Betty’s Funeral Services

Today I decided I would take a trip down to Hayward to attend Betty’s Funeral Services. Since she was such a close family friend, I’m sure Mom would have wanted us to attend – as long as it wouldn’t be a bother.

The service was held at Holy Angles Funeral and Cremation Center. “Cremation Center” kind of sounds like the K-Mart of funeral homes – I half expected to see a quick check area but sadly it was familiar. I had been there before – one too many times in fact – it was the re-named Marchado Mortuary – where we dealt with arrangements for Mom, Dad and Mary’s Dad.

I think I knew Betty pretty well. Growing up, she would be the “stand in” mom when Mom and Dad were busy donating their time to the church or at the hospital having another sibling. Betty was always around. She kind of scared us though, as kids. I still remember the day she caught us playing with fire in the backyard. I remember the glare she gave us and I knew immediately we were in trouble. I also knew at once, that I had to blame the fire play on Ron, since he was older and should have known better.

So there I was standing at the back of a relatively small viewing room looking for an appropriate seat. (An appropriate seat would be, of course, anywhere that no one would sit next to me.) I sat down in an empty pew and scooted to end, a place where I could be by myself and alone with my thoughts.

Not more than ten seconds later a couple came in and came across the pew and pushed up right next to me. Other than us, the pew remained empty the rest of the service. Fifteen feet of pew and three people huddled together at one end like we were trying to stay warm.

The service began with a bit of a surprise. The officiator was Deacon Nels, from All Saints Church. I never realized that Betty knew Nels. Deacon Nels was also known as Nels Gonsalvas who used to be the youth leader at All Saints Church while I was in early high school. Phil and I would attend teen events where Nels was the guy in charge. I remembered him as someone we didn’t really like, somewhat condescending to us and there was always something odd about him. Phil and I stopped going to the youth events either because we got older – or we didn’t want to spend any more time with Nels than we had to.

The last time I had heard about Nels was when Phil was working vice in downtown Hayward. Phil had to arrest Nels for “solicitation for homosexual sex act”. Quite a story in itself – you ought to here Phil tell it someday. But here we were, so many years later, Nels was standing in front of us getting ready to tell me, my two snuggle buddies and thirty other people about Betty.

There he is standing there with the same hair, and the same mustache, though it was all white hair now, beginning the service like this.

“We are gathered here today to pay respects to….her. She meant a lot to all of us here and we will all miss…er…her for it.”

He then looks at his card and says, “Elisabeth. …err Betty will be missed by all.” Over his shoulder you can see many flowers that have banners that say things like, “Betty we will miss you. To Betty...etc. If Nels would have just looked back to get a clue as to “who” he was doing the service for – he wouldn’t have looked like such a dufus.

Like many Catholic based funeral services there is a large portion of time spent with attendees standing up and speaking about the deceased. This service was no different. First the wife of one of the two sons got up and spoke and then other son’s wife got up. Both were very heartfelt, tearful accounts of how Betty affected their lives. These two were followed by person after person getting up and crying through their talk. I’m telling you, there were a lot of tears.

Then we came to Rob. Rob was the son of Robert, one of Betty’s boys. Rob was about 25, decently dressed with short cropped hair. It was one of those haircuts where it was almost shaved around the neck and halfway up the back of the head and then as little longer up to the top of the head where the black hair has grown in. On the back of his next was a tattoo of a woman’s name, (not Betty) and up a little higher starting to be covered by growing hair was a much larger tattoo that covered the entire back of the head with an old English text that I couldn’t read. I tell you what it said but somehow it shouted; “I’ve been to prison!”

I know what the back of his head looked like so well because I was sitting behind him the whole time, wishing he would share his entire pew, that he had to himself, with the two people that were sitting on top of me.

So Rob gets up to give a tearful farewell to Betty. Through his many breakdowns and tears he tells this story:

“Last, (sniffle, sniffle) December, my girlfriend and I were in Hayward and stopped to see Betty, my grandmother. She was so nice to me, we stayed for dinner and when we left, she gave me $40. Betty had told him not to tell my dad (Robert) because he would get mad. I wish I had the $40 to give back to her, but I don’t have the $40 anymore.”

About this time I was getting a little uncomfortable. Not only from listening to this guy who probably mooched off of Betty every chance he got, when he was not in jail, but because of the “Shingles” rash that is reaching across my back. My right shoulder feels for the most part, a dull ache and occasionally you add to that an intense itch from the rash. It’s hard to get a good position to sit in.

As I’m sitting there shifting from side to side in attempt to feel better, this kid behind me starts bonking his head into my shoulder. Ouch! I give “the look” back to the parents who are mostly clueless and the kid finally stops.

Rob continues:

“I know I’ve made some, mistakes in my life…”

With that, this darn kid starts marching tiny, toy dinosaurs across the top of the pew and over my aching shoulder. I finally try giving the “mean” stare at the kid and he just stares back – the kid won the stare off.

Rob is really spilling out his life to us now. I thought he was going to tell us all where the bodies were buried.

“When I heard Betty died, I just had to see her one more time. So I went to her house. I had nowhere to go. I had a T.V. dinner in her living room because I missed her so much.”

The dad, Robert, is staring straight ahead not making eye contact with his crying son. He obviously had heard this song before and it was turning into an uncomfortable spectacle.

Rob’s voice is now rising slightly.

“When they found me in her house, I didn’t steal anything. I just had a T.V. dinner. I didn’t steal anything.” And he looked tearfully at his dad who did not even look at him.

Rob comes back to his seat. I too, didn’t want to look him in the eye, moved to the edge of the pew to lean on my arms and look to the floor, amazed at what I just heard.

As I’m resting on my knees looking at the floor – and that damn kid with the dinosaurs crawls under the pew from behind and comes up looking at me, between my legs!

It was time for me to go.