Two Days of Family

We were all there, or almost all of us; my brother and my parents, my grandmother Meema, my cousins from St. Louis, my uncles, even old friends and church members from Sharon Baptist.  We're expecting a different crowd at the graveside tomorrow.  Old friends of grandma's and more distant family, all together to mark the passing of a loved one, and to be there together.  As my dad observed earlier tonight, "its funny how it takes someone dying to get all of us together."

My grandmother passed away on Sunday, April 17th, 2011, around 6:00PM.  Today, on Tuesday the 19th, we had a visitation for her, followed by a dinner for the family.  Tomorrow, Wednesday the 20th, there will be another family meal, lunch; following that, we will have the graveside service.

At the visitation, and again after at the dinner, I connected well with my uncle Dale.  I have never known him well; he calls himself the black sheep.  Still, outwardly he seemed to be taking the weight of all this as well as his brothers.  He invited Jim and I to go fishing with him, over in Portland, Texas, near Corpus Christi.  Dale is a legendary figure, both for his misadventures, and for his skill as an outdoorsman.

I met Rob again, whom I knew from Sharon Baptist, years ago.  He got divorced after I had left Tyler, and not long after that his ex-wife died, somewhat suddenly I take it.  He has since remarried, and seemed a happy man, though wiser for his experiences.  He teaches a class at 1st Baptist Whitehouse called POT, which is a fairly catching and witty title for a class that teaches parents how to work with and love their teenage children.

My uncle Larry's family was there.  Many of them drove down from St. Louis that morning, which is quite a ways farther than coming up form Austin.  My uncle Larry is a quiet man, a bit serious, but I've always respected him.  He and my father spoke at their father's funeral, three years ago (almost to the day), and I can always see the family resemblance in them, in their appearance, mannerisms, and even their "pulpit manner."  They do seem to view life and death very differently however.  Larry is currently a hospice chaplain in San Antonio.

My father's friend Ron--whom he met while they were getting their doctorates at seminary--had come in for the funeral from Arp, Texas.  He will be doing the graveside service tomorrow along with Larry; my father did not want to do it this time.  Ron is a wonderful, interesting man; a bit sarcastic and funny, and more than a bit friendly and curious.  We had a good talk at the visitation, about the weather, school, children, and family.  Those were popular topics of conversation today.

My mother seemed tired, quiet, and supportive.  She is always supportive, yet rarely quiet; this has been a long week for them.  Adding to her quietness and the complexity of all this, my mother is recovering from surgery; they had to take skin from her palette to fix her receding gum line.  Not major surgery, but when you occasionally bleed from your mouth throughout the course of the day, it tends to disrupt things and keeps you out of long conversation.

My father seemed very tired.  I do not see much sadness in him, only exhaustion and resolve tied together.  I worry for my father, as he deals with his loss.  Speaking with myself, Sara, and my mother, he said that it was almost good to see this, what has happened to his mother; he spoke of facing mortality, and of coming to term with the end of one's life.  There is a weight on his shoulders that I cannot put my finger on, and that I won't speculate about.  He is my father; I love him, and though he does not suffer with outward emotion, I feel his pain.  I will support him in his time of need, just as he supported both of his parents in theirs, and I will love him all the same.

We have only one span of time on this earth, only one family, and so much to learn and so much growing to do.  Its good to see my family, some distant, others close, and know they are living their lives just as I live mine.  It's a shame we do not see each other more often, yet here we are, brought together by loss and love.  Isn't it funny...