When Jason was five, his grandmother died. The night she got the phone call, Mom explained that Grandma, Jason’s father’s mother, wouldn’t be there anymore, and gave him hugs and let him have ice cream. Mom explained that she and Dad would be flying back to Indiana for the funeral, and Jason would be staying with his other grandma until they got back.

Jason understood that when you died, you were gone, but he’d never been to a funeral. While his parents were out of state, Jason tried to imagine what a funeral must be like. Mom had called it a “send-off,” which as far as he could figure out, was like a big going-away party. He imagined Grandma sitting up in a coffin, surrounded by all her friends and everyone she cared about, with a band playing those Glenn Miller tunes she always had on the radio when he visited. Lots of balloons, and people laughing and singing, saying goodbye to the pleasant little woman who’d baked peanut butter cookies and knitted pot holders for as long as Jason could remember. At the end, everyone would wave farewell, and Grandma would reach up and close the coffin lid herself. Her choice. Jason wished he could go to the party.

When Jason was eleven, his other grandmother died. By this time, he’d seen funerals on TV, and he knew they weren’t really a party. Still, he felt a twinge when he went up to pray at the casket with his parents. He wished this funeral were more like the funerals he’d imagined as a small child.

When Jason was thirty-eight, he was diagnosed with mesothelioma. His parents didn’t understand—their son never smoked, and neither did anyone in the family. How could he have lung cancer? The doctors explained it was a different kind of lung cancer, and they didn’t know how he got it. All they knew was that it was terminal, and it would act quickly.

Jason did not want to die slowly and painfully. Jason talked to his wife. He told her about his childhood fantasy of what a funeral should be. His wife understood.

The party was huge. People were a little uneasy at first, but they saw that Jason seemed to be feeling okay, and that he was having a good time, so most of them relaxed and tried to enjoy the party. They served all kinds of food and drinks, and the band played songs that had meant a lot to Jason over the years. He even got up the strength to dance with his wife, even though it was more of a shuffle while standing in place.

When the last party guest left, Jason curled up next to his wife in bed and kissed her.

The next morning, he was gone.

In accordance with his wishes, his wife held a simple graveside service, and nothing else.

Many people disapproved, but she knew Jason had already had the funeral he wanted.

Copyright 2006 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.

Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.