A Prairie Home Companion from American Public Media: First Person

Mom's Shelf
By Riva Duncan
October 10, 2007

Mom bought herself a spot in a mausoleum instead of a plot outside in the cemetery. She calls it her "shelf." She urged my husband and me to go look at it the last time we visited. We stopped on our way to meet family for pizza. I know how that must sound, but it was on the way. Mom sat in the car while Matt and I went in to see it. We followed her directions, through the chapel which smelled strongly of flowers and grief. We hung a right and then another right into a small room. There was no one else around, and it was very quiet. The walls were covered in marble with people's names on them. Beautiful names that represent the ethnic richness of my hometown. Names like Zappa and Mangione, Strantz and Ganser, Olziewski and Robillard. Some even had small photos attached. A beautiful stained-glass window let some light in. Small house plants sat on shelves. A sturdy bench stood in the middle of the room. We found Mom's name and the year of her birth. Was it weird? Honestly, not really. It was nice. Right after they put her name on it, she took one of my sisters to see it. Mom wanted to make sure they spelled her name correctly. They snuck in a bottle of champagne and celebrated with a couple of glasses of bubbly. To make it seem not so...strange.

I'm glad Mom found her shelf. I'm glad she has lived long enough to choose her resting place. When she passes, will I come here? I don't know. I've never felt like a person's grave was where their soul hangs out. But I'll probably go. She wants that; wants a comfortable, climate-controlled place for us to visit. Many years ago, when my now 42-year old brother was 8 or 9, mom talked about wanting to be cremated. She swears my brother said, "But where will I go to visit you?" Years later, when she was discussing her burial wishes and mentioned the crypt, I said that I thought she wanted to be cremated. She said, "I can't do that. Your brother said he wants to be able to visit me." "Mom. He was nine years old! Ask him now." I don't think she ever did. But that's okay; she really likes her shelf. She says she doesn't like the idea of her body being in the cold ground.

Sometimes I think of mom dying. She's almost 72 and her health is very poor. I think of going back to Mishawaka to visit my brother and my sister after mom is gone. Where will Matt and I stay? We always stay at Mom's house. It's not the house I grew up in, but it's been "home" for several years. Most important, it's where Mom is. Her housekeeping isn't what it used to be, and the fridge is way too full of fuzzy, green and outdated foods. The house smells of medicine and bodily fluids and sometimes a too-full litter box. I don't get to visit often, but when I do, I stay there. It's not that bad.

So, where then, after she is gone? My brother and his wife have three boys and not a lot of room. I know they would welcome us and be happy to have us. My sister and her husband have plenty of room, but they travel a lot and are gone for most holidays. Hotel? That just seems so odd to me to stay in a hotel in my hometown. Friends? Nah. Well, wherever we end up that first time, it'll be sad without Mom. It'll be different, and we probably won't feel "at home." I'll go visit her shelf, though. Maybe take a small house plant. I didn't check the room with Mom's shelf for electrical outlets. If we can't plug in a blender for Margaritas, I guess they'll just have to be on-the-rocks.

About the author:
I grew up in Mishawaka, IN, a former blue-collar town inhabited by Italian, Belgian, Polish, and Irish families. I currently live in Northern California with my husband, Matt, and our 3 dogs and 2 cats. I'm a firefighter with the US Forest Service. Mom continues to encourage my writing.