Written by Beth Woods
Photography by Marge Agin
hey stood about the gravesite clustered together for security. The day was crisp, the air clean. The thought that one of them was missing hung in the air. The morning had been a frantic rush of food preparation and organizing of floral tributes. Funeral food is a southern tradition. Domestic reputations are made or lost based on what you serve at a funeral. As they stood there, having to face the moment, each one of them noticed the large number of people in attendance. “J’s” clear voice rang through, “If you are within the sound of my voice... you cannot eat any ham!” A smile broke the surface of our disbelief and laughter followed. “E” would have loved it! The posse, together, laughing in the face of life.
Their sadness was not for her soul, for they were secure with where it now lived. They were sad for themselves, for her children and husband and for the laughter she would no longer share with them. The “ham” comment had broken the tension, eased the vulnerability we all felt. The burial service complete, the posse made its way to the kitchen where they could feel safe in the purpose given them.
“B” chimed in, “funeral services circumvent the cocktail hour rule and none of us will be drinking alone so I don’t know about ya’ll but I’m having a drink”. Women support each other in many ways. There are tasks that even though small, make tribute to each other and those tasks can propel us through the most difficult of situations. The food brought them closure. It was their send off to an irreplaceable part of their puzzle. Each one knew it. The puzzle would continue being put together but the final picture was altered. Running out of food at a funeral is a southern woman’s biggest fear. It makes them feel inadequate like they have let their own mama down. As they paused in the kitchen “R” sighed, “Ya’ll what a tribute to ‘’E”. All these people, she would be so proud.”
The conversation became a rapid response of options to stretch out our food choices. Should someone break rank and head for the grocery? Who had another ham at home? (but it might be frozen) “I’ll go buy some fried chicken,” volunteered “C”. “This is supposed to be a gesture not an all-you-can eat buffet” “J” laughed. Everyone laughed and we cut the ham we had left into bitesized pieces to make the tray look fuller. “Well ladies, we’ve fed the five thousand with the fishes and the loaves,” “J” chuckled. All carefully monitored husbands and children. Did they eat? What did they need? How was her mama? Everyone felt the weight. Even the male counterparts were sweeter. All the photographs scattered around the house magnified the reality of the situation. They had shared many milestones of life, but this was a milestone they had not expected so soon. They wanted to sit together at debutante balls, anniversary parties, weddings and retirement soirees and they would, but she would not. Her life had always been such a celebration and this should be one too. Friendships are a very powerful alliance between women. The candor that existed between these women was not commonly found. The humor they shared held them together like a magnet. They could say almost anything to each other as long as it was laced with humor. Inherently, they knew they needed to laugh or they might give up.
The week before, “E” had laid down the law about “life going on” and such. She was never one to wallow in it and they all knew that although their grief was tangible she would love the “party” of it all. Their stories and laughter linked them with her memory like bees to honey. “E would love this, she would be so happy ya’ll are here” was stated over and over like the chorus of a familiar song. It was her party and thank God the food held out until the liquor kicked in. Barefooted and weepy they cleaned up the kitchen and felt peace. She would suffer no more and like a beacon, that southern icon the baked ham had somehow saved the day. The posse embraced, loaded up their heirloom silver trays. These women stood in the afternoon light of generations of women before them and they were proud, proud of their brave friend, proud they had held it together and proud of each other.
(P.S. When in doubt, always buy another ham.)
Dedicated to Elizabeth Mellard Graves
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