THE LAST LAUGH

THE LAST LAUGH We sat the patient back in the dental chair and we had planned on repairing a filling that morning when through the humming of a dental office we hear an electronic generated voice “It is now nine o’clock AM.” It was coming from the patient’s wrist watch. I immediately lost my professional poise and pulled away from the patient to laugh uncontrollably. The flashback triggered a huge memory rush that continued for a short while, until I was able to get my composure under control. I knew that my unusual response to her talking watch needed some clarification. I proceeded to explain. Two months previous my mother had passed away quite suddenly in Sioux City, Iowa. Both my mother and my sister lived there in Sioux City. My mother died in her apartment on a Monday evening, but she was not discovered until Tuesday afternoon. The family was notified and we planned over the phone to have a Friday evening wake and a Saturday morning funeral. As soon as I could get to Sioux my sister and I would make arrangements with the funeral Director. I lived in Minneapolis and the trip to Sioux City was about five hours away by car, so we made an appointment for 2:00 PM on Thursday with the funeral Director in his office. Years before my mother had passed she suffered from macular degeneration and she slowly started to loose her ability to see. She lost her vision looking straight ahead, but she could see shapes and shadows only in her peripheral vision. She was able to navigate the neighborhood by herself, but in new settings she would need assistance. She began to use the state services for the blind and the family helped by purchasing aids and tools for the blind. She had a watch that would electronically announce the time every hour, on the hour, all day long. She also could push a button on its side anytime she wanted to know the time. When she first lost her vision she became depressed due to the fact that the local radio and television news were her source of information. The local media’s focus was mainly on tragedies and ambulance chasing. The Iowa Services for the Blind provided her with a cassette tape machine so that she could listen to books on tape. She also could order all kinds of reading material on tape. Vision loss was a gift in disguise because she would listen to books on tape that she may not have read if she still had her vision. Reading or listening to books on tape broadened her perspective on life and counteracted life’s depressing news. Wednesday at 2:00 PM my sister Betty and I were seated in the funeral Director’s office and we were told to wait for the funeral director. It was a dark dimly lit room that had a huge dark wood desk for the Director. His desk was cluttered with samples of funeral paraphernalia, i.e.: copies of printed prayers, sample cover photos that were religious and non-religious, price sheets, and more. We sat there waiting somewhat uncomfortable in these morbid surroundings and anxious to get it over with. The time passed at a snails’ pace. Five minutes seemed like an hour and we did not hear or see anybody. At ten minutes we were restless and wondering if he had forgot about us. We began to roam around the room reading his diplomas and his licenses on the walls. You could not see outside through the window due to the fact that it was frosted colored glass. Finally, the door opened in walked a black suited tall pale man with graying hair. He reminded me of the character “Lurch” on the old TV sitcom “The Adams Family”. I had not met the Director before, so I assumed that this was him. As he entered the room he did not say hello or greet us in any way. He did not apologize for being late. He continued to walk towards us and walked up behind us and finally in a deep, soft, and somewhat hoarse voice he whispered” You never told me that your mother had a talking watch.” Immediately I visualize this man laboring over my mother’s dead body and out of no where a woman’s voice announced “It is two o’clock.” The potential terror and shock suddenly tickled every funny bone in my body. As I attempted to contain my amusement I looked over at Betty and she too had that glimmer of joy boiling over inside. We sat there like two school kids unable to look at him or at each other without breaking out in giggles. Mom had given us one last laugh and we had to share it in irreverent silence.