{"id":4850,"date":"2021-10-10T08:02:49","date_gmt":"2021-10-10T12:02:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dahlman.online\/?p=4850"},"modified":"2021-10-10T08:02:53","modified_gmt":"2021-10-10T12:02:53","slug":"funeral-for-a-friend","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dahlman.online\/index.php\/2021\/10\/10\/funeral-for-a-friend\/","title":{"rendered":"Funeral for a Friend"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Here\u2019s today\u2019s addition to the Sunday Story Series.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My Bags Are Packed<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

This weekend I did something I haven\u2019t done since \u2013 maybe 2017?  My cousin died last month in Florida, and this weekend was his memorial service.  I made a promise to him, three years ago, that I would give the eulogy at his funeral.  So this is it, I\u2019m on the road (again?). <\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s the age of COVID, and Florida isn\u2019t the best place to go.  But a promise is a promise, even now. My first thought was to drive down.  That way, I would be contained in my own vehicle, able to control interactions with folks.  But that\u2019s a problem – Tampa is about 1000 miles from Pataskala.  That\u2019s a fifteen hour drive, by myself.  And that\u2019s not the biggest concern.  Tampa (and back) is 130 gallons of gas.  At a simple $3.00 a gallon (and it\u2019s more) that puts the cost at around $400.  So that\u2019s two long days of driving, and twice the cost of an airplane ticket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There I was, standing room only at Gate A6 in John Glenn International Airport of Columbus, Ohio.\u00a0\u00a0My flight is scheduled to leave at 7:10 am.\u00a0\u00a0That doesn\u2019t sound so bad, if I were subbing at the high school I would be in the classroom by now.\u00a0\u00a0But that\u2019s not how it works.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 On The Road Again<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s been a long time since I\u2019ve flown, but some things haven\u2019t changed.  Let\u2019s see:  get to the airport an hour and a half before the flight to park the car, ride the shuttle, check my bag and get through security.  As always, when you get there early, that all happens really fast \u2013 and I\u2019m standing in line at the airport Starbucks by 6:10.  But \u2013 cut things close, and it\u2019s a late parking shuttle, they can\u2019t find your ticket, the line at security is into the concourse, and, \u201c\u2026sir, step onto the second mat for a \u2018personal\u2019 security check\u201d.  So better early than late.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All of that means that my alarm was set for 4:15 am.  But the dogs didn\u2019t see it that way.  When the coffee pot went off by itself at four, our watchful Australian Shepherd mix KeeLie knew that wasn\u2019t right.  So she alerted us all, that \u201cwhat-the-Hell is going on\u201d bark, that got three of the other dogs to join in the chorus.  So we all got up a little early, including Jenn who was looking forward to me sneaking out the door and some early peace and quiet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Almost four years since I\u2019ve flown.  I was on the way to the airport, going through a mental checklist.  Driver\u2019s License \u2013 oh I did pay the extra money to have a \u201cNational\u201d card, so I don\u2019t need my passport.  Mask \u2013 and backup mask \u2013 and backup to the backup mask \u2013 and three more in my luggage:  I\u2019m not going to be THAT guy on the plane.  The gatekeeper just announced that you don\u2019t have to wear a mask \u2013 they\u2019ll just bring in the \u201cguys\u201d to remove you and make you a viral \u201cstar\u201d for fifteen seconds.  Can I still take my Starbucks on the plane with me?  Can I drink it when I do?  Lots of rules have changed since the last time we flew to New York City with our friends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Who Are You<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

And it\u2019s Southwest Airlines with what we used to call \u201cFestival Seating\u201d in the concerts days.  It means there are no assigned seats \u2013 everyone just gets on and finds a place.  150 passengers for 153 seats, no COVID distancing here; it\u2019s just like the good old days.  I was boarding order B, number 42.  That\u2019s basically the last person on the plane \u2013 but somehow there was an aisle seat left. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The trip to Tampa was uneventful \u2013 read a few paragraphs about the Civil War in the American Southwest, then sleep for fifteen minutes.  Arrive, stand in line for an hour to get the rental car, then hangout and wait for the rest of the family to come in from Cleveland.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Celebrate Good Times<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Funerals are always strange.  Of course they are sad, the missing person at the party is obvious.  Most of the funerals I\u2019ve gone to recently have been older folks, so while there\u2019s always sorrow, there\u2019s not the sharp, cutting loss of a younger person.  And they have all the formulas of a more \u201cnormal\u201d activity:  food, drink, introduction, conversation,  and toasts to the lost and the bereaved.  In short \u2013 it\u2019s a party by some other name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And the process of \u201cfuneral\u201d has another purpose:  distraction.  Those closest are forced to deal with all the ceremony, the process, the \u201cparty\u201d planning.  So here near Tampa the \u201cparty\u201d started Friday evening and will go on through Monday, when finally, despite Southwest Airlines best attempts to strand everyone here, they\u2019ll all go home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My departed cousin was an interesting man (I wrote about him soon after his death several weeks ago \u2013 My Cousin Brendan<\/a>)<\/em>.   He lived his life in chapters \u2013 growing up in England, coming to Cincinnati, a marriage in Chicago, and his final chapter remarried to Mary in Tampa.  The attendees at the service were from the three America chapters, and most were unaware of the other sections.  You could hear the \u201coh I didn\u2019t know that\u201d even in the church, a \u201cHigh Episcopal\u201d service complete with mass and the priests sprinkling holy water, the \u201caspergillum\u201d  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finnegan\u2019s Wake<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

My cousin was a well-loved member of the congregation, and his wife stood by him in his long final illness.  You could feel the support for Mary from the two Fathers who led the church, and all the members who provided the after-service lunch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The head minister is named \u201cFather Ray\u201d, a man of Asian ancestry.  The small church is built on a peninsula between two roads, and the site was an Episcopal Church since the late 1800\u2019s.  The founder of the congregation is buried in the churchyard, a monument marking his grave.  He was a Civil War veteran, a Captain in Robert E. Lee\u2019s Army of Virginia.  As Father Ray said, Confederate or not, he was a good man.  He gave the land to the church and built the first chapel.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Every Confederate Memorial Day, a \u201cRebel\u201d flag appears at the foot of the grave.  As Father Ray told me the story, members of the congregation wonder why he allows the flag to stay for a while.  The Father said, \u201c\u2026they\u2019re simply honoring the dead.  Besides, the Captain and others in the church graveyard don\u2019t seem too upset that their Church is now run by the \u2018Asian Mafia\u2019.\u201d   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our family descends from Ireland.\u00a0\u00a0At Saturday\u2019s dinner it was no surprise that Irish tradition was followed.\u00a0\u00a0The Jameson\u2019s whiskey was the \u201choly water\u201d of the evening, and as befits Brendan\u2019s English public school education, three cheers were made for the deceased: Hip-Hip, Hooray; Hip-Hip Hooray; Hip-Hip, Hooray.\u00a0\u00a0There\u2019s a cheer for Mary as well \u2013 her long struggle is over too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s early Sunday morning.  I got a 6 am wakeup call, despite the Jameson\u2019s.  Southwest cancelled my flight; now instead of a straight shot home, I\u2019m headed out five hours earlier to Dallas to connect to John Glenn.  Hopefully they don\u2019t cancel any more flights today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n