Jacob, Part II: Saturday, funeral
Cut for length.
I didn't sleep well Friday into Saturday. I hadn't slept well all week, and knowing I had something going on, well, it's like anti-Christmas. At least I'd gotten all my stuff ready Thursday night, when we knew what was going on. I don't think I mentioned it, but Thursday morning, pretty much first thing, I Googled Jacob's name and found the obituary. I immediately called dad, who was unaware the obit had been posted. He then spent the rest of the day on the phone with everyone, while trying to work. When we got home, I asked if he'd ever contacted mom; he said no. So when mom found out Thursday night that the wake was the next day, and that we'd known about it all day, she was pretty pissy about it. For the record, she does have a smartphone, meaning if she was with it enough to think of it, she could have Googled it herself. But no.
(She's really self-centered. She kept complaining about how she only had so much time to get ready for it, and this and that, and it's like, you knew he died two days ago. Sure, we had no idea how soon the body would be released, since it's an ongoing investigation, but this really shouldn't have come as a surprise. Just...get over yourself.)
I think I woke up around 5, though I didn't need to get up until 6 or even 6:30. The consensus was that we'd leave at 8:30 for the 10 o'clock funeral. Whatever time I ended up showering and starting my hair--it takes a while--I was in good shape about 8 o'clock, when I went to finish getting dressed and doing my hair. And then mom called me over to do *her* hair. Uh, that's not why I came upstairs. Her hair's at an odd length for her and she gets sick of it being in her face--plus it was supposed to be very, very windy, which it was--and she wanted the front part pulled back. Okay, so pull it back. It's not that hard. And she was going to put it in a ponytail holder. Yeah, that's classy. So I ended up spending probably 10-15 minutes doing her hair, and putting a clip in instead of the ponytail holder, and it actually held all day and looked pretty decent. Really, though, she's the mom; shouldn't she be doing my hair? (This would be part of the reason I feel like the parent in this relationship, but I digress.) However long it took, I was still able to get myself ready by 8:30. Mom was even ready at that time; it was my father we had to wait for, though we still left at 8:32. Traffic was still pretty light at the time, so it was only about a half-hour to the Ike, then about another half-hour to the old neighborhood. I have not been on the Ike in years, or at least that portion. My lord, I've forgotten how congested the road is. Even at 9 o'clock on a Saturday morning there were a ton of cars. I can't even imagine it 12 hours later. Also, the sky was hazy, so the skyline looked unusual--you couldn't see the different levels of the Willis Tower (still seems strange not to call it Sears Tower) and that really changed what it looked like. Don't mess with my skyline, Mother Nature.
I've already discussed our gallivanting about the neighborhood. When we first got there--and I was stunned at just how close it was to the Kennedy--we first pulled into this parking lot across from Jacob's father's apartments. This was adjacent to the Catholic school, so I figured it was the school's lot. (Also, there was this little old Asian man gesturing us in there for some reason.) No; it's some random parking lot, and dad always parks there when he comes to visit. But we had so much time that dad started driving us around and pointing out houses and kind of annoying me and mom and possibly some of the fine people of the neighborhood, who probably wondered who the weird guy pointing at things was. At one point we went by the parking lot again and the old guy waved us into the lot again; dad waved him off. But we did go in and stay in the third time we passed by. It was still early enough that a lot of people weren't there yet, so there was still parking. In a neighborhood as dense as that one is, that's important.
The neighborhood is only a couple of miles from the lake, if that, and the wind was pretty gusty. Between the wind, and the chill, and the tallish buildings, it was cool when we weren't in what little sunlight filtered through in places. It was just warm enough that I left my jacket in the car--that, and it wasn't exactly funeral-worthy. By the way, my concert outfit doubles as funeral wear, so I actually wore the outfit twice in a week's time. One of my father's friends, Mike I think, was out there, so dad joined him and I think another guy while mom and I went inside. Oh, right, it was Mike because we asked where the bathroom was and Mike let us know.
Oh, the bathrooms. They were off the main vestibule area in front of the sanctuary, in a smaller vestibule with a set of stairs leading up to the balcony and organ area. They were like single stalls, size-wise, but were full bathrooms. They were so cramped that they could only fit a half-sink in there, and it was sideways, long and narrow; the paper towel dispenser was on the same wall as the toilet, because there was no other place for it. And there wasn't a mirror, I guess because we're not supposed to be vain? Dunno. But mom went first and discovered pee on the floor and was none too happy about it; she put down paper towels that I left as sort of a warning but were picked up by the time I went the second time.
Once we finished freshening up, we went into the sanctuary; I know we don't call it that but I've been to more Protestant churches in recent years than Catholic ones. Anyway, we looked around at all the interesting things, and I took a bunch of pictures, and dad pointed out the various changes before going outside. It was so windy that mom and I and Mike's wife Linda stayed in the vestibule (again, can't think of the actual name) just inside the inner stairs--there was a set of outer stairs, then doors, then inner stairs, then another set of doors and then the vestibule. Any time the doors opened, we felt the cool rush of air, but it was still better since the doors faced west and the wind was out of the east.
