Love is a strange thing. at least ἔρως is.
This weekend I went home to bury my dad's dad.
The church was packed during the wake.
I think wake is a perfect term for the ceremony.
wake is the region of recirculating flow immediately behind a moving or stationary solid body, caused by the flow of surrounding fluid around the body.
like the wake of something being tossed into water.
at the wake of someone's funeral you see all the people that person has impacted. I know that isn't why we call them wakes but it seems to fit just as well.
during the wake I watched the oldest grandson, my oldest cousin struggle for composure as he tried to tell of fond memories and stories about our grandfather. My grandma was a row in front of me beside her 3 children.
after the wake there was a lunch and the mood shifted. suddenly everyone was laughing and sharing a meal together. stories were being swapped and it was as if our mourning had turned to joy.
I learned that my grandfather liberated concentration camps during his time in Europe for the war.
I learned my grandfather couldn't hurt a fly.
I learned my grandfather never liked camping after having to do so much during the war.
I learned, and knew from the time I'd known him, that he never stopped smiling.
but it was only for a moment.
as the lunch winded down we loaded into our cars and drove towards the cemetery.
I'd never been to a cemetery under these conditions before.
Hell, I'd never been to a cemetery even to visit a gravestone.
As soon as we pulled up it was quiet. Like very very quiet. It was real. It turned serious very quickly.
This portion was quick but it was by far the most powerful. This was the end even though the end had come nearly a week prior this was the end.
I stood beside my father at the cemetery.
I stood beside my father as he said goodbye to his.
It felt strange. I wonder what it was like when my father's grandfather died.
Did he stand next to his father as we were now?
And was it the same with my grandfather at the funeral of his grandfather?
Staring at a grave in a cemetery makes death seem very real. More than ever.
My father moved past me without words and put his arm around my mother.
A move I hadn't seen in the 25 years I've known their marriage.
Standing there among the children, grandchildren and great grandchildren of my grandpa felt so strange.
I am the youngest of the grandchildren. I've always been the baby. Every time this group gathered prior to this moment was for celebrations only.
wedding anniversaries
birthdays
holidays
Christmas
this was the first time I had seen my cousins like this.
My oldest cousin is around 17 years older than me.
This group of people way older than me. This group that always seemed to understand everything.
This group of people that use to pick on me and call me "Addy" the baby of the family, This group silent.
My grandmother stood up from the chair she was in gripped her cane and moved towards my grandfather's remains. She touched the marble box and spoke "goodbye my love" in the most heart wrenching broken voice I'd ever heard.
in three words she summed up her 64 years of marriage. In three words she put the weight of 3 children and 6 grandchildren and 3 great grandchildren on her tongue and pushed it out into this world.
64 years.
No way she could have known this day would come when they got married in 1949.
I'll never forget when she said those 3 words. I will never forget how so much weight could rest on 3 words.
I'll never forget that.
After she got into the car all that remained were the lives that she and her husband had created through their love. Their children, their children's children, their children's children's children.
We all stood completely still.
None of us knew what to do, or maybe it was just me that didn't know what to do. Maybe as the baby of the family I was clueless but I knew I was waiting on Brett to lead the way of me. My oldest cousin the police officer, the father, the responsible one.
He moved towards the remains with this family in front of him saying good bye.
Next came his brother and his fiancee.
After that was my aunt and her daughter my cousin.
Then came her brother and his family, with a new born baby, the strange irony of life.
Lastly came the Schuchs.
The youngest of my grandpa's children, and the last remaining family to carry his last name. We stepped past the grave on our way to our car. There is was. It was the first time I'd ever seen my last name on a tombstone.
After that we headed to grandma's house.
I hadn't seen the entire whole side of my dad's side all together like this in YEARS...but it was only through the loss of the patriarch of the family that brought us together.
In a way we were whole but in a way we weren't at all and never would be again.
As we hung out we laughed and told more stories. It was one of the funniest nights I've had in a while. But this looming idea kept popping into my head.
What about when we all leave and my grandmother is left laying in her bed...alone...
For the first time in 64 years...alone.
She spent the night opening cards and talking about the people who sent them.
Her Schwan's truck driver sent a card. she told us that he didn't show up this past Thursday for his weekly delivery. She had now pieced together that he must have heard my grandpa passing and couldn't bare to walk up to the house and see my grandpa's chair empty.
It was strange how moved I was by the story it seemed like my grandma and I were the only two who really felt that that was powerful.
I guess it sort of encapsulated this idea of just how electric my grandfather was. Even if you just saw him for seconds at a time, his smile and kindness stood out.
He even impacted the delivery guy.
there was this pride in my grandmother as she opened the cards. She loved her husband very much and to see the wake of love he left.
death is a strange thing but it is part of life.
Sigur Rós - Valtari
This weekend I went home to bury my dad's dad.
The church was packed during the wake.
I think wake is a perfect term for the ceremony.
wake is the region of recirculating flow immediately behind a moving or stationary solid body, caused by the flow of surrounding fluid around the body.
like the wake of something being tossed into water.
at the wake of someone's funeral you see all the people that person has impacted. I know that isn't why we call them wakes but it seems to fit just as well.
during the wake I watched the oldest grandson, my oldest cousin struggle for composure as he tried to tell of fond memories and stories about our grandfather. My grandma was a row in front of me beside her 3 children.
after the wake there was a lunch and the mood shifted. suddenly everyone was laughing and sharing a meal together. stories were being swapped and it was as if our mourning had turned to joy.
I learned that my grandfather liberated concentration camps during his time in Europe for the war.
I learned my grandfather couldn't hurt a fly.
I learned my grandfather never liked camping after having to do so much during the war.
I learned, and knew from the time I'd known him, that he never stopped smiling.
but it was only for a moment.
as the lunch winded down we loaded into our cars and drove towards the cemetery.
I'd never been to a cemetery under these conditions before.
Hell, I'd never been to a cemetery even to visit a gravestone.
As soon as we pulled up it was quiet. Like very very quiet. It was real. It turned serious very quickly.
This portion was quick but it was by far the most powerful. This was the end even though the end had come nearly a week prior this was the end.
I stood beside my father at the cemetery.
I stood beside my father as he said goodbye to his.
It felt strange. I wonder what it was like when my father's grandfather died.
Did he stand next to his father as we were now?
And was it the same with my grandfather at the funeral of his grandfather?
Staring at a grave in a cemetery makes death seem very real. More than ever.
My father moved past me without words and put his arm around my mother.
A move I hadn't seen in the 25 years I've known their marriage.
Standing there among the children, grandchildren and great grandchildren of my grandpa felt so strange.
I am the youngest of the grandchildren. I've always been the baby. Every time this group gathered prior to this moment was for celebrations only.
wedding anniversaries
birthdays
holidays
Christmas
this was the first time I had seen my cousins like this.
My oldest cousin is around 17 years older than me.
This group of people way older than me. This group that always seemed to understand everything.
This group of people that use to pick on me and call me "Addy" the baby of the family, This group silent.
My grandmother stood up from the chair she was in gripped her cane and moved towards my grandfather's remains. She touched the marble box and spoke "goodