Isabel Raloff Smith, August 31, 1922 - August 16, 1988

From the Shouts & Murmurs in The New York, July 5, ‘04:
Lord? Please don’t let me die in a funny way....Perhaps I should clarify a little. I do knnow that I’m going to die someday. (Maybe soon! That’s Your call.) And I know there’s nothing funny about death - at lest that’s the current thing from this side. I’m just asking to not die in a way that leads people who don’t know me to e-mail one another news items about my death......Even if I don’t die in funny way, I’d still rather not die on the same as some other person who does die in a funny way....

Grief is like childbirth in its rhythm of pain alternating with moments of relief in which one can catch one’s breath and prepare for the next assault. My mother died sixteen years ago today. The first days of raw sadness were broken up with intermittent fits of the giggles over the fact that Mom went on the anniversary of Elvis’ passing. If she had been a big fan, we could have said, “How cool, how fitting.” But she wasn’t. She didn’t understand The King’s appeal in the fifties and became more perplexed over time. So her demise on August 16th had an irony that was a blessing for us.
I missed the Shouts & Murmurs piece when it came out a month ago, but ran across it yesterday. A nice piece of comic relief. But I would disagree with the author - maybe I would like to die on the same day as someone who died in a funny way. For the family’s sake.
There’s a candlelight vigil at Graceland. That’s my signal to hustle off to Mass and pray for Mom....