The
Send-Off
“I will
thank God for the day and the moment I have.”
Jim
Valvano
I attended the funeral
yesterday for my friend, Mr. Ed. His children had planned a splendid
service for his send-off. It was high-church-Episcopal, complete
with Vergers, Lector, Intercessor, Crucifer, Thurifer, Chalice
Bearers, Ushers, Choirmaster and two priests. Incense filled the church with a cloud
of sweet smoke, the flag was folded and presented, a golden Bible was
carried up the center aisle for the reading of the Gospel, decorum and tradition prevailed as Communion was sanctified and served,
the choir sang their hearts out, there was much processing into and
out of the church, and bagpipes led the way to the memorial garden
for the spreading of his ashes. All this in celebration of a man
who'd served his time here on planet earth and was more than ready to
go at the ripe-old-age of 93.
During the service, I
noticed that one of Mr. Ed's grandsons, a man in his early fifties
with near-grown children of his own, wept. It touched my heart to see
a Southern man—usually so stoic—cry at the death of his
grandfather. I asked him about it at the sumptuous reception
afterward, and he reminded me of this quote by Jim Valvano, revered
basketball coach at NC State for more than a decade: “If you
laugh, you think, you cry, that's a full day. That's a heck of a day.
You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something
special.” That IS a good day—a full-hearted day, a
deeply caring day. We would all do well to strive for that.
I noticed, also, that
families love each other, no matter what. Mr. Ed was a well respected
man, but he was in no manner an “easy-going kinda guy.” He was
former army, from the “greatest generation,” and never lost his
military bearing nor his demand for discipline. He was known to have
a temper that, especially in his later years, made life a bit
difficult for those—his children—who were trying to take care of
him. But that didn't stop them from loving him and wanting to honor
him in whatever way they could. He was the patriarch in the truest
sense of the word.
After the service, Mr.
Ed's daughter-in-law, Donna, plopped down beside me in the Parrish
Hall and said, “Well, we're next!” We had a good laugh, with each
of us nominating the other to go first. It's true, though—we don't
know when, but we do know that our day of departure is closer than it
used to be. We, too, will bid farewell to those we love, and those we
don't love so much. No matter what age we are, we can make the time
between now and then better by being a light for one another, and by
treating our children with respect and deep love. After all, they're
the ones who will be planning our send off! Go with God, Mr. Ed. I'm
glad I knew you.
In the Spirit,
Jane
1 comment:
What a sweet tribute to Mr. Ed
Melissa
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