Saying Goodbye
April 2nd, 2009
It was overcast and a little rainy. Not too bad.
The drive to Arlington National Cemetery went fine. My Mom decided on the drive down that she wanted pictures of the funeral so we scrambled to get a few disposable cameras on the way down. I didn't want to be clicking pictures like some tourist on holiday during my Dad's funeral so I got some of my friends to do it for me, which was a small blessing.
My friends turned out in impressive numbers and more sent their sympathy and love. It was touching that so many people would come to support me like that. Syndee sat next to me in the front and my Mom and her best friend Jennie were in the back seat chatting away like schoolgirls. It was my Mom's way of coping; to chat and chat and gossip and it seemed to work well for the most part. My Mom wasn't comfortable with having the urn in the car so we put Dad in the trunk. I didn't really want to stick him in the trunk but my Mom was very fragile and I complied.
When we arrived we spoke to a few nice people who were sensitive and immediately took my Dad from me and we zipped through the paperwork. They showed us to a conference room where several people were already waiting. We had a book for people to sign as well as some prayer cards and a special memorial page Syndee and I made for my Dad. On one side it had three pictures of my Dad along with his name and on the other it had the picture of my Dad with my Mother and myself on my wedding day, hugging. We had them specially made and professionally laminated because we didn't want the rain to destroy them.
Below the picture on the back side was a poem Syndee wrote:
A Bloody Thorn
I picked from my Hand
And it Bled
Red
Spelling my Father's Name
And said
Heaven Rejoiced
To have this new Friend
Though you miss him down there
He watches above
And the Angels Rejoiced
To have him instead
Go in peace knowing
He rests in Good Hands
Everyone seemed touched by the poem, my Mom especially. In addition to my friends, several of my Dad's old co-workers and buddies showed up. Some of them I remembered from when I was a small kid. Some of them I had been in contact with previously to coordinate the funeral. A neighbor was also there along with some of my Mom's friends from the Eastern Shore. Everyone was very nice.
All too quickly the Officiant appeared in his Air Force formals. He chatted with us briefly and then he and a manager who organizes these things gave us directions to the spot where the funeral would be held. We got in our car and got all the other cars in a line behind us and we drove in a short procession, maybe a mile away.
We got out and Syndee and I helped my Mom walk to the ceremony. She had one arm and I had the other. My Mom was holding up reasonably well, but she was crying and she was leaning heavily on us both. We were seated and the Officiant read some passages and representatives of the Air Force and the Armed Forces gave my Mother some letters thanking her. The soldiers folded up the flag in absolute precision, every motion was practiced and formalized right down to folding the final crease of the "triangle" the flag becomes. They handed it to my Mother and from a distance we could see the soldiers prepare for a 21 gun salute.
There's one thing about a 21 gun salute that the movies don't properly convey. They're LOUD. It's not a firecracker in the distance. The soldiers were a good fifty feet from us and it was still DAMN loud. Jump in your seat loud.
After that, they wrapped up and we took my Dad to his final resting place. I carried his urn to the box or whatever it's called. They get sealed up but the one that was meant for him was open and waiting. His plaque hadn't been etched yet and wouldn't be done for a few months. I placed the urn in and the Officiant said some more words. Then I said my Eulogy. My friends with the cameras took pictures. I flubbed on the eulogy a little but nobody really noticed. I had done a last minute rewrite and took out a passage that caused another passage to make less sense than it could have, but oh well. It was still nice and perfect.
Because the Cemetary is right next to an airport, one of the problems is that the planes flight path takes them right overhead, so regularly our attempts to speak would become drowned out by the screeching wail of jet engines. During my Eulogy, a plane landed but I just raised my voice until I was practically shouting and I think everyone was able to hear me. Both the Officiant and the Manager went out of their way to compliment me on my speech so I took that as a good sign; they must hear people blather on all the time and they seemed genuinely touched by my words so I think that's as good a compliment as it gets.
It never really "hit me" emotionally. I didn't really cry or get the sucker punch feelings you sometimes get. I got most of that done when I wrote the Eulogy. But after the speech I felt physically weak as a kitten and my legs were wobbly. There was no physical reason for this to be, so I can only assume that the emotional toll had taken a more subconscious route. I'm not one for crying in front of large groups of people so I likely internalized everything.
After the ceremony I hugged the co-workers and shook a lot of hands. I handed out directions and maps to people showing them how to get to the restaurant. Two thirds of the people had to go and couldn't attend the restaurant, which was just as well since we're not rich. The restaurant, which I found on the internet after doing a little research, was very nice though the menu was a little limited. It had a bakery next door so after we ate many people went to the bakery and brought backed bread and other baked goods. My friends were sneaky and kind and refused to let me pay for their bill. Actually they had pre-arranged with the waitress to pay separately so I almost didn't even notice that they weren't on the bill until I glanced over and saw them signing credit card receipts.
Everything was very pleasant and nice. Perfect even, if such a word can be described for this kind of event. The drive home was long because we caught rush hour and I was quite exhausted. My Mom's friend Jenny lost her house key and I had to scour the car for a half hour to make sure she didn't drop it in the car (she didn't; she apparently found it later). My Mom also left her hat at the restaurant. But those are very minor problems to have all in all.
I was most touched by the way my Mom and Syndee were getting along. For the first time, pretty much ever, I felt like we were really a family. I felt optimistic about the possibility that we could use this grief to become closer and to finally heal the rift that had existed between my Mom and Syndee.
That feeling of hope lasted approximately 39 hours before crashing and burning and going down in utter flames.