We had to wait for quite a while. Who knows what time they left the funeral home, but it was miles away; they did not arrive at 10. In fact, mass didn't start 'til about 10:30. The hearse arrived first with a number of pallbearer cars and the family and what-not, but two of the pallbearers got stuck in traffic or couldn't find parking and we had to wait for them, which was hard and not everybody realized what was going on. All I knew was that I counted four guys at the back of the hearse, including Todd; I was pretty close to where they were. Basically, as soon as the hearse arrived, we went outside to greet the casket, but they didn't pull it out until all the guys were there, which would be another 5-10 minutes--hard because of the circumstances of the death, harder because of the strong wind.
Dad had said he wanted a pew with a kneeler. Well, truthfully, they all had kneelers; I figured he meant one with a cushion. But mom wanted to sit toward the back. We let him lead, and we ended up in one of the first half-pews, without a cushion. Great. And we were really close to a few other full pews across the aisle with cushy kneelers, but oh well. Our penance for never going to church, I suppose.
I should mention a few of the people we encountered while waiting in the vestibule. One was a woman who dressed a little too cool for the weather, in strappy heels and a more summer-like dress, who kept going in and out. Mom was like, she acts like she belongs here. Well, it turned out it was a woman named Gail, who had lived across the street as a child; her father had been a well-known alderman, though she goes by a shortened version of their last name. Aha, she *does* belong here. But my word, she was in and out constantly, which I know because she was across the aisle from me and I kept seeing her coming and going and it was kind of distracting. There was also a woman who goes by Elay with this group (and I'm probably not spelling that correctly); she's not an original, but Jacob's father was her landlord for a while and as such got to know the guys when they would have their get-togethers at his place. At first I thought she was their age, and misunderstood her explanation of where all she'd lived (she said she was gone 20 years, but I thought she said she spent 20 years in California and then 14 in Louisiana, but it was only 3 years in CA or something), and was amazed at how good she looked. She's definitely not my father's age, but still she looked fabulous. She's probably in her early 50s but looks in her 40s. And then there was the guy who came in with his tie askew. Like, one part was over one shoulder, and the other part the other. He was like a TV character. This was strengthened when he talked to Mike and Linda, who were with us at the time (Mike may have come in later, but I know he was there when Elay arrived); turns out that was Crazy Louie. Aha. Makes total sense.
So, anyway, the funeral. This is now my second funeral under Vatican III, as I like to think about it. I really dislike the changes to the mass; it's now less Catholic. That was the comforting thing about being a lapsed Catholic; you could go to church after years of being away and still know what was going on. Now? Not so much. They sing the Lord's Prayer! They hold their hands up, palms to the ceiling, when they do this! If I wanted to be Protestant, I'd be Protestant. This isn't a Catholic thing at all. Thanks, Pope Benedict. So, yeah, mass was weird. It was *so* weird. So, we had the Irish priest again, whom I later heard wasn't even part of the parish; they borrowed him from elsewhere. And then there were these two random guys up on the altar with him, but no altar boys. The guys were in normal clothes, no garments or anything, but they weren't dressed like any of the mourners, who wore what I'd term respectful clothing. A polo shirt and Dockers, not really respectful. It was really weird. So it turns out they no longer have altar boys, which is why the random dudes were there, and at least one of them was a maintenance worker or something who I guess pitched in to help. So strange. Because the whole thing wasn't strange enough to begin with. Only the priest spoke, and nobody sang along to the music. There was a pianist who accompanied herself, which was kind of cool. I was so far back I couldn't really see her, but she seemed like perhaps she was in her 20s but vocally she sounded much older. That was strange for me, too. And I'm used to singing along, but there weren't any missalettes (spellcheck is not liking that word, but oh well) in the pews and frankly nobody sang, so oh well. (I've double-checked and that is the correct spelling of missalette.)
Despite using the facilities when we arrived, I had to go again by the time mass started. I knew I wasn't going to make it through the whole thing, or at least that I'd have to go before we left. Okay, how long can I hold it... We got to the first part of mass where we kneeled, and it was super uncomfortable. Not to mention the lady in front of me, who perhaps was the mother of one of the pallbearers, did not kneel, so I basically was in her hair. Oh, and old-school Catholics know that the pews used to be close enough together that you could sort of fake-kneel, where your butt was on the pew but your knees were on the kneeler; when they reconfigured the church they moved the pews far enough apart that you couldn't do that any longer. Grr. So you really had to commit to kneeling, and I did; if my father, with his bad knees, could do it, so could I. Mom gave up pretty quickly, though. The second time kneeling was during communion, and as soon as that started I said, screw it, plus I don't take communion, so this was my time to use the washroom again.
