Diane Stark (McConnell) Sanfilippo
Chapter 76 The Decision
Understandably, Gene had been distraught when the
telegram arrived from Chuck stating that I had changed
my mind about burying Billy in Griffin and my plans were
to have both the funeral and burial in Atlanta. What I
could not, and did not, know was that Ruth had decided
Gene would have his way, regardless of how she had to
achieve this, regardless what she had to do, what lies
she had to tell, or whom she had to hurt.
It was Ruth's telephone call to my aunt that began
my own downward spiral, and Helen felt she had to relay
the gist of the conversation to me, as soon as I awoke.
Ruth declared to my aunt if I did not allow Gene to bury
Billy in Griffin, then I would be responsible for Gene's
death since his heart simply could not take any more grief.
Of course, I had never known Gene to have a heart condition,
and in fact, I knew him as a hard working and healthy man,
except for the narcolepsy, which had nothing whatsoever to
do with his heart.
While my aunt talked, although I heard her words, I
simply could not take it all in, so I decided that perhaps
Gram or Papa could tell me if Gene was truly ill. Or, was
Ruth lying in order to have the funeral and burial in
Griffin. After attempting to work this news over in my own
mind, I found it a non-functioning entity, so I picked up
the phone and dialed Gram since surely his own parents
would know if Gene had a heart condition so severe, he
actually might die. Gram was kind and gentle as always as
she told me if Gene did indeed have a heart condition they
had not been told, and they honestly did not believe he did,
rather this was a lie that Ruth made up to get her way, and
they were already used to her lies. Then I asked them what
they thought I should do, and of course, Gram said that
whatever I did, it was my decision alone, and not to allow
anyone else to make it for me, especially if I changed my
plans based on a selfish woman's tall tale. She closed our
conversation by telling me to hug and kiss the children,
and to take care of myself, that they needed me more than
ever now.
Well, that answered one question - Gene did not have
a heart condition, but I thought that perhaps Bubber and
Pop could help me make the right decision since I had always
counted on Pop's wisdom. I also thought in spite of Billy's
feelings about his mother, if there was an extra grave in
the Smith family plot, there might possibly be a compromise.
Bubber answered the phone, and of course was both surprised
and delighted to hear the children and I were safely at home.
She said she could not wait to see Michael and the baby, but
particularly Michael who, I guessed, would take Billy's place
in her heart. After all Michael was the closest she could get
to having Billy back again, and as I was to find out, this is
exactly what happened. Unfortunately, Bubber told me they only
had a four grave plot and with Helen and Edwin, their son
killed during WWII, buried in two of the graves, of course, the
other two were reserved for Pop and for her. I then asked her
what I should do, and again I was told it was my decision to
make, and she too did not believe Gene had any kind of heart
condition rather Ruth had used this as an excuse to get me to
change to mind.
"But how can I possibly be responsible for his death,"
I wailed, but to no use since no one was going to make the
decision for me, but they had tried to help, and I realized
that Billy's grandparents were on 'my side'. However, it was
such a shame, at a time like this to have to choose 'sides'.
At this point, my heart finally went into overload
and my mind completely shut down. Alone in the basement I
began to cry - not just cry, but also to sob uncontrollably,
while I called for my mother. My aunt and uncle tired to calm
me as best they could, but I could not stop as my sobs became
hysteria, and finally my aunt called their doctor to come out
to the house to give me something to calm me down. I was well
aware I had finally lost my composure, but had no idea how to
stop, I sobbed on, saying over, and over, "I just don't know
what to do."
By the time the doctor arrived, I was completely out of
control and close to unconsciousness, but soon the warming
effect of the medication spread through my body and I was at
once in a deep sleep. Somehow, I was aware when my mother
arrived, and I was aware that someone, probably my mother sat
by my bedside as my sobs continued to wrack my body even in
my drug induced sleep. Unknown to me, my uncle immediately
called my survivor's assistance officer at Fort McPherson and
relayed the message from Griffin, and informed him that I was
now under a doctor's care and unable to make any further
decisions. With that news, the Army once again wrapped their
long arms around me and took over.
The Survivor's Assistance Officer called Griffin to let
Ruth and/or Gene know I had become hysterical and was no longer
able to make decisions, so as far as the Army was concerned my
last would stand. The service would be at 4:00 pm on Saturday
the 25th day of September, exactly one week after Billy's death,
and the burial would also, according to my last decision, take
place at Arlington Memorial Park in Sandy Springs - period. He
told them there was no need for further discussion with him, or
with my family. I can only imagine the hatred Ruth felt for me,
and the Army, but for once, even with a threat and a lie, she
could not and did not get her way! Oh, I knew she would be a
formidable foe, and I knew from the very first, even before
they married, that someday Gene would rue the day he had ever
met her, and eventually he did.
