I Finally Have the Smoking Hot Body...Having Been Cremated

Those who love the wry wit of David Sedaris, or the intimate storytelling of Terry Fallis, will love the funny vignettes that Barb Drummond evokes of her mother, Sybil Marie Hicks, who was diagnosed with early onset dementia in her 60s. Although this “thief in the night” illness stole Hick’s “vibrant personality and voice,” the pronouncement did not steal the family’s memories of her penultimate joie de vivre, her idiosyncratic shenanigans, and her kindnesses to strangers. And so, it is impossible not to laugh uproariously at the title of Drummond’s debut memoir, I Finally Have the Smoking Hot Body I Have Always Wanted (having been cremated).

Hicks, a former ER nurse and a practical joker who, from time to time, liked to “smoosh” cream pies into the unsuspecting face of her targets, was an accomplished Renaissance mother who painted and played the piano. A “symphony of creativity,” Hicks both saved lives and killed people with her humorous antics. Indeed, the quirky obituary that Drummond wrote in her mother’s voice, a first-person account that captured Hick’s exceptionally playful essence and unorthodox humour, went viral in twenty-four hours. That alone is a testament to Hick’s modus operandi—making the most of a situation by making people laugh (boisterously, I might add).

Adjacent to the merriment is Drummond’s deep well of grief—which began twenty years earlier when her mother, who she describes as having an infectious laugh that was punctuated by a snort, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. The fact that Drummond openly shares her deep sorrow and the threads of guilt she experiences for not being in contact with her mom for quite a while, allows those of us in similar situations to feel less alone.

But Hicks, true to her reputation of spreading empathy and kindness, wiped away that distance by writing newsy letters to Drummond, who uses them to recount poignant family incidents. The book’s droll chapter headings incite further laughter with titles such as, “Lots of F-Bombs and Drunk Obit Writers,” and “They Might Have Passed A Very Pleasant Evening Had Shit Not Gotten Real.”

Drummond gives us permission to laugh through our grief, to make it okay to use levity and humour to deal with our losses. “Funny how humour has its way of weaving strange threads through the fabric of reality at the worst possible moments,” Drummond opines. The sharing of stories about her mom before the episodes of paranoia and confusion caused by Alzheimer’s took over, imprinted Drummond’s "real" mom—“a quiet bomb”—in her heart and her memories.

Drummond balances irreverence and reverence in a way few memoirists can—making readers laugh, cry, and call their loved ones, sometimes all in the same chapter. Her masterful sharing of her mother’s laughter-inspired joy for life provides a road map for us to live our best moments with mindful enthusiasm and joy, while also fervently leaving us wishing that Hicks was still around so that we could have the privilege of revelling in her playful aura. I Finally Have the Smoking Hot Body I Have Always Wanted (Having Been Cremated) is a memoir that will stay with you, long after the last laugh.

—CANREADS BOOK REVIEW

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