Lesbian Dancing After The Show: An Improviser's Non Improvised Life

It's Not God, It's People.

After Mr. Wright left Trinity, I realized why my mother was not a fan. After everything that happened with him and his surprising Anti-Semitic speeches just before saner heads went: What is going on with you? Uh...can you stop now? Yes, I understand why my mother was not a big fan of Mr. Wright.

In 2010 my mother passed away from the same disease as my grandmother. At this point in my life, I would not wish Alzheimer's on my worst enemy.

My mother's "Funeral" was very, very different than my grandmother's. It was held in a non-denominational funeral parlor. There was no passing or repassing. She was cremated and put into a very nice wooden carved urn that was biodegradable. My sister's husband and his friend played guitar with amps. Funny stories were told.

I even bucked up and read one of my sister's favorite passages from The Bible. That was for her. She cared for my mother through the whole thing. That was the very least I could do with my copious skills (along with making a big picture of my mom for the display...and the video of her life underscored with Sia's "Breathe Me" which was the last song that was played on the HBO's "Series Six Feet Under." That was for the irony in me.)

It was a joyous sort of memorial. That was until The Trinity Guy got up.

There was no real Pomp and Circumstance like at my grandma's funeral. Mr. Wright was not there as he had left the church three years earlier. Still. I found it strange that he was not there especially after the whole "We Need to Stick Together as a Community" speech at my grandmother's funeral. Replete with Dashiki Robe.

Also my mother's funeral was not happening during an election period. (That is the cynic in me).

So, Trinity Guy heads to the podium. I look at the program. I am cool with this as my uncle and my aunts are part of the church. There was also a lot of the congregation there for them. Always remember: She's my mom. This is their sister.

All good. I'm good with this is the mantra in my head. This is for the family, and my immediate family is from this church.

So he gets up and he announces he is from Trinity...gives his condolences to us...Then he (for all purposes) co-ops my mother in death into Trinity Church.

An eye shot to the closest family members (who know my mother was not close to this church at all) with his look of "Oh Well". A hand squeeze on Hans' thigh with him grabbing my hand and holding it tight. This is the "Are you fucking kidding/Be Cool Thigh Squeeze Tight Hand Hold Move" Hans and I have perfected over the years.

My mom never went to Trinity. Can you actually "Opt" someone into a Church after death? I mean...the person can't protest too much. I mean...

...they are sort of dead. I imagine a little dust storm hurricane happening in the urn of my mother.

After the service, I say to my husband "When I die...can you get some Church of the Subgenius people to opt me into that church?"

The final bit of the service is the burial. That's right, we buried my mother's ashes. Sort of defeats the whole purpose of being cremated. But that was for my aunts and uncle. My sister was a genius with the biodegradable urn box. If we are going to bury something, at least let's hope it will turn into a tree.

We are in the same cemetery that my grandmother was buried. In a pretty, shady spot close to a pretty little tree. It is just the immediate family. Me and my husband. (His birthday was that day. I will love him forever for being in a cemetery on his birthday burying my mother.), my sisters, brother, aunts and uncle.

This is unlike my grandmother's funeral, where hundreds of people stood at that graveside watching the immediate family lower a pink coffin into the ground watching our grief with Reverend Jeremiah Wright in his Uber-African Clothing standing there.

There is a little hole pre-dug, with the grounds keeper standing by a mound of dirt, waiting to cover the urn. My aunt Mary does a prayer. We all put our hands on the urn and rub the box that contained my mother's ashes.

It was very hippie spiritual of us all.

My aunt Mary then puts a little napkin at the bottom of the hole, So Beverly's box will not get wet. I of course find this a very loving, caring gesture towards my mom... but I also find it pretty funny, as we are about to cover the box in...well...wet dirt.

Glance at Hans with a smile. He gives me a smile of Not right now Shaun. Not right now.

We put the box in the hole. And people sort of step away. I look at the grounds keeper and the mound of dirt.

In the Catholic Religion, family members take a bit of dirt and, in honor of the dead, help bury a loved one. I look at the mound of dirt with the shovel in it and the grounds keeper waiting for us to finish. I look at the young man standing there and I point to the shovel.

May I? I ask.

Yes. Yes you may. He looks at me, knowingly. I hand Hans my purse, I take a shovel...and I put a huge mound of that dirt on top of that urn. My family...follows right behind me.

We help bury my mother.

For a fast moment...nobody is part of Trinity Church. For a very fast moment...we are all acting like we are Catholic.

For me, this is where being co-opted into a church in death means literally nothing. In that moment of death, it is not about being a part of a church or even being a sect of a religion.

It is about the people around the person who just died, grieving. And you can have grief without any religion at all.

That is what people like the hard religious right, talking head conservative pundits and, with all due respect to my family's church-that is what even Jeremiah Wright is missing in my opinion.

The pomp and circumstance of God and the zeal of upholding the "Scripture of a Religion" is outweighing the basic human emotion.

In my mind, religion is supposed to bring people together, not tear them apart. It's one of the many reasons why I do not belong to any current day church.

Your god might not be someone else's god, and with all the love in the world: God cannot help us fix the economy. God cannot lower your gas prices and sure as shit God does not smite people with hurricanes and earthquakes because of their political and/or sexual beliefs.

And may I just say, God had nothing to do with the love around my grandmother's and mother's grave. It's the people who are gone who made those people celebrate their lives in death. My mom made me love her, and bury her. Not God.

No offense to God. Or to my family's church. It's the people.

Me: (to my uncle Ron, holding him... putting my head into his chest to cover the soft crying and yet trying to still be funny, like a child) Hey. Why do people have to die?

Uncle Ron: (Laughing) Hey. When you figure it out, tell me.

I made my uncle laugh and he topped off the bit.

No offense to god. It's about the people.

It's a Nietzsche Thing I picked up.

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