Another Friday, Another Funeral

Two weeks ago, we attended Ruth's memorial service. It meant a long car ride the day before, and a contingent of us who had sailed with her wanted to attend. It ended up that two couldn't make it, and among three cars, the rest of us from the upper Northeast made our way to the MidAtlantic. A sailing couple drove out from the Midwest to be there, too, and for the first time, we all met inland.

Ruth's husband was happy to see us, and his sister, D, and her longtime boyfriend, who have also sailed with us, greeted us warmly.

Ruth grew up in a religious family in a religious community. Her sisters kept with their faith, but Ruth questioned hers somewhere around college and was disappointed with God for years, wondering how He could let so much injustice prevail. Towards the end of her life, Ruth re-examined her faith and found herself returning to it. She told me she felt like a hypocrite, questioning, denouncing to a degree even, only to reconsider later on. She didn't want it to be just the cancer talking. I told her i'd tell her what a priest once told me, "There's always room for one more hypocrite in the church. You'll be among good company!"

I went on to talk a bit about my faith. How i had questioned, wondered, tried on others for size. In the end, when i found myself in a place where it was only me and knowing i needed more than just me, myself, and i, did i really give God a chance. Perhaps if i weren't so hardheaded i wouldn't have had to be in that situation. But if i weren't so hardheaded, i wouldn't be me, i'd be somebody else.

And here she laughed and agreed. But the injustice of things, and how can He let this happen? I told her it bothered me, too, and later on i wrote her a note saying that at some level i think it's a reap what we sow situation. Yes, i know there are people who are innocent who get fragged, but i think that's the double-edged sword of free will. I never liked the idea of predestination so kicked that to the curb early on, and i've no doubt God has foreknowledge of what we'll do, but we can exercise our will freely. Like a parent who gives his kid free rein, the parent knows the kid won't always get it right. But the kid has to try, and live with his success or if need be, his failure. Feel the consequences of both. And sometimes that means that lots of people who don't have it coming will pay dearly; or, and this seems to happen much, much less often, lots of people may get a free ride. Some of those folks who flex their free will with little regard for others should definitely know better, and i think of those Bible verses where they talk about some of the punishments being meted out to those who were meant to lead and instead led astray. There are times where i want God to pick me so i can go punch out their lights, and then there are other times where i leave it to Him and figure He's got it covered. I expected to hear back from Ruth about it, as she had mentioned that she wanted to reply to it, but she never did. From the sounds of it at her memorial service, i gathered that she had made peace with God.

The service was held at a Protestant church that didn't want anything too papal. Plain pews, simple altar. It was about 45 minutes away from her house, and i wondered why it was so far from her home. Maybe this was her family church at one point? In his talk, the preacher mentioned that Ruth's sisters considered this their church home. Besides the preacher a few others spoke, a few family members and a member from her book club. The one family member referred to Aunt Ruth and her sisters as "the army of aunts." This is a part of the country where the words "aunt" and "ant" are pronounced alike, so it was a play on words. Ruth had often mentioned her sisters to me. They seemed an indomitable, loving bunch. This was borne out by the family members who spoke. The women in her book club stood collectively at the lectern pulpit as their appointed spokeswoman gave her heartfelt talk. They, too seemed an indomitable, loving bunch.

I was sailing the week i turned 50, with many of the Old Salts with whom i sailed before. They had decided that each would create a page for me, and Ruth would assemble each page in a binder and present it to me. I had no idea they had planned this and was deeply touched. Ruth put a couple photos on her page to me, one with her and her sisters juxtaposed with another with her and her book club. She captioned them this way, "My sisters, all of them God-fearing Republicans," and "My book club, all of them liberal Democrats." I noticed that Ruth was in the middle of each group, and at her service, we sailing folks happened to sit behind "the army of aunts." We took most of the pew: two atheists, one Jew, two occasional church attenders, one regular church attender, then Himself and me, lapsed church attenders. We all love and miss her, and our pew was, i think, representative of those who knew Ruth. No matter where she went, she was in the middle of things, was accepted, and loved. Her sisters, of course were family in the sense one often uses the word. Her book club, that circle of women who'd been meeting for 40 years, was also her family. Her sailing friends were another part of her tribe.

