MAMA'S BREATH

My son wrote a song a number of years ago called "Mama's Breath" . . .  the lyrics continued; "don't smell like whiskey no more." A novelty tune to be sure.

Last Wednesday night we waited in line almost two hours to visit with the family of a dear departed friend at the funeral home. Jane Brinkman passed away last Saturday after a five month bout with cancer.  During that time she planned and orchestrated all of her funeral arrangements.  She wanted it simple, "plain Jane" she called it:  no movies, no slides, just two large photographs;  one of her with her husband and children and one with all the the children's families - she had six kids, 24 grandchildren and five great-grandchildren.  She picked out her dress and casket and flowers and funeral mass.

There was one other thing she insisted upon.  Next to her, in the casket to be buried with her, sat a fifth of Beefeater Gin and a liter of tonic.   The lady knew what she liked.

She wasn't taking any chances where she would end up.  Her funeral mass on Thursday was officiated by six priests and a deacon.  A beautiful service for a beautiful lady.

*o*