And we took Sal to his first funeral last week. People said he was well behaved. He wasn’t too restless during the mass and would ask questions in a hushed voice. We talked to his pediatrician about how to address death with Sal and she recommended a book, which we bought, but I’m not so sure it’s that great. Maybe it’ll become more useful over time. Word is that he’ll bring up death at random times over the next few months as he tries to come to terms with it.
But its not like one really comes to terms with death do they? I mean, for me, it seems to be an evolving process – with each person’s passing bringing on different emotions and reactions within me.
My uncle had a long battle with cancer over the last couple of years. It was a roller coaster – good phases with hope, tough phases full of unanswerable questions. So I wasn’t surprised with his passing, but instead I was surprised by how I had to be reminded about how rich life is.
It came to light when people spoke about my uncle. Friends (we were all his friends, even if we were also co-workers or family) spoke of him in the fondest way. The same themes came up as people spoke about him, but each with their own different perspectives. I didn’t know what it was like to work with him, so it was enlightening to hear people he worked with talk about him. The crowd painted a picture of my uncle that was much richer than any of us individually would have seen ourselves, yet still was true to our particular view of him.
He was full of laughter.
One of my earliest memories of him was when I had just gotten a tent set. Little blue PVC pipes to connect to a cheap nylon sheet which could all be bundled up into a molded, plastic backpack. I was pleased with my tent set, wearing it around one afternoon. He called me over, wanted to check out what I was sporting and I proudly showed it to him. He held it, he toyed with it, and then he filled it up with rocks. I don’t think I was paying attention to that last part or at least didn’t fully comprehend the laws of gravity, because I was a little shocked when he put the backpack back on me and I immediately fell to the ground, my back stuck to the ground, my limbs as useless as a turtle’s. Looking up at him, I learned then that he was full of laughter.
At the time, i don’t think I thought it was that funny, but over the years, I developed a similar sense of humor. Good or bad isn’t as important as being able to laugh at it.
I think it was my uncle’s employer who was telling a story about how they had bought a 4-5 acre plot of land and my uncle came up with a plan that had 50+ townhomes on it. His boss was very impressed and was thinking my uncle had really outdone himself and was very curious about the plan. But when they met to go over the plans, they found out my uncle had been working on a map at a different (that is, incorrect) scale. Some laughter followed.
My father used the term irreverent and that rang true for many others that spoke later. My favorite anecdote was a co-worker talking about how my uncle designed a few of his homes for him over the 20+ years they knew each other. And for one home, my uncle was collaborating with his co-worker’s daughter about the design of her room and bathroom, leading to my uncle asking her (who was 13 at the time), “How many people do you need to fit into your shower?” Working with him would have been fun.
When I was at the church before my wedding, I was watching people arrive, thinking how nice it was that people would go out of their way like this for my wedding. I saw people I hadn’t seen for a while and would like to see again, but it seems like unless it’s a big party, people just aren’t as likely to make it out. And I guess unless some one’s getting married, one doesn’t really throw a big party. I’ve been questioning that tradition ever since then.
The fact that my uncle’s funeral drew about the same size crowd as my wedding spoke volumes about him to me. No invites were sent out. No real notice was given. No party with an open bar to look forward to (though, considering my uncle’s lifestyle, a party with an open bar would have been more his lifestyle). Nothing really upbeat about the event in anyway actually. But people still came out, to share memories of him. To help remind us all of what he brought to us, to remind us how rich he really was.
Catherine told me that I described my uncle’s house to her before her first trip out there as a place where the counter tops were comfortably high (for me – she might always need to wear her platform shoes to feel comfortable there) and that there was a bottomless bowl of nuts and chips downstairs near the pool table. Others would highlight the lake and its views, or the way the breeze felt on a May afternoon on the patio. I think somehow, everyone found his place comforting in their own way, perhaps tanning toes on the dock on the lake. Or maybe it was his presence that was comforting. Everyone found his friendship comforting in their own way. And his place was just a place you could count on finding that friendship.
And so, this has been the first funeral that has kind of inspired me a bit, to be better. The words people said about him – I’ll admit it – I’d be happy if half those could be said about me. There are things about him I can’t reproduce (he was still taller than me last January…he had shrunk a little, but not enough…) and I won’t be able to change overnight, but there was a way about him that I’d love to be able to carry on.
So hopefully, I won’t forget to ask myself occasionally – What would Jaime do?
Yeah. Exactly. I’m gonna bet the hardways for him this weekend…and laugh.