My Name is on the Deed

One of the things I learned as a child back in some social studies class in Memphis, Tennessee, is that bodies, in Louisiana, are buried above ground. That is and isn’t true, depending on the latitude at which one is buried as well as the money one has to spend on burial and whether one has had the forethought to buy/build a crypt. And most of those have a section below ground, which serves its own purpose.

Now, people here don’t usually talk about this. I can’t say that I blame them. Death is only slightly less offensive than burial. On the other hand, I learned, after moving here, that death is pretty much taken as it comes, right along with marriage and birth and whatever major milestones a life might have.

I had never been to a funeral or seen a person after death before I moved here. I grew up in the city and had few relatives in my life circle. Besides which, Granny would have thought it inappropriate to take a child to a funeral. Granny had some very specific opinions on what was and was not appropriate. For instance, you never, ever, for any reason went downtown or to a hospital without “dressing up.” Both occasions, regardless of purpose, were a call for “Sunday clothes” and nothing less. I can still recall the look on Granny’s face the time one of my older sisters arrived at the hospital to visit her after one of her heart emergencies. I thought the shorts and man’s t-shirt were going send Granny right on over. She rallied, though, to reign again and to often remind us of Sister Sue’s lack of respect.

I’m afraid that’s wandering off the subject . Besides which, Granny deserves her own space in this journal. Several spaces, to be sure.

Cemeteries here are filled with mausoleums and above-ground vaults. These vaults are built in rows, like condominiums for the dead, several “stories” high and a basement. Sometimes whole families own a vault and its levels and simply add folks to one of the sections as they die. In some of the more elaborate tombs, the skeletal remains are moved down to the basement to make room for the next one.

There are rules about all of this. These vaults are 10 feet long (deep), huge ovens, standing hot in the Louisiana sun, doing the work that ovens do. Under these conditions the process of decay is accelerated. Even so, law has it, corpses must decay for a year and a day before they can be pushed back to make room for more. Additional vaults are generally available for leasing for those who do not yet have space in the family vault.

I passed my husband’s resting place the other day and recalled a bit of information I discovered when making arrangements following his death. At some point in our marriage he had purchased, from his great aunt, a “level” of the family vault. My name is on the deed.

Tends to be a sobering thought, a humbling revelation. Not one I am particularly equipped for, so I most often think of something else.