet. So today I await the call from the Neptune Society people, to do the planning for the cremation and burial. Wifey spent a lot of time culling through old photos of Mom, and made a FaceBook (tm) album of her through the stages of her life. It was beautiful. And one of the benefits of Shiva -- hearing tales of your loved one, also came to me courtesy of FB. My school friend Kathy emailed me. She's an academic pediatrician at UVA, and mother of two, and triathlete. We hadn't spoken in nearly 20 years until last week when she friended me. She wrote about a 3rd grade trip to the Statue of Liberty, where my Mom was class mother, and how she couldn't make the scary stairway climb. My mother stayed behind with her, chatting, and comforting her. She said that my mother inspired her to be involved -- she was her kids' class mother, despite a busy medical career. It warmed me to hear how my mother so positively affected someone -- over 40 years ago. Since I do like traditions --even when they're not my birthright, I shared in one last night. My friend and neighbor Pat came over, with some fine Scotch. We tore through more than half a bottle, toasting my mother, father, and his long gone Dad. So Sunny didn't have a shiva, but she did have a small Irish wake. I know she'd have appreciated that...