After much prayer and discussion with anyone who would listen, I decided that -- now that I had childcare options -- I would bring Uno if she wanted to come, and leave the other two at home. We talked some more about what a funeral is, what would go on, and she asked me if we could bring snacks. I said no, probably not; a 5yo ought to be able to last an hour or two without a Ziploc bag full of Cheerios and Cheez-Its. Uno decided she'd rather stay at home with Mary and play the Wii.
That was fine. I'm sure she and Dos would both have been okay had they attended (and if I'd agreed to bring snacks, coloring books, and crayons, like we do for church each week), but I wouldn't have been fully present to celebrate and mourn my friend because I would have worried about the girls the entire time. It was nice to be able to focus.
In any case I'm so grateful to Mary, who saw a need and jumped on the chance to serve. My parents were also trying to figure out a way to come up and help -- also completely unasked for -- but Mary beat them to it. I've got the best family ever.
The funeral was difficult. I started crying right as I walked in the door of the church (and realized I had forgotten to bring any tissues, ugh). I sat next to the mother of one of Uno's friends (whose name I ought to know, but I don't, and two years after we met is way too late to ask). She has the gift of small talk, which kept me somewhat composed as we waited for the service to start. But oh....
When they brought the casket in, wheeled on one of those gurneys so the youngest pall bearer, my friend's 3yo brother, could help push it.... His parents trailed behind. His mother -- oh my goodness, his poor mother! -- she looked so.... Like she wasn't even there. Like all the grief had been squeezed and wrung and tortured out of her over the preceding five days, and she had nothing left. It broke my heart. Behind the immediate and extended family came the honorary pallbearers: The high school football team (of which he was a freshman member), all in their jerseys, and the city league baseball team he played on, all in their uniforms.
The boy's lifelong best friend and his best friend's father gave the life summary. I don't know how his best friend kept his composure throughout -- it must be a boy thing -- but he didn't crack once. They told funny stories and sweet stories, and none of it felt like the typical overblown canonization of the dead (once you're gone, you're immediately a saint!). It all rang true to the boy I knew, who was everything they said he was: An incredible kid, smart and funny and kind, a friend to everyone. A youth and Scout leader from church spoke next, along the same lines, and the bishop (who did struggle not to cry) concluded with a message about the reality of the resurrection and the promise that we will all see our loved ones again. Cousins and a group of young men from our church congregation provided two musical numbers respectively. It was a really good service (if such a thing can be said about a child's funeral.)
Our town has a weekly newspaper that gets published every Wednesday. My mind has been preoccupied with my friend's unexpected passing, with sympathy for his poor family, since I heard on Monday what happened, and when I got this week's paper I half expected to see his picture printed large across the front page with a two-inch headline shouting his loss. Because really, what other news matters? Instead, they printed a report of a recent County Commissioners meeting on the front page; I found my friend's obituary on page 6. The highlights:
Joe (not his real name, but it's not my place to breach his family's privacy) turned 14yo two weeks before his passing as a result of an acute asthma attack. He was the second of four sons and is survived by his entire immediate family. (His maternal grandmother, I found out at the service, preceded him in death by about a month.)
He loved to read -- learned how from his brother, two years older, before he began kindergarten -- and loved learning. His teachers last year nominated him to attend a Youth Leadership conference in Washington, D.C. He had a 3.9 GPA, and planned to take enough college-level courses to earn an Associate's Degree by the time he graduated from high school. He would then serve an LDS mission, return to finish college, and enroll in medical school. He planned to return to his hometown as a family physician (good ones are desperately needed here, believe me) (and boy does that tug at my heartstrings).
Joe loved sports. He was on the football, baseball, basketball, wrestling, and track teams; he assistant coached peewee league baseball and community swimming lessons; he loved the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. He loved Scouting and was working toward his Eagle Award.
Joe loved the gospel. He had a strong testimony of Jesus Christ, of the restoration, and he loved the scriptures.
Joe will be deeply missed by his parents, brothers, and all who knew him. (I can vouch for that.)
Ritual has power; I felt the weight that has pressed on me all week lift a little as I drove away from the church. I can think of my friend now without tearing up (mostly). I'm grateful for that. I'm grateful that I was able to attend the funeral and mingle my grief with hundreds of others'. But I also know that the intensity of the loss will focus more sharply now on his parents and brothers: We as a community have cried and let go and can move on, but every day a room in their house will be empty, a place at their dinner table will not be set, and though they have faith in the promise of a reunion, life (for most of us) is so very long.
I don't know his parents well, and as you all know I'm not good with people in general; I'm awkward even under the best of circumstances. I would appreciate your prayers on their behalf -- but please pray for me, too, that I can find some way to serve them. Because I really feel like I should. I don't know how, but I need to do something.
He was a really, really great kid.
~RCH~
1 comment:
Sorry you had to go and do that. But glad you did. Closure is always good. I am also glad you gave Uno the option to go or not. You rock the house at being a parent. Loves you.
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