I was not the only one with that thought and found a line...as well as a bunch of people, like two dozen, waiting in the vestibule. This was clearly a baptism or something like it; there didn't seem to be enough people for a first communion. And their ceremony probably should have started at 11, which was about what time it was, but since we started so late, they had to wait. As did I, in line for the bathroom. There were two younger people, like in their 20s, plus the guy with the crazy tie. Oh, great. So he's making small talk with the other two people, whom he's somehow gotten between even though they were there before us (I left the sanctuary just behind him), and saying how when he was a kid, there weren't any bathrooms at all in the church. Good thing there were some now, but then again, most people lived in the neighborhood and could run home if it was that much of an issue. The first room that opened, out came Gail (I swear, she was in and out at least three times, if not more), and Louie greeted her and said, why don't you call? She replied, for the same reason you never call me! Heh. The second stall opened up and then Louie and I were alone, and he looks at me, and he goes, you look familiar; where do I know you from? I told him I was my father's daughter, and he said something to me that I've apparently blocked out of my mind, but it wasn't entirely appropriate and my father's warning about him was justified. Yeah. Got hit on by my father's friend at a funeral while waiting in line for the bathroom. Can check that off my bucket list.
It must have been about 11:15 when I went to the bathroom, actually, because while I was gone for almost all of communion, there wasn't much of mass left, thankfully. Because only the priest spoke, and so things were sort of generalized--oh, wait, a woman did the first two readings, but they were also general, too--I was able to hold it together until it was time to bring the casket out. Todd was on the front corner of the casket, on my side, and his face just did me in. How heartbreaking for him. And his parents followed, with his mom grasping both Jacob's dad and her husband in her arms. I don't know how close they've been since they split, but it was a nice gesture in the face of such pain, especially since Jacob's dad never remarried. I couldn't even really look at them; it was so hard. And everyone following behind, especially those in the front-most rows, were the ones who took it hardest. Seeing other people be emotional makes me emotional, so I was tearing up, but I never full-on cried, unlike at the wake (and even that was brief). We followed the casket outside, then almost immediately went to our car. There were so many cars involved that it took some time before we could get out of the lot--and someone let us out--and we went down the street and around the park's fieldhouse and down dad's old street. Oh, we must be taking Division. Except no, we were following the old tradition of driving the body past the house one last time, so even though the hearse was parked a half-block down, it had to go around again since it was facing the wrong direction. We honestly thought we'd hit the tail end of the procession, it was so long. I'm sure the people in the area loved us. Here we go 'round the mulberry bush... Oh, and while we waited to get out of the lot, we noticed that Andy had put some of the flower arrangements in the back of Jacob's truck, which was parked in front of the apartment buildings. It struck me as a fitting memorial, actually.
Once the hearse went past the building, and turned the corner again--man, I passed by that fieldhouse, what, like four times that day, plus the little tiny dog park kitty-corner from there--we ended up going straight down the east-west side street to Ashland, I think, and then took that somehow to Elston, which runs on an angle. We got caught under the Kennedy for a while, so I was able to count cars in front of us; looked like there were 18 cars, plus the hearse and the escort. One of the group--I'm not naming names to protect his identity--is a cop and was on-duty, so he provided the escort, which was nice to have, not gonna lie. So we were 20 cars back, and we appeared to be in the middle. Later, as we turned into the cemetery (and the escort blocked oncoming traffic so we could make an unencumbered left-hand turn), I counted 20 cars behind us. A 40-car procession and we were exactly in the middle. Mom heard someone say there were actually 70 cars, but that seemed a bit much. Regardless, there were a lot of us, and I felt bad for all the fine people of Chicago and Niles who had to deal with the traffic tie-up we caused. Heck, at one point we actually were blocking another funeral procession coming out of a funeral home. Most were understanding and somewhat patient. Not all, though. We had some guy cut in front of us coming out from a shopping center--and there were plenty--and dad rolled down his window and swore at him something fierce. Later, in Niles--right by that other funeral home, actually--some guy rolled down his window at the guy in front of us to give him a piece of his mind; this time, dad made sure to get as close as he could so rude guy couldn't turn in between us. Heh. For the record, I hate funeral processions and do not want one for when I die, just to put that out there. But yeah, the procession took a good hour, and that was with us going through many of the lights. Oh, that's always nerve-wracking, because inevitably someone doesn't see the procession or the flags or what-not and tries to go through an intersection because they have the green, and they don't get it. Also, we passed by some sort of antique shop with a sale of sorts going on, and when we saw that we wondered if Jacob's dad was going to stop the procession so he could take a look at what was there. He loves bargains and auctions. Later, we'd learn Elay thought the same thing and that she and Jacob's dad share a love of stuff and hoarding. Aha, so that's why they get along so well.
Eventually we made our way up Elston and then Milwaukee to Maryhill Cemetery. Jacob would actually be entombed, not interred, into a crypt with his paternal grandparents. We went to the chapel for final prayers, and it was kind of creepy; much of the building was glass, and the wind literally whistled through the place, but it was this weird, lower-pitch whistle a lot of the time from what I recall. Creepy. So that added to the eeriness of things. Crazy Louie was near my family, so when the priest asked everyone but immediate family to leave, Louie walked near me and told me to hang back from my parents so we could...chat or something (again, memory blockage, darn), and I ended up catching up with my mom and grabbing her hand. Don't leave me with the bad man. And I think mom heard him, too. Really, not appropriate, dude.