After the service, there was a luncheon in the church's annex. One of the women in the book club was wearing a lovely red boa, and i wanted to tell her how much i liked it. "Oh, you must be Meg," another of the book club ladies said after i said how much i liked the boa. I nodded and was surprised. "Ruthie told us so much about you, " to which i found myself replying, "And, i'm sure all of it was true." We laughed, and i wondered if they'd come sailing. Some wanted to, so maybe we'll meet again on the waves.

Ruth's sisters visited with us at the sailing table. They welcomed us warmly, said how our friendship meant a great deal to both Ruth and her husband. I could see why Ruth loved her sisters so. Love radiated from them in everything they did.

After the luncheon we met back at a hotel where D had secured two suites. Some had stayed there the night before, and there was more food and vast quantities of alcohol. I had a dram of absinthe, something i haven't drunk in over 30 years. Given that i hadn't slept well for a few nights prior to the long drive, i knew it wouldn't take much alcohol to affect me, so nursed the drink for our entire visit. It was good to visit with the others, swap stories, change out of our mourning clothes into comfy jeans and tee shirts, and let loose a bit.

I was glad that we'd chosen to stay elsewhere, because, as typically happens with me for things like this, i craved quiet after a bit, and was called upon to drive most of the way back to our lodging. After a dreamless sleep, i awoke early next day, and we started the long ride back. SFB drove most of the way, i drove for some. We didn't hit snow until the last 40 minutes to his house, which was our meet-up point. We chatted with SFB's wife for a bit, and then drove the last 45 minutes home in a snow squall.

Earlier this week, SFB said that his FIL wasn't doing too well. The tide had been going out for a while, so this wasn't a complete surprise, and just before midweek, the tide went all the way out. He called yesterday to say that the service would occur today at 11 a.m. and was sorry for the last-minute notice. There'd been so many calls to make. This service was a far shorter drive, and i was able to attend. The hospice carer spoke a few words of his own, then read something SFB's wife had written about her dad. I was sorry i didn't get chance to meet him. Many of the attributes she mentioned were ones my dad had, too. Not demonstrative, didn't express feelings, could fix anything, wanted to support his family.

It was clear from her words that she dearly loved her dad, and i was glad for her and sad for me. At the time my father died, i couldn't have written something so heartfelt. My relationship with my father had been strained for many years, and we were on the verge of its improving when he died.

I hugged SFB, SFB's wife was surprised and glad i came and hugged me. I met SFB's MIL where i shook hands and explained i was one of SFB's sailing friends. "And that's really all you have to say, " SFB's wife said with a genuine smile. Yes, she was right. I didn't have to say more, her mother was probably already overwhelmed, and i was there for the two people i knew to lend my support however i was able. SFB's sister-in-law was on the other side of her mom, and she hugged me, too.

On the way home, i got to thinking more about what a loving daughter had written about her dad. Words i might have said had my dad and i had chance to see the improved rapport grow. And like other funerals i've attended where i wasn't close to the decedent, i had chance to mourn those departed from my life, a chance for a little more healing to take place, a chance for wisps of love to glimmer. I recalled my family's funerals and how much it meant to me when others attended out of respect or love, or who just wanted to show their support.

I don't like funerals or memorial services, but i do appreciate the genuine love and concern they can bear out, given a chance. That opportunity for a person's tribe to collect, meet, mourn, and support each other. That reminder to make the most of each day, let those you care about know you do, and to say good-bye to one who, depending on one's faith you think you may not or perhaps will or hope to see again in a happier space.

Funerals

Funerals seems to bring out the best and worst in people. FIL's funeral was no different in this regard.

For one thing, i had to fly down for the funeral. Well, i didn't have to, but by train/bus/train, it would have taken over 15 hours, and as Himself and i would drive back together, driving myself there didn't seem to make sense, even with a rental car. Or, especially with one, having to do the NYC to Philly gauntlet of driving. Flying would be the quickest, even if i opted for two stops instead of one, saving 50% on the fare. I also opted to have carry-on luggage only, and felt naked without my Swiss army knife with me. I misplaced it a few weeks ago, and have yet to find it, so it was easier than usual to leave it behind. But still missed. I also enquired if knitting needles are once again allowed or if these would be viewed as weapons. No way was i willing to surrender my half-done mitten to some TSA person who wouldn't give a monkey's about my knitting efforts.

Nope, knitting needles were okay. So, i booked my flight and hoped for the best that the hardware in my leg wouldn't be too much of a security problem.