Full military honors, as I requested, would be the order
of the day, and the pallbearers would be coming from Ft. Benning,
again at my request. All of them had known Billy personally,
either worked with or for him, including an officer who had been
in his platoon at the O.C.S. school. I did not know it then, but
this officer was Kris, the candidate who had saved me from scandal
and at any other time, I would have been delighted to see him, just
not now, not under these circumstances.
In the meantime, I remember very little, but I do think my
aunt took me to the beauty parlor and I do remember the stylist
donated her services, and this was the first of many kindnesses.
Later, when asked about her bill, my aunt's doctor also refused to
accept payment, as did her chiropractor who helped work out the kinks
I had in my shoulders, after the funeral. Another was a very elite dry
cleaning establishment where I took Billy's blue uniform and the flag
from his coffin to be sealed in boxes, much like a treasured wedding
gown. Sometime, also that day, we went to Weinstock's Florist on Roswell
Road, not far from my aunt's home, and while we could have perhaps
found a less expensive establishment, that is where I insisted on having
the special flowers made from the family.
Weinstock's had always been one of my few favorite memories of my
childhood as each Christmas they set up a display of a winter wonderland
with a Santa train and other lighted decorations, and each Christmas the
visit became a tradition to visit on Christmas Eve while visions of dolls,
carriages, baby beds, and velvet dresses danced in my head. Yes, I knew the
flowers had to come from Weinstocks.
I was wearing my silver Ranger charm on a chain around my neck and I
asked the floral designer to design flowers in the familiar black and gold.
She explained that she would have to spray or dye them black, but it was of
no matter to me, I just wanted everyone who passed Billy's grave to know he
was a Ranger. I then ordered the 25th Division's patch in gold and red since
Billy had been so proud to serve in this prestigious division, and my aunt
ordered flowers in the shape of the American flag. There would be no doubt
his was a soldier's grave, and Billy had been most proud to be a soldier,
almost as much as he was to be a father.
The decision not to take the children to the funeral home or to the
service had been mine alone, and I knew I certainly would be in no condition
to take care of them, and I did not want the rest of the family to feel
burdened either. Besides, they were just too young. I also did not want this
to be Michael's last memory of his father, rather I wanted him to cherish the
memories of all the fun things we did as a family. I wanted him to once again
sing the loud silly songs in the car, and remember the drives in the tiny
convertible around the island, and of course, I wanted him to remember how his
father would walk in the door, pick him up as he ran towards him, and toss him
high into the air. Yes, this is what I wanted him to remember, if he remembered
anything, and of course Margie's images of her father would have to come from
photos and stories.
Once again, just as in Hawaii, my aunt's home rapidly filled with food
and visitors, and for the day of the funeral, a kind neighbor had asked if she
could cook a full Thanksgiving supper for the mourners following the burial.
Friends of my aunt and uncle, my grandmother, my parents, and relatives from
all over Georgia were on the way, and that did not include the hundreds of
friends of the Smith and the McConnell families, Billy's and my friends who
also would be arriving in droves. There was simply no way to know how many
would be coming back to the house, but Ida was going to make sure no one would
go home hungry.
Still I was not able to eat, and even my new clothes began to hang on me
as I lost another 10 pounds. Between the news of Billy's death and the funeral
that totaled 40 pounds, but my grandmother took a tuck here and moved a button
there so I would look presentable in the outfits Mother selected for me in
Hawaii.
Friday night was the formal 'viewing', and naturally, all of my family
would be at the funeral home, but I was frightened - frightened by what I would
see. After all, Billy had crashed his car into a tree head on. Would he be
horribly broken and bruised? Could I reach out and touch him one last time?
Would I want to crawl into the casket with him? I simply did not and could not
know how drastically the sight of my beloved would affect me since the nightmares
that lasted for months following Helen's viewing, but now I was the 'star' and all
eyes would be on me. Could I handle it with the grace and dignity of Jackie
Kennedy - I certainly hoped at least I could come close, not cause another scene,
and become hysterical.
After supper, we left the children at the house as intended, and my aunt,
uncle, Cousin Doug and I climbed into my uncle's LTD for the too short drive to the
funeral home. My uncle drove past the Brookwood train station where my grandmother
had met me when I would ride the train to visit during the summer - past the motel
where on that awful day so long ago, Billy and I had destroyed our baby so that he
could finish school, and for what? Now it seemed so useless. As we passed the small
Memorial Park where I played as a child and where I suspected that Billy had buried
our son. I wondered if, even after all this time, if I tried to find the remains
and bury them with his father, what would become of me, but that momentary insane
thought was completely impossible because of the promise. If I was in jail, then one
of our parents might get custody of our children, so I had to let bygones be bygones,
although I knew that day, the searing pain both physical and mental would haunt me
the rest of my life. I also knew that I would never even entertain the thought again,
I had done it for Billy and for our lives, and our marriage had worked out because
of this event. I also knew that Billy would have never have asked me, or wanted me
to go through the horror of that day again.