We were pretty much on our own to get to the White Eagle afterward, which was a couple miles back down the road. Now, one of my uncles and cousins are buried here, and presumably their wife/mother, and I'd mentioned to my father that since we were there, perhaps we could go find them? I didn't want to take too much time, but when are we ever in Niles, and the office was just around the block, so to speak, from the chapels, so we were right there. Even if I just go in and get the info, that would be fine; we could always come back later. So we drive to the front of the office and the sign reads that the office closes at 1 on Saturdays. It was 1:02. Drat. Plus, both my parents had to use the washroom, so okay, we'll go right to the reception.
The thing to know about the White Eagle is that it was packed. Other people died; other people reserved rooms for first communions--there were a number of little girls in white dresses there. The boys go here nearly every Christmas, and the guy who arranges that outing ended up pulling some strings to get us in there. They pretty much squeezed us in, and it didn't seem like the workers were too happy with this arrangement--especially since we had like 100 people in our group. It's one thing if it's a table of like 8 people. We took up a good 10-12 tables. I'm not sure how many, because when we finally got in, my parents and I were some of the first to enter and we ended up going all the way to the farthest table in the corner. (Various groups share one large banquet hall in an instance like this.) We were told to start with the first 6 tables, but I know we took more than that. Anyway, we ended up sitting with Elay and a couple, Jeff and Cindy. Jeff isn't someone I know much about as he doesn't go to many of the gatherings, but we get a Christmas card from them. Also, he married his first wife two days before I was born, but as mom was saying this I got confused and thought she meant he married Cindy that day. Uh, no. Also, it turned out he'd married one of Jacob's maternal aunts, so this was sort of his nephew's funeral, so that put an extra twist on things. (The first wife, not Cindy. Wow, is this group intertwined.) Mike and his wife, and Dee, and Eve were at one table adjacent to us, and a few others we knew were at the table other table adjacent to us, perpendicular to the other. That table included Jerry, who is the only dark-skinned person among my father's friends. I've heard all sorts of unsavory nicknames for him (my dad and his buddies can be asses sometimes), but he seems like a cool guy and I do believe he gives it right back to them. I'd actually met Jerry next to the hearse when it first arrived at the church, and he said something about showing me pictures. Sure enough, at the luncheon, he pulls out his phone and starts showing us old pictures he had on there. Amusing.
They serve the same food over and over again, so it was basically the same stuff we had at my uncle's funeral two and a half years ago, but it's tasty and comforting and we enjoyed it. The only difference I noticed was in the pop bottles, which are plastic. I remember them being glass and kind of oddly-shaped in the past. I drank the whole bottle of lemon-lime, and mom had the whole diet pop; nobody else was drinking them. We also polished off the desserts. And then, since we only had six people at a table meant for ten, we had plenty of food left over (it's served family-style), and rather than let it go to waste, we asked for to-go containers. Elay didn't want any, and Jeff and Cindy's daughter has food issues and they didn't want to bring home stuff she couldn't eat, so mom and I filled the containers with all sorts of stuff and, well, it looked kind of bad. Like we were pigs. Oh well. We had leftovers for dinner and lunch the next day.
We were in the dining hall until after 4 PM, when it was pretty clear they wanted us out of there; looks like they had a wedding coming in that night. A number of people had left, but dad's core group was still talking and things. This was where I got to see Jacob's dad again, plus his mom and brother, who were also saying goodbye to people. Gosh, I don't even know what time we finally left, as the boys were giving each other guff and Jacob's dad was even joining in a bit. It was good to hear him laugh. He'd looked pretty red earlier and at the wake, prompting my mother to ask if he was tan. Here, he was able to relax a little and his color was more normal. I finally said hello to Jacob's mother, who asked if I was Mike's wife (who had gone to the gift shop at the time); no, no, I'm so-and-so's daughter. Oh! she said, I love your dad! Aw. That's sweet. I didn't say goodbye to Todd at all, and I feel kind of bad about that, but the whole thing was awkward and he wasn't physically that close to me.
It was when we were walking out that we saw the terrace teaser. Now, across the street from the White Eagle is the cemetery where my grandparents and most recently deceased uncle are. I had joked, when dad was getting obnoxious, that I was going to drag him there by his ear and tell his mother how he was acting. However, I really wanted to go, since now my uncle surely has a headstone. We went and visited his parents first, then wound our way around to the back where his brother is; he has a nice headstone reminiscent of my grandparents' ones. I'm glad we got to visit, and that the place hadn't really changed since we were last there. I'm just glad I remembered where they were. I took a few pictures and soon we were on our way; it was probably close to 5 o'clock by that time, but it took only about an hour to get home.
The day was emotionally exhausting, but as these things go, it wasn't so bad. The circumstances surrounding Jacob's death are the worst part. I will say that his family is doing what they can to keep his story in the news, and so they were on over the weekend and have set up Facebook and Twitter accounts to keep people updated on things and to seek information. I hope, so badly, that they are able to find answers and get the people involved, because I don't think it's just one person. It would be one thing if it was self-defense, but that doesn't seem to be the case. But it's so hard seeing people you care about go through this, and I don't wish it on anyone. It's hard enough when the person is taken because of an illness, or something like a traffic accident, but like this, beaten... it's unfathomable that someone could do this just because they wanted to. It's not worth it, it's not funny, it's just sad. And may they never have to experience this sort of loss.