It took me about 15 minutes to pack, and i couldn't sleep at all, fearing that i'd oversleep the alarm. I didn't, and i was grateful that the local regional airport required me to be there a half hour before the flight rather than the two-hour requirement most of the large airports require.

I had always loved to fly and deeply resented the fallout from the @#)($#(* terrorists 11 September attack on the Twin Towers. I wondered if i'd feel that same sense of wonder and anticipation i used to feel, even if everyone would look askance as i set off all the security alarms because of my leg's hardware. I had called for a taxi to take me to the airport, so we wouldn't have to get my car on the way back. The taxi driver arrived a bit early, and we left right on time. It was a beautiful sunny day, and we chit-chatted about the weather and wondered where the summer had gone. As we pulled up to the front door at the airport, i felt a surge of excitement. That same sense of adventure i had always felt when flying returned. Take that, you @#($(@* terrorists.

The security check-in wasn't really that bad. I had my toiletries bag ready for when i go boating, and had a ziplock bag in there chiefly to keep things dry. At the beginning of the sailing season this year, i had filled empty travel sized bottles with my preferred shampoo and conditioner. I hadn't used much of either on my 4-day trip in June on my friend's schooner, and it was easy enough to put them all in the extra ziplock i had in the toiletries bag. The woman doing the security check kindly explained that we'd need to pull out the liquid items, place them in the plastic zippy bag, and that she could give us one if we didn't have one. No more than 3.5 ounces; again, i easily met that requirement. I wore slip on sneakers/trainers so they were easy enough to shed, and i learned to unzip/rezip my laptop bag with alacrity.

I told the man at the gate about the hardware in my leg, and it didn't set off any alarm. He commented that my hardware must be doing a good job, and he had some stuff in his knee.

I pulled out my knitting whilst we were waiting for boarding. A puddlejumper to the Big Airport awaited us, and the first lady who greeted us gave us our seating assignments. She placed me in the last seat in back. I was the only one with an empty seat next to me, and she explained it was because of my knitting. Sweet woman, as i could sprawl the yarn all over quite comfortably. I told her i thought it was because i was the shortest passenger and most people would consider it a squeeze. She gave me a knowing look that seemed to say, "That, too," and i made my way to the back, which was two steps from the doorway. There was only a pilot. A passenger sat in what would have been the co-pilot's seat on any other plane. I was a tad envious of his position, but i also knew nearly everyone else was wishing he or she had brought along knitting to get a bit of breathing space, too, that i freely had with the empty seat. I think the plane could hold 10 passengers at most, and even i couldn't stand up in the plane without knocking my head against the ceiling.

As the plane revved to start its dash down the runway before takeoff, the smile on my face involuntarily widened. I always love the moment of takeoff, and that sense of awe filled me as we felt the wheels leave the ground and wind support the wings. Just like sailing, only the wings were horizontal instead of vertical, and made from metal rather than fabric.

The view was astounding as we rose above inlets and coves i know so well. I thought i spotted my friend's schooner and waved. Not that they would be able to see me, and it was early enough that no one except the cook, mate, and perhaps messmate were up, but it was the thought that counts.

Arriving at the Big Airport meant i had to catch a bus for my connecting flight at another terminal and needed to go through the security check-in again. I had everything ready, explained about the hardware in my leg, and they had me stand in front of an X-ray machine for the full body scan. Easy-peasy, and i was cordial as i put my shoes back on and told the security guy that didn't hurt a bit. And it hadn't. After all the horror stories of ugly TSA moments, i was relieved to find that the folks i encountered were just doing their job. They were careful to make sure i got my laptop back. They explained that i needed a separate bin for it, and even though i'm sure they needed to say it hundreds of times every day, it didn't sound stale.

At my last layover, we didn't have to go through another security check, as the transit bus met us near the plane and dropped us off behind the security check-in point. An Asian woman liked my mitten and asked about the double-knitting technique. I had her try on the mitten i had already finished so she could see that it wasn't as bulky as she might expect. The cook on my friend's schooner texted me to let me know she had checked on the cats and all was okay. My friend who is a nurse was going to check on the kitties the other days, but couldn't the first day, as she was on call. Another sailing friend texted me to say he was thinking of me, hoped all was well. We texted a few more times, he telling me a bit about his sailing trip, me giving a tenative itinerary on when Himself and i would return.