It was overcast and a little rainy. Not too bad.
The drive to Arlington National Cemetery went fine. My Mom decided on the drive down that she wanted pictures of the funeral so we scrambled to get a few disposable cameras on the way down. I didn't want to be clicking pictures like some tourist on holiday during my Dad's funeral so I got some of my friends to do it for me, which was a small blessing.
My friends turned out in impressive numbers and more sent their sympathy and love. It was touching that so many people would come to support me like that. Syndee sat next to me in the front and my Mom and her best friend Jennie were in the back seat chatting away like schoolgirls. It was my Mom's way of coping; to chat and chat and gossip and it seemed to work well for the most part. My Mom wasn't comfortable with having the urn in the car so we put Dad in the trunk. I didn't really want to stick him in the trunk but my Mom was very fragile and I complied.
When we arrived we spoke to a few nice people who were sensitive and immediately took my Dad from me and we zipped through the paperwork. They showed us to a conference room where several people were already waiting. We had a book for people to sign as well as some prayer cards and a special memorial page Syndee and I made for my Dad. On one side it had three pictures of my Dad along with his name and on the other it had the picture of my Dad with my Mother and myself on my wedding day, hugging. We had them specially made and professionally laminated because we didn't want the rain to destroy them.
Below the picture on the back side was a poem Syndee wrote:
A Bloody Thorn
I picked from my Hand
And it Bled
Red
Spelling my Father's Name
And said
Heaven Rejoiced
To have this new Friend
Though you miss him down there
He watches above
And the Angels Rejoiced
To have him instead
Go in peace knowing
He rests in Good Hands
Everyone seemed touched by the poem, my Mom especially. In addition to my friends, several of my Dad's old co-workers and buddies showed up. Some of them I remembered from when I was a small kid. Some of them I had been in contact with previously to coordinate the funeral. A neighbor was also there along with some of my Mom's friends from the Eastern Shore. Everyone was very nice.
All too quickly the Officiant appeared in his Air Force formals. He chatted with us briefly and then he and a manager who organizes these things gave us directions to the spot where the funeral would be held. We got in our car and got all the other cars in a line behind us and we drove in a short procession, maybe a mile away.
We got out and Syndee and I helped my Mom walk to the ceremony. She had one arm and I had the other. My Mom was holding up reasonably well, but she was crying and she was leaning heavily on us both. We were seated and the Officiant read some passages and representatives of the Air Force and the Armed Forces gave my Mother some letters thanking her. The soldiers folded up the flag in absolute precision, every motion was practiced and formalized right down to folding the final crease of the "triangle" the flag becomes. They handed it to my Mother and from a distance we could see the soldiers prepare for a 21 gun salute.
There's one thing about a 21 gun salute that the movies don't properly convey. They're LOUD. It's not a firecracker in the distance. The soldiers were a good fifty feet from us and it was still DAMN loud. Jump in your seat loud.
After that, they wrapped up and we took my Dad to his final resting place. I carried his urn to the box or whatever it's called. They get sealed up but the one that was meant for him was open and waiting. His plaque hadn't been etched yet and wouldn't be done for a few months. I placed the urn in and the Officiant said some more words. Then I said my Eulogy. My friends with the cameras took pictures. I flubbed on the eulogy a little but nobody really noticed. I had done a last minute rewrite and took out a passage that caused another passage to make less sense than it could have, but oh well. It was still nice and perfect.
Because the Cemetary is right next to an airport, one of the problems is that the planes flight path takes them right overhead, so regularly our attempts to speak would become drowned out by the screeching wail of jet engines. During my Eulogy, a plane landed but I just raised my voice until I was practically shouting and I think everyone was able to hear me. Both the Officiant and the Manager went out of their way to compliment me on my speech so I took that as a good sign; they must hear people blather on all the time and they seemed genuinely touched by my words so I think that's as good a compliment as it gets.
It never really "hit me" emotionally. I didn't really cry or get the sucker punch feelings you sometimes get. I got most of that done when I wrote the Eulogy. But after the speech I felt physically weak as a kitten and my legs were wobbly. There was no physical reason for this to be, so I can only assume that the emotional toll had taken a more subconscious route. I'm not one for crying in front of large groups of people so I likely internalized everything.
After the ceremony I hugged the co-workers and shook a lot of hands. I handed out directions and maps to people showing them how to get to the restaurant. Two thirds of the people had to go and couldn't attend the restaurant, which was just as well since we're not rich. The restaurant, which I found on the internet after doing a little research, was very nice though the menu was a little limited. It had a bakery next door so after we ate many people went to the bakery and brought backed bread and other baked goods. My friends were sneaky and kind and refused to let me pay for their bill. Actually they had pre-arranged with the waitress to pay separately so I almost didn't even notice that they weren't on the bill until I glanced over and saw them signing credit card receipts.
Everything was very pleasant and nice. Perfect even, if such a word can be described for this kind of event. The drive home was long because we caught rush hour and I was quite exhausted. My Mom's friend Jenny lost her house key and I had to scour the car for a half hour to make sure she didn't drop it in the car (she didn't; she apparently found it later). My Mom also left her hat at the restaurant. But those are very minor problems to have all in all.
I was most touched by the way my Mom and Syndee were getting along. For the first time, pretty much ever, I felt like we were really a family. I felt optimistic about the possibility that we could use this grief to become closer and to finally heal the rift that had existed between my Mom and Syndee.
That feeling of hope lasted approximately 39 hours before crashing and burning and going down in utter flames.