When it comes to writing about my experiences, I get so hung up on worrying about if it flows, or if I'm using the correct grammar, is my spelling correct, my sentence structure, etc. I get too worried about what it may sound like to others. So, I'm writing for the delete button. Pressure is off. No one cares. No one will read this anyway.
This is my experience tonight that I wanted to write about. It may not seem exciting to anyone else, but it was a night to remember for me.
Many know by now that this past year I began a relationship with an Amish family that lives about 20 minutes north of my home. I met Jeffrey in New Albany - on a job that we were both working. His carpentry company was doing work for a new build and I was doing the progress photos. When I was at the site taking photographs, Jeffrey and his other two workers, David and Marvin, would talk to me about anything and everything - current news, the weather, religion, anything. They were so personable. Jeffrey asked me to do a brochure for his business and at one point I needed to drop some things off at this house and was able to meet his family. His wife Sarann, Johnathan (19), Nettie (18), Marianna (16), Susan (15), and little Jacob (9). Eventually, I started driving them when they needed transportation for jobs and did some more promotional work for them. Our relationship developed slowly. I've been their taxi driver, photographer, graphic designer, and online surfer for food service products. The relationship that I've had with them has been wonderful but in the back of my head I've always thought that maybe they like me because I help them. Maybe they keep me around because I'm useful to them. That's why I was alittle surprised when I got the call today.
I was at work when Marianna called. Her grandmother, Sarann's mother, passed away on Tuesday. She asked me to come to the wake tonight between 6-8 p.m. I have to admit, I did wonder if maybe they wanted me to come so I could drive them home.
The only thing I had to wear (fat week) was a long, black, ankle length skirt. I went to Walmart and realized very quickly (by the looks I was getting) that people thought I was Mennonite. There are many Amish and Mennonite in this area - and women from another fundamental Christian group that have long hair, wear head coverings and only wear long skirts. I don't have long hair and didn't have a head covering but the type of skirt I had on must of been owned by one of these women. I do most of my shopping for skirts at the local Goodwill. It's hard to find nice, plain, solid color long skirts in regular stores. I'm not into fad fashions, sometimes I can find some really nice classic pieces there.
Anyway, I got home late from rearranging my schedule to make the viewing and after fretting over what to wear and my trip to Walmart, I finally got on my way to the farm about 25 minutes north of Mount Vernon. The wake was at another family member's farm, not the home of my friends. I've dropped off the girls at this farm several times, and it was always in the dark. The farm is located in the middle of an Amish community, down many windy roads. I thought I had paid attention and knew where this farm was - once again finding it at night, but alone this time I couldn't remember on what roads to turn. I got lost and it took me almost an hour to find it. Every road I turned I looked for buggy tracks. If there were no tracks, or few tracks, I knew it wasn't the right road.
Finally, I found it. I pulled down the lane and there were so many vans. I thought, "boy, they have alot of English friends"...but realized these were the drivers waiting on their Amish passengers. I parked behind the vans and started walking down the long lane to the house. I wish I would have brought a flash light, it was pitch black. I could barely make out all the horses and buggies in the horse paddock to my left. I could hear the horses breathing and could see the outline of their ears and the square buggy shapes. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out dozens of buggies in the paddock. Tons of buggies.
When I got up to the outbuildings, I merged myself into this very long line of people waiting to get into the large barn-like building where I could see the crowd of people inside. The line was THE receiving line to view the deceased and to pay respects to the family. When the line finally moved forward through the door, I couldn't believe how many people were there. There were probably 100 people in line in front of me, and probably more than 300 Amish sitting on benches lined up in straight rows. They all faced in the direction of the 50+ family members that were sitting on benches, lined up in two rows facing each other. It appeared that this was so that the people walking through could lean down and shake the hand of every family member on both sides. I watched this intently so I knew what to do when it was my time to walk through.
If you know anything about the Amish, they don't show emotion, they don't hug - even each other - they never tell each other, "I love you". Last week when I took the girls to Columbus to go shoe shopping, we stopped at my daughter's work so she could meet them. Vanessa is very affectionate to me and gave me a big hug when we left and said, "I love you, MOM", several times before we took off. The girls told me after we left that they wished they hugged more in their society. They said they miss that affection and long for it.
The man in front of me started alittle small talk about how he knew the family. He knew the husband of the woman that died. Back about 50 years go they "ran around" together. He didn't have the beard or the Amish clothes but I wondered if he was a part of the clan at one time in his life. He talked to me like I was more familiar with "things" than I really was. Again, it must have been the long black skirt.
