The phone was pressed to my face, sweat gathered there in an instant.
The voice on the other end of the line inquired if I was "one of the girls."
I folded my fingers over the receiver and whisper-shouted to the others, "We forgot her underwear!"
After a brief exchange with the woman from the funeral home, I assured her that I was on my way with underwear and socks. You know mom always had to have her socks on, I had explained to the others. I don't know how it got to be my job to pick out the underwear.
I remember being little and Mom had a whole drawer full of lace and satin fancy underwear. But when I went looking for the particular red Teddy I remembered from digging through all that satin and lace, I could find no such thing. Sarah told me that she had gotten rid of all that stuff. Since it was available I chose red underwear and a red bra and even a pair of red socks. I remember telling the other kids that no one will see her feet, not even us.
I think about that sometimes, but assure myself that, yeah, they probably put those damn red socks on her with her nice power suit. And only we knew, and If they didn't actually use the socks for Mom (I didn't look), I hope they gave them to some homeless person. She would have liked that.
So we buried Mom in her white suit with the blue pinstripes, red underwear and socks. I also stuffed some gently used tissues in her sleeve to make her feel more at home in her coffin. She never went anywhere without a partially used tissue stuffed in a pocket or sleeve.
Maybe she appreciated it. I like to think she appreciates my humor from heaven.