I didn't sleep well Friday into Saturday. I hadn't slept well all week, and knowing I had something going on, well, it's like anti-Christmas. At least I'd gotten all my stuff ready Thursday night, when we knew what was going on. I don't think I mentioned it, but Thursday morning, pretty much first thing, I Googled Jacob's name and found the obituary. I immediately called dad, who was unaware the obit had been posted. He then spent the rest of the day on the phone with everyone, while trying to work. When we got home, I asked if he'd ever contacted mom; he said no. So when mom found out Thursday night that the wake was the next day, and that we'd known about it all day, she was pretty pissy about it. For the record, she does have a smartphone, meaning if she was with it enough to think of it, she could have Googled it herself. But no.
(She's really self-centered. She kept complaining about how she only had so much time to get ready for it, and this and that, and it's like, you knew he died two days ago. Sure, we had no idea how soon the body would be released, since it's an ongoing investigation, but this really shouldn't have come as a surprise. Just...get over yourself.)
I think I woke up around 5, though I didn't need to get up until 6 or even 6:30. The consensus was that we'd leave at 8:30 for the 10 o'clock funeral. Whatever time I ended up showering and starting my hair--it takes a while--I was in good shape about 8 o'clock, when I went to finish getting dressed and doing my hair. And then mom called me over to do *her* hair. Uh, that's not why I came upstairs. Her hair's at an odd length for her and she gets sick of it being in her face--plus it was supposed to be very, very windy, which it was--and she wanted the front part pulled back. Okay, so pull it back. It's not that hard. And she was going to put it in a ponytail holder. Yeah, that's classy. So I ended up spending probably 10-15 minutes doing her hair, and putting a clip in instead of the ponytail holder, and it actually held all day and looked pretty decent. Really, though, she's the mom; shouldn't she be doing my hair? (This would be part of the reason I feel like the parent in this relationship, but I digress.) However long it took, I was still able to get myself ready by 8:30. Mom was even ready at that time; it was my father we had to wait for, though we still left at 8:32. Traffic was still pretty light at the time, so it was only about a half-hour to the Ike, then about another half-hour to the old neighborhood. I have not been on the Ike in years, or at least that portion. My lord, I've forgotten how congested the road is. Even at 9 o'clock on a Saturday morning there were a ton of cars. I can't even imagine it 12 hours later. Also, the sky was hazy, so the skyline looked unusual--you couldn't see the different levels of the Willis Tower (still seems strange not to call it Sears Tower) and that really changed what it looked like. Don't mess with my skyline, Mother Nature.
I've already discussed our gallivanting about the neighborhood. When we first got there--and I was stunned at just how close it was to the Kennedy--we first pulled into this parking lot across from Jacob's father's apartments. This was adjacent to the Catholic school, so I figured it was the school's lot. (Also, there was this little old Asian man gesturing us in there for some reason.) No; it's some random parking lot, and dad always parks there when he comes to visit. But we had so much time that dad started driving us around and pointing out houses and kind of annoying me and mom and possibly some of the fine people of the neighborhood, who probably wondered who the weird guy pointing at things was. At one point we went by the parking lot again and the old guy waved us into the lot again; dad waved him off. But we did go in and stay in the third time we passed by. It was still early enough that a lot of people weren't there yet, so there was still parking. In a neighborhood as dense as that one is, that's important.
The neighborhood is only a couple of miles from the lake, if that, and the wind was pretty gusty. Between the wind, and the chill, and the tallish buildings, it was cool when we weren't in what little sunlight filtered through in places. It was just warm enough that I left my jacket in the car--that, and it wasn't exactly funeral-worthy. By the way, my concert outfit doubles as funeral wear, so I actually wore the outfit twice in a week's time. One of my father's friends, Mike I think, was out there, so dad joined him and I think another guy while mom and I went inside. Oh, right, it was Mike because we asked where the bathroom was and Mike let us know.
Oh, the bathrooms. They were off the main vestibule area in front of the sanctuary, in a smaller vestibule with a set of stairs leading up to the balcony and organ area. They were like single stalls, size-wise, but were full bathrooms. They were so cramped that they could only fit a half-sink in there, and it was sideways, long and narrow; the paper towel dispenser was on the same wall as the toilet, because there was no other place for it. And there wasn't a mirror, I guess because we're not supposed to be vain? Dunno. But mom went first and discovered pee on the floor and was none too happy about it; she put down paper towels that I left as sort of a warning but were picked up by the time I went the second time.
Once we finished freshening up, we went into the sanctuary; I know we don't call it that but I've been to more Protestant churches in recent years than Catholic ones. Anyway, we looked around at all the interesting things, and I took a bunch of pictures, and dad pointed out the various changes before going outside. It was so windy that mom and I and Mike's wife Linda stayed in the vestibule (again, can't think of the actual name) just inside the inner stairs--there was a set of outer stairs, then doors, then inner stairs, then another set of doors and then the vestibule. Any time the doors opened, we felt the cool rush of air, but it was still better since the doors faced west and the wind was out of the east.