During my 45 minute wait in this line, I was able to watch the people. Mom's with babies (there were no bottles, no nursing), dad's with babies, groups of women sitting together, groups of men sitting together. The women were all wearing the same black "funeral" dress and white cap. The men all had on cream color shirts under dark grey vests and black pants. Their hats were sitting on benches along the perimeter of the room. They were chatting with each other, not too loud, there was small, controlled laughter. There were plenty of children but they were ALL well behaved, even the babies seemed so content. I've always been amazed with that. At other times, I've seen Amish children riding bareback on miniature ponies and running around playing outside, having fun like normal children do. But, they somehow innately know when it's time to act appropriately for the situation.
I also thought - I really needed some of those benches. They were the old wooden kind with the legs that fold back up into the bench. They were the kind that English people use to decorate with in that old fashioned, Little House on the Prairie style.
About five mintues (and 10 feet) before getting to the dark curtain, this small hum began to spread throughout the room and they started singing in high German. Amish sing in unison, no harmony. I imagined that is how it is when they have church services. I hope to experience one of those services some day. The man in front of me began singing, too. He knew the song only privy to the Amish.
When we finally reached the closed curtain area where grandma was waiting to be viewed, there was an Amish man standing at the doorway (maybe the funeral director), and he recognized the man in front of me. They spoke to each other in their Pennsylvania Dutch dialect, intermitently looking at me when he was speaking, probably thinking I was with the man in front of me and seemed to assume that I understood the conversation. I did get the jist of it since the dialect is a mix of high German and English. I could tell that they both were remarking at the number of people that came.
The man in front of me signed the guest book. His name was Elvin J. Zimmerman. I signed my name and thought - what Mennonite would have the name Padula?
I shake the funeral director's hand and walk "through the veil". The casket was not our usual casket, it was an old fashion coffin, squared off narrowly at the foot and diamond shaped at the head. A handmade wood coffin. Grandma was dressed in her best black funeral dress, white apron type piece, fashioned in placed with straight pins, and she was covered from waste down with a simple white blanket that you would have on your bed. She was different and I couldn't figure out why at first. I mean, I've been to alot of funerals and the deceased person always looks really good, much younger than how they looked before they passed away. English makeup artists for the dead use a lot of makeup, I guess. Well, grandma didn't have makeup on. She looked like she was perspiring a bit, too. Hmmm....she died on Tuesday, this is Thursday...good thing she gets buried tomorrow.
Out of the other side of the curtained room, it was now time to greet the LIVING. OH, my nerves were making my chest and face flush. I started on one side, shook a few hands, repeated sincerely, "I'm so sorry about your loss"...turned to the other side...."I'm SO sorry about your loss". The man in front of me (Mr. Zimmerman) quickly sits in an empty chair next to the dead woman's husband. He takes the man's arm and says, "do you remember me?" Grandpa looked at him closely and said, "you look familiar.... AH...you're not Elvin, ARE YOU?" and he started to smile. I walked on to the next person, his son Joseph, and shook his hand and went back to the facing row to do the same. A woman grabbed my hand and said, I think I recognize you but I'm not sure. (I now realize they really did think I was with that man - Elvin Zimmerman - past Amish, now almost English - probably Mennonite... damn skirt)....I told her that I was friends of Sarann and Jeffrey and she said, "You must be Rebecca! You took the girls to the shoe stores!" I said yes, and at that moment, Sarann turned towards me, seeing me for the first time, grabbed and hugged me, exclaiming (very loud), "THERE'S MY REBECCA!" and held me so tight. I was stunned. I forgot all the niceties and condolences I had planned to say and stammered over my words. I don't even remember WHAT I said at that point. I'm sure it was something really stupid. Nervously, I gave Jeffrey a hug and moved on to the hand shaking for the next 20+ strange family members who limply shook mine back. THEN, I got to the rest of their family, Johnathan, Nettie, Marianna and Susan. Each one hugged me SO tight and cried. When I tried to let go, they embraced me even harder, like they were trying to get their fill of a physical connection while it was "acceptable" to do so.
I was so amazed, it made a major impact on me. It was then that I realized that they considered me a friend. They have showed their acceptance, love and affection for me in front of their entire community. I am moved and honored by this.
Just to make sure, I waited a few minutes and when the line went down I went over and asked if they needed a ride home. They did not.
I moved through the crowd and started out the door, down the very dark lane to my car.
I turned my car around and headed for home through the dark, twisty country roads. Like earlier, I made a wrong turn and this time wound up in Bulter. I finally made it home an hour later.
Now to buy myself a Christmas present - a Garmin GPS system.
