Lately, it seems my life is full of both.
First, Lindsey's great-aunt and sort of adopted grandmother passed away a few weeks ago. Then, Lindsey's grandpa Herbie died in California. Then, Mustoe calls me and tells me the news of his friend from Columbia.
I tell ya folks, funerals suck. I'm lucky and unlucky in this regard.
I am very unlucky that I never knew my mom's dad, Papa, and my dad's mom, Nana. All I remember of Papa is a cigar, a birthmark and a dog he trained to be more human than animal. All I remember of Nana is a smile, a laugh and a story before bed. Papa died when I was 5 and Nana when I was 7. These were people I NEEDED to know. It's unfair that I didn't get a chance.
But, I'm also lucky. Just as I don't remember their lives, I don't remember their deaths. I remember Mom and Dad telling me about Nana and not believing it and running to the stairs of the Dome Home and crying. I remember something about Nate putting a car on Papa's chest, but I could've made that up. I don't remember my parents or siblings crying. Which is a good thing, 'cause when they cry I cry. I'm glad I don't remember the funerals, because, as mentioned above, funerals suck. I made it through Lynz's aunt's ok, but I broke down at Grandpa Herbie, mainly because of a beautiful euolgy that Lynz wrote and because I saw her crying. But it was weird, we were at the service, the very bored and boring preacher said all the right words in all the wrong ways, Lynz's thing was read and we cried. And then, 20 minutes later, we were all in the basement of the Eagles Club eating loose meat sandwiches like nothing had happened. I don't like funerals.
I pray for Corrine, Herbie, Tyler. I pray for Mustoe, Abby, Jeff, everybody. I pray for Lindsey, Brett, Cinde and her whole family. I pray for all the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, who have to have funerals.
At my funeral, no one will wear black, everyone will wear a different band t-shirt. No preacher, just stories. You'll sit and laugh and cry together, not silent in some stuffy room somewhere. Mustoe will play Free Bird and my wife and/or my kids will take my ashes to some mountian stream in Colorado and let me go.
My world has also been full of life. My sister's having a perfectly healthy baby boy and, yes, I'll probably be in the room. My brother's got two "bonus" kids, Joshua and Hannah for an indefinate time. And my best friends having a baby in March. I love those kids more than anything. Cori is so smart. Wesley is just as smart and such a laugh riot. Hannah has this bombastic belly laugh that goes along with her bombastic belly for a three year old, she looks like a doll. And Joshua, oh man, Joshua. I walked in the door and he ran up to me with his arms up and gave me a big year and half year old hug. I think he thought I was daddy, but it's ok he did it again the next time. I can't wait to be an uncle again, and an honorary uncle for Ryan and Honora. It's a role I think I was born to play.
Good times, bad times, the world keeps on spinning,
B
Monday, August 07, 2006
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1 comment:
That was beautiful, Beej. I would like to read Lindsey's eulogy some time if she doesn't mind. She writes lovely thank you notes so I'm sure anything she writes is very special. Your memories of Nana's and PawPaw's deaths are accurate. NAthan did put a Match Box car in PawPaw's coffin. You don't remember his funeral because I made a mistake and didn't take you to it. As a result you grieved longer than the rest of us. That's what funerals are good for. They let us grieve in the presence of others whom we love and who grieve with us. So don't knock them too much. When you are in charge of one, you can set a tone of joyful remembrance and hopeful anticipation for those who are grieving. But let them cry. And let yourself cry. It's what we all need to do.
By the way, you are wonderful and I love you. cb
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