As the motel slid by the window we soon were turning down Spring Street by
Peachtree Christian Church where I had gone to nursery school and kindergarten, and
next door was Retail Credit where I had worked that summer following my high school
graduation, and my swift exit from my parent's house. It seemed as if it had been so
long ago, another lifetime, when I would walk to work with a carefree bounce to my
step since I was finely free of my parents and the nightmare of all the drinking. In
actually it had only been just over 5 years since I had first begun to take care of
myself, and now, once again, I would not only have to care for myself but two, no,
three children. I had not told any of the family that I was pregnant since I knew that
it would just add to their distress. However, I thought in the letter that I had written
to my mother the day before Billy's accident that I had told her, but perhaps not, or
perhaps the letter had not arrived since she had not mentioned it to me.
As we pulled in front of the handsome old building that housed the main offices,
the chapel, and the viewing rooms where famous and infamous, magnate and pauper, had
been on display for anyone who entered, I remembered the first time that I had ever
been inside, and my traumatic meeting with the corpse in the bed. From that Sunday
afternoon, I had a dreadful fear of the dead. The several times that I had been
placed in the situation when I had to confront this fear, especially when Helen died,
had traumatized me even further, and I did not know if I could bear seeing the one
person that I loved more than anyone in the world lying in a casket, still and cold.
The funeral director met us at the door and indicated that the room where Billy
as lying in state was at the top of the stairs - a large room since he knew that
several families would be present, and he wanted everyone to be comfortable. He assured
me though that if I were not satisfied with the upstairs room, he would be more than
ready to make sure that my preferences superseded all others. . When I reached the
bottom of the stairs, I found that I could not lift my legs - I was absolutely terrified
by what I might see, so I asked my aunt if she would go up first and come back down to
tell me if I should look at my beloved Billy. While my uncle and the funeral director
stayed by my side, my aunt slowly went up the steps, and within a few minutes she was on
her way back down. Her eyes were red and tears were running down her face as she reached
the bottom of the stairs, and I asked her "Should I look at him? Does he look O.K.? Is he
all bruised and cut?"
My aunt took my hand and said, "I cannot tell you what to do. You have to make this
decision yourself, because if I tell you not to look, then in the years to come, you might
regret the decision and blame it on me. But I can tell you that he is not cut or bruised,
but he does not look like Billy because that spark of life that was so obvious in him is
gone - he is gone - this is just his shell left, so you need to decide yourself what you
want to do."
With my uncle holding onto my arm, and with my other hand on the rich mahogany stair
railing, I slowly made my way up the thickly carpeted stairs. I do not think that I took a
breath from the moment that I walked into the room and saw the gray steel casket standing
at the far end of the room, the American flag draped over the lower half. Russ, in full
uniform, was standing beside it. The room was filled with family, Smith, McConnell, Stark,
Stanfield, and other more distance relatives. There was a host of friends from Atlanta and
Griffin, most of whom I would not have known anyway.
Despite all the people gathered there, I only saw the casket as I slowly approached
with my uncle still firmly holding onto my arm, ready to catch me if I should faint. The
murmur in the room had ceased from the moment I entered, and I knew that all eyes were on
me, the young widow. I had taken my medications before leaving the house, and that perhaps
was the very best thing that I could have done, because to this day I do not remember what
I saw in that cold gray coffin. I do remember that there was a pane of glass over the top
half of the casket so that the remains could not be touched, and probably because Billy
had been dead almost a week. All I remember was that my aunt was right - this was not my
Billy, and with that thought alone, I said to my uncle and the funeral director who had
discreetly followed us upstairs, "That's not my Billy! Close it and don't ever open it
again!"
Instantly my request honored, Russ and the funeral director softly closed the lid
then straightened the American flag so that it would cover the length of the steel gray
box.
Now I honored the second request that Billy had asked of me when his mother died,
the first being an autopsy, and now strangers would no longer be able to gawk at my
handsome soldier, just as he had not wanted mere acquaintances gawking at his mother.
I could do nothing more for him except be the best mother possible for our children,
and to keep his memory alive for them so that they would know about the kind and loving
man who was their father. I doubted if either would remember him at all, although perhaps
Michael might remember some things, like the silly songs and flights into the air, but
his cherished daughter would never know the wonderful man who loved us all more than
life itself.