Himself picked me up at the airport, and had to wait a half-hour longer than anticipated as we left a tad late and those of us who had carry-on luggage had some pieces that were too large for the smaller overhead bins. One of the women who waited behind me for our tagged pieces to be brought to us remarked on my knitting. She was a weaver. Who knew that a pair of mittens could be such a conversation starter?

As Himself drove and i looked at a landscape that had been so familiar, i mentally noted some of the changes. This house's paint colour scheme had changed, that commercial building now sported a different name.

Friends wanted to take us out to lunch next day, and they did. It was wonderful to chat with them, and three years' absence wrought few changes. Their hair is a bit whiter, but their wit as sharp as ever, and we enjoyed a lovely lunch.

The viewing was later that evening, and although my brother-in-law didn't want an open casket, he was outvoted by his sister and Himself. I am not good with dead things, never have been, and i abhor open caskets. I wasn't consulted of course, being only the in-law, and it was a gift from God that i was as okay with it as i was. Perhaps all those gifts the cats have brought me toughened me up a bit. Most of the people who came came for Himself, my SIL, and BIL; one of FIL's dearest friends, himself 90 or so, let Himself know that as much as he'd like to make the 2.5 hour journey to pay his respects, he just couldn't. One of Himself's childhood friends has a mother who's still living and also opted not to make the trip. She must be in her 80's by now.

I chatted with many of the people who came, especially those who came for Himself. I was sad for our loss, but not for FIL. He was more than ready to go. I didn't get chance to speak to a few as they stayed very briefly, but i'd get to speak to them the next day.

After the viewing another childhood friend Himself has wanted to take us out for dinner. My FIL had been pretty much a surrogate father for him, and i felt very sorry for his loss. I asked him to stay the night at our house, as he was going to attend the funeral service the next day and be a pallbearer.

We were invited out to breakfast by FIL's BIL. He had flown up from Florida for the service. His wife, FIL's sister, wasn't well enough to make the trip. I hadn't seen Uncle B for several years, so offered to ride with him. He welcomed my company, introduced me to his Garmin/GPS, which he calls "Road Bitch," and we chatted easily about boats and the theatre. He and his wife are a striking couple, and as i looked at Uncle B, i saw that he now looked like an elderly man. The blue eyes were as penetrating as ever, and his years of serving in the Navy still showed as he looked crisp and neat, but his jowls showed the lines of age, and his step was a bit slower. On the ride to the church, he confided some things. I must have one of those faces, and i don't gossip. Consequently, i know any number of family secrets that other family members would be appalled to learn that i know.

The night before, SIL had thought we were one pallbearer short. I told Himself i'd be glad to volunteer and went up to SIL to let her know i could help. No, they had found someone else, and here i felt a bit miffed. I was surprised at how much i really and truly wanted to do this. Me who recoiled at dead things. Himself said i could take his place, but i didn't think that right, so i told him no and decided that even if i felt a bit bruised, i needn't make a scene about it. Himself had volunteered to say a few words and came over a few minutes later, asking if i'd take his place as pallbearer as he wanted to rewrite a bit of what he was going to say. I nearly said no, thinking him simply diplomatic, but i opened my mouth, "Okay," popped out, and i saw he was visibly relieved.

The priest is from Nigeria and speaks English with a sing-song cadence. He is one of those happy men of God who lives his faith. If more Christians were like him, i'm sure more people would be attracted to Christianity. His homily was a mix of encouragement, solemnity, and joy in expectation of everlasting life. Himself and our older nephew both spoke after that. They both spoke from their hearts, and i think it did them both a world of good.

We went to a nearby restaurant afterwards, and there were 30 or so in our party.

After a few hours at home and a bit of a nap, we met up with friends for another meal and wonderful conversation.

I gained three pounds in as many days, and was grateful for the outpouring of love and support. People said it with food and funny stories. With hugs and tears. By sending flowers, or in one case, with a gift certificate so Himself and i could enjoy ourselves as we saw fit.

I had chance to see a number of people i haven't seen since moving to the new location, and it was nice to catch up on things.

The kitties were glad to see us when we returned, and the relief of not keeping an ear cocked for "that" phone call in the wee hours is visible in both Himself and me.

I did say at the start how funerals seem to bring out the best and worst in people. I've decided to focus on the good stuff.