We had to wait for quite a while. Who knows what time they left the funeral home, but it was miles away; they did not arrive at 10. In fact, mass didn't start 'til about 10:30. The hearse arrived first with a number of pallbearer cars and the family and what-not, but two of the pallbearers got stuck in traffic or couldn't find parking and we had to wait for them, which was hard and not everybody realized what was going on. All I knew was that I counted four guys at the back of the hearse, including Todd; I was pretty close to where they were. Basically, as soon as the hearse arrived, we went outside to greet the casket, but they didn't pull it out until all the guys were there, which would be another 5-10 minutes--hard because of the circumstances of the death, harder because of the strong wind.
Dad had said he wanted a pew with a kneeler. Well, truthfully, they all had kneelers; I figured he meant one with a cushion. But mom wanted to sit toward the back. We let him lead, and we ended up in one of the first half-pews, without a cushion. Great. And we were really close to a few other full pews across the aisle with cushy kneelers, but oh well. Our penance for never going to church, I suppose.
I should mention a few of the people we encountered while waiting in the vestibule. One was a woman who dressed a little too cool for the weather, in strappy heels and a more summer-like dress, who kept going in and out. Mom was like, she acts like she belongs here. Well, it turned out it was a woman named Gail, who had lived across the street as a child; her father had been a well-known alderman, though she goes by a shortened version of their last name. Aha, she *does* belong here. But my word, she was in and out constantly, which I know because she was across the aisle from me and I kept seeing her coming and going and it was kind of distracting. There was also a woman who goes by Elay with this group (and I'm probably not spelling that correctly); she's not an original, but Jacob's father was her landlord for a while and as such got to know the guys when they would have their get-togethers at his place. At first I thought she was their age, and misunderstood her explanation of where all she'd lived (she said she was gone 20 years, but I thought she said she spent 20 years in California and then 14 in Louisiana, but it was only 3 years in CA or something), and was amazed at how good she looked. She's definitely not my father's age, but still she looked fabulous. She's probably in her early 50s but looks in her 40s. And then there was the guy who came in with his tie askew. Like, one part was over one shoulder, and the other part the other. He was like a TV character. This was strengthened when he talked to Mike and Linda, who were with us at the time (Mike may have come in later, but I know he was there when Elay arrived); turns out that was Crazy Louie. Aha. Makes total sense.
So, anyway, the funeral. This is now my second funeral under Vatican III, as I like to think about it. I really dislike the changes to the mass; it's now less Catholic. That was the comforting thing about being a lapsed Catholic; you could go to church after years of being away and still know what was going on. Now? Not so much. They sing the Lord's Prayer! They hold their hands up, palms to the ceiling, when they do this! If I wanted to be Protestant, I'd be Protestant. This isn't a Catholic thing at all. Thanks, Pope Benedict. So, yeah, mass was weird. It was *so* weird. So, we had the Irish priest again, whom I later heard wasn't even part of the parish; they borrowed him from elsewhere. And then there were these two random guys up on the altar with him, but no altar boys. The guys were in normal clothes, no garments or anything, but they weren't dressed like any of the mourners, who wore what I'd term respectful clothing. A polo shirt and Dockers, not really respectful. It was really weird. So it turns out they no longer have altar boys, which is why the random dudes were there, and at least one of them was a maintenance worker or something who I guess pitched in to help. So strange. Because the whole thing wasn't strange enough to begin with. Only the priest spoke, and nobody sang along to the music. There was a pianist who accompanied herself, which was kind of cool. I was so far back I couldn't really see her, but she seemed like perhaps she was in her 20s but vocally she sounded much older. That was strange for me, too. And I'm used to singing along, but there weren't any missalettes (spellcheck is not liking that word, but oh well) in the pews and frankly nobody sang, so oh well. (I've double-checked and that is the correct spelling of missalette.)
Despite using the facilities when we arrived, I had to go again by the time mass started. I knew I wasn't going to make it through the whole thing, or at least that I'd have to go before we left. Okay, how long can I hold it... We got to the first part of mass where we kneeled, and it was super uncomfortable. Not to mention the lady in front of me, who perhaps was the mother of one of the pallbearers, did not kneel, so I basically was in her hair. Oh, and old-school Catholics know that the pews used to be close enough together that you could sort of fake-kneel, where your butt was on the pew but your knees were on the kneeler; when they reconfigured the church they moved the pews far enough apart that you couldn't do that any longer. Grr. So you really had to commit to kneeling, and I did; if my father, with his bad knees, could do it, so could I. Mom gave up pretty quickly, though. The second time kneeling was during communion, and as soon as that started I said, screw it, plus I don't take communion, so this was my time to use the washroom again.