As soon as the coffin was closed, the family reunions resumed while everyone who
had not seen others in the family since the last funeral or the last wedding, caught up
with all that had occurred since their last meeting. As the evening went on and I stood
in the corner by the casket with Russ at my side, one by one people I had never met or
never known respectfully approached me with an introduction and a kind word about my
darling Billy.
I thought to myself, "these people could not possibly know him like I do, and they
could not possibly have cared as much as I do, and why don't they just say 'I'm sorry'
and go away".
The noise in the room began to take on carnival aspect, as if by closing the lid to
the coffin, one did not have to be quiet or respectful any longer. Eventually, highly
perturbed, I turned to my uncle and said, "The only think lacking here is someone selling
popcorn and peanuts." Smiling at me, he kindly explained that a funeral was the time to
catch up for most families, as if I had not guessed this already. I told him that out of
respect for Billy, and for me that they should carry their reunions out into the hall and
allow those of us who came here to grieve the atmosphere relative to our feelings. Slowly
my uncle circulated throughout the room and kindly asked those who wanted to visit to
please step outside in the foyer while those who wished to be alone with their thoughts or
to speak softly, could remain in the room. I knew that everyone was quite aware that my
uncle was speaking for me, and with some glares, and some looks of relief, the two groups
of mourners split up and the room fell almost silent except for the occasional sob, although
none were mine. By now, I had completely removed myself from the scene and no longer felt
possessed of my body. This simply could not be me standing here in this room surrounded by
all those who loved me, and this could not possibly be Billy stuck in that gray box,
lifeless and silent. He should have been standing beside me as he did at his mother's
funeral, his arm wrapped possessively around my waist. Things like this happened to other
people, but never to me, never to Billy - we were too much in love to have to part in this
despicable manner, and from that moment on, life became a series of chores I had to do, kind
words I had to say, children to love, but all on automatic pilot.
I was no more alive than the remains in that box. I could not feel, I could not talk,
I could not hate, I could not smile, I could not cry, but most of all I could not love.
Surely, if I ever found love again, which was highly unlikely, I would be too afraid to love
for fear that if I did allow myself this pleasure, I would lose it too. For now, I simply
would feel nothing - absolutely nothing as the hard headed little girl inside of this young
woman who had loved with all of her heart decided that above all I would never allow anyone,
not anyone, to get close to me again. I had loved more than life itself, so what kind of
emotion could possibly top that? None, I thought as I knew that my Billy would never die,
at least not until my own heart ceased beating.
Finally as the crowd began to disperse since the time for the viewing hours were coming
to an end, and the funeral director called my uncle aside where I could see them talking
seriously about some matter. Finally they both approached me to tell me that some of the
family was not happy with my decision to close the casket and to never open it again,
although it was my decision to make. As kindly as possible, he asked if perhaps, they could
open it upon request, and for a few moments before the service, so that those family members
who wished could bid a final farewell. As I told the funeral director about the promises that
I had made to my handsome husband after his own mother's funeral, in an understanding way, he
agreed that Billy's wishes were most important, but what harm would it do if it were open for
just a short time before the service.
"Because I want to be with him, alone," I said, "and I do not want the casket open
because that is not the last memory that I want to take with me for the rest of my life. I want
to remember his laugh, his smile, and his beautiful blue eyes. I want to remember how it felt
when he held in his arms, how he could comfort me when no one else could, and how he could calm
my temper by making me laugh. I want to remember his kisses, the way he held me when we danced,
and the look on his face when each of his children were born. These are the memories that I
want, not one of him lying stone cold and stiff in his coffin."
Unable to argue with me, with tears in his eyes, the director assured me that after
everyone who wished to see him one last time had this opportunity, the room would be cleared,
the casket closed for the very last time and I could go inside and be alone with him immediately
before the service. Realizing that this was perhaps the kindest and the most workable plan, I
reluctantly agreed as long as the casket would remain closed until right before the funeral.
Since the funeral was the next afternoon, the director realized that I was giving in all I
would or could, and he accepted my decision. After all, he truly had no option - it was my call,
and I made it just as I knew Billy would want me to. Anyone else who came to gawk and stare
could just think that perhaps he had been too banged up for viewing, but as long as his wish
was honored, I did not care what anyone else thought - after all, I could not feel anything at
all myself.
All I wanted to do was to go to my aunt's home, crawl between the covers and sleep for the
rest of my life, for in sleep I could imagine myself in Billy's arms where I could be happy again.
It never occurred to me then that for the rest of my life, I could and would fall asleep in his
arms, and the last thought after a long day would always be of my precious Billy. I would not
remember the Billy, stiff and dead in the steel gray casket, but the Billy who held me in his arms,
made love to me in the moonlight, and most of all who loved me more than life itself.
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