I was not the only one with that thought and found a line...as well as a bunch of people, like two dozen, waiting in the vestibule. This was clearly a baptism or something like it; there didn't seem to be enough people for a first communion. And their ceremony probably should have started at 11, which was about what time it was, but since we started so late, they had to wait. As did I, in line for the bathroom. There were two younger people, like in their 20s, plus the guy with the crazy tie. Oh, great. So he's making small talk with the other two people, whom he's somehow gotten between even though they were there before us (I left the sanctuary just behind him), and saying how when he was a kid, there weren't any bathrooms at all in the church. Good thing there were some now, but then again, most people lived in the neighborhood and could run home if it was that much of an issue. The first room that opened, out came Gail (I swear, she was in and out at least three times, if not more), and Louie greeted her and said, why don't you call? She replied, for the same reason you never call me! Heh. The second stall opened up and then Louie and I were alone, and he looks at me, and he goes, you look familiar; where do I know you from? I told him I was my father's daughter, and he said something to me that I've apparently blocked out of my mind, but it wasn't entirely appropriate and my father's warning about him was justified. Yeah. Got hit on by my father's friend at a funeral while waiting in line for the bathroom. Can check that off my bucket list.
It must have been about 11:15 when I went to the bathroom, actually, because while I was gone for almost all of communion, there wasn't much of mass left, thankfully. Because only the priest spoke, and so things were sort of generalized--oh, wait, a woman did the first two readings, but they were also general, too--I was able to hold it together until it was time to bring the casket out. Todd was on the front corner of the casket, on my side, and his face just did me in. How heartbreaking for him. And his parents followed, with his mom grasping both Jacob's dad and her husband in her arms. I don't know how close they've been since they split, but it was a nice gesture in the face of such pain, especially since Jacob's dad never remarried. I couldn't even really look at them; it was so hard. And everyone following behind, especially those in the front-most rows, were the ones who took it hardest. Seeing other people be emotional makes me emotional, so I was tearing up, but I never full-on cried, unlike at the wake (and even that was brief). We followed the casket outside, then almost immediately went to our car. There were so many cars involved that it took some time before we could get out of the lot--and someone let us out--and we went down the street and around the park's fieldhouse and down dad's old street. Oh, we must be taking Division. Except no, we were following the old tradition of driving the body past the house one last time, so even though the hearse was parked a half-block down, it had to go around again since it was facing the wrong direction. We honestly thought we'd hit the tail end of the procession, it was so long. I'm sure the people in the area loved us. Here we go 'round the mulberry bush... Oh, and while we waited to get out of the lot, we noticed that Andy had put some of the flower arrangements in the back of Jacob's truck, which was parked in front of the apartment buildings. It struck me as a fitting memorial, actually.
Once the hearse went past the building, and turned the corner again--man, I passed by that fieldhouse, what, like four times that day, plus the little tiny dog park kitty-corner from there--we ended up going straight down the east-west side street to Ashland, I think, and then took that somehow to Elston, which runs on an angle. We got caught under the Kennedy for a while, so I was able to count cars in front of us; looked like there were 18 cars, plus the hearse and the escort. One of the group--I'm not naming names to protect his identity--is a cop and was on-duty, so he provided the escort, which was nice to have, not gonna lie. So we were 20 cars back, and we appeared to be in the middle. Later, as we turned into the cemetery (and the escort blocked oncoming traffic so we could make an unencumbered left-hand turn), I counted 20 cars behind us. A 40-car procession and we were exactly in the middle. Mom heard someone say there were actually 70 cars, but that seemed a bit much. Regardless, there were a lot of us, and I felt bad for all the fine people of Chicago and Niles who had to deal with the traffic tie-up we caused. Heck, at one point we actually were blocking another funeral procession coming out of a funeral home. Most were understanding and somewhat patient. Not all, though. We had some guy cut in front of us coming out from a shopping center--and there were plenty--and dad rolled down his window and swore at him something fierce. Later, in Niles--right by that other funeral home, actually--some guy rolled down his window at the guy in front of us to give him a piece of his mind; this time, dad made sure to get as close as he could so rude guy couldn't turn in between us. Heh. For the record, I hate funeral processions and do not want one for when I die, just to put that out there. But yeah, the procession took a good hour, and that was with us going through many of the lights. Oh, that's always nerve-wracking, because inevitably someone doesn't see the procession or the flags or what-not and tries to go through an intersection because they have the green, and they don't get it. Also, we passed by some sort of antique shop with a sale of sorts going on, and when we saw that we wondered if Jacob's dad was going to stop the procession so he could take a look at what was there. He loves bargains and auctions. Later, we'd learn Elay thought the same thing and that she and Jacob's dad share a love of stuff and hoarding. Aha, so that's why they get along so well.
Eventually we made our way up Elston and then Milwaukee to Maryhill Cemetery. Jacob would actually be entombed, not interred, into a crypt with his paternal grandparents. We went to the chapel for final prayers, and it was kind of creepy; much of the building was glass, and the wind literally whistled through the place, but it was this weird, lower-pitch whistle a lot of the time from what I recall. Creepy. So that added to the eeriness of things. Crazy Louie was near my family, so when the priest asked everyone but immediate family to leave, Louie walked near me and told me to hang back from my parents so we could...chat or something (again, memory blockage, darn), and I ended up catching up with my mom and grabbing her hand. Don't leave me with the bad man. And I think mom heard him, too. Really, not appropriate, dude.
We were pretty much on our own to get to the White Eagle afterward, which was a couple miles back down the road. Now, one of my uncles and cousins are buried here, and presumably their wife/mother, and I'd mentioned to my father that since we were there, perhaps we could go find them? I didn't want to take too much time, but when are we ever in Niles, and the office was just around the block, so to speak, from the chapels, so we were right there. Even if I just go in and get the info, that would be fine; we could always come back later. So we drive to the front of the office and the sign reads that the office closes at 1 on Saturdays. It was 1:02. Drat. Plus, both my parents had to use the washroom, so okay, we'll go right to the reception.
The thing to know about the White Eagle is that it was packed. Other people died; other people reserved rooms for first communions--there were a number of little girls in white dresses there. The boys go here nearly every Christmas, and the guy who arranges that outing ended up pulling some strings to get us in there. They pretty much squeezed us in, and it didn't seem like the workers were too happy with this arrangement--especially since we had like 100 people in our group. It's one thing if it's a table of like 8 people. We took up a good 10-12 tables. I'm not sure how many, because when we finally got in, my parents and I were some of the first to enter and we ended up going all the way to the farthest table in the corner. (Various groups share one large banquet hall in an instance like this.) We were told to start with the first 6 tables, but I know we took more than that. Anyway, we ended up sitting with Elay and a couple, Jeff and Cindy. Jeff isn't someone I know much about as he doesn't go to many of the gatherings, but we get a Christmas card from them. Also, he married his first wife two days before I was born, but as mom was saying this I got confused and thought she meant he married Cindy that day. Uh, no. Also, it turned out he'd married one of Jacob's maternal aunts, so this was sort of his nephew's funeral, so that put an extra twist on things. (The first wife, not Cindy. Wow, is this group intertwined.) Mike and his wife, and Dee, and Eve were at one table adjacent to us, and a few others we knew were at the table other table adjacent to us, perpendicular to the other. That table included Jerry, who is the only dark-skinned person among my father's friends. I've heard all sorts of unsavory nicknames for him (my dad and his buddies can be asses sometimes), but he seems like a cool guy and I do believe he gives it right back to them. I'd actually met Jerry next to the hearse when it first arrived at the church, and he said something about showing me pictures. Sure enough, at the luncheon, he pulls out his phone and starts showing us old pictures he had on there. Amusing.
They serve the same food over and over again, so it was basically the same stuff we had at my uncle's funeral two and a half years ago, but it's tasty and comforting and we enjoyed it. The only difference I noticed was in the pop bottles, which are plastic. I remember them being glass and kind of oddly-shaped in the past. I drank the whole bottle of lemon-lime, and mom had the whole diet pop; nobody else was drinking them. We also polished off the desserts. And then, since we only had six people at a table meant for ten, we had plenty of food left over (it's served family-style), and rather than let it go to waste, we asked for to-go containers. Elay didn't want any, and Jeff and Cindy's daughter has food issues and they didn't want to bring home stuff she couldn't eat, so mom and I filled the containers with all sorts of stuff and, well, it looked kind of bad. Like we were pigs. Oh well. We had leftovers for dinner and lunch the next day.
We were in the dining hall until after 4 PM, when it was pretty clear they wanted us out of there; looks like they had a wedding coming in that night. A number of people had left, but dad's core group was still talking and things. This was where I got to see Jacob's dad again, plus his mom and brother, who were also saying goodbye to people. Gosh, I don't even know what time we finally left, as the boys were giving each other guff and Jacob's dad was even joining in a bit. It was good to hear him laugh. He'd looked pretty red earlier and at the wake, prompting my mother to ask if he was tan. Here, he was able to relax a little and his color was more normal. I finally said hello to Jacob's mother, who asked if I was Mike's wife (who had gone to the gift shop at the time); no, no, I'm so-and-so's daughter. Oh! she said, I love your dad! Aw. That's sweet. I didn't say goodbye to Todd at all, and I feel kind of bad about that, but the whole thing was awkward and he wasn't physically that close to me.
It was when we were walking out that we saw the terrace teaser. Now, across the street from the White Eagle is the cemetery where my grandparents and most recently deceased uncle are. I had joked, when dad was getting obnoxious, that I was going to drag him there by his ear and tell his mother how he was acting. However, I really wanted to go, since now my uncle surely has a headstone. We went and visited his parents first, then wound our way around to the back where his brother is; he has a nice headstone reminiscent of my grandparents' ones. I'm glad we got to visit, and that the place hadn't really changed since we were last there. I'm just glad I remembered where they were. I took a few pictures and soon we were on our way; it was probably close to 5 o'clock by that time, but it took only about an hour to get home.
The day was emotionally exhausting, but as these things go, it wasn't so bad. The circumstances surrounding Jacob's death are the worst part. I will say that his family is doing what they can to keep his story in the news, and so they were on over the weekend and have set up Facebook and Twitter accounts to keep people updated on things and to seek information. I hope, so badly, that they are able to find answers and get the people involved, because I don't think it's just one person. It would be one thing if it was self-defense, but that doesn't seem to be the case. But it's so hard seeing people you care about go through this, and I don't wish it on anyone. It's hard enough when the person is taken because of an illness, or something like a traffic accident, but like this, beaten... it's unfathomable that someone could do this just because they wanted to. It's not worth it, it's not funny, it's just sad. And may they never have to experience this sort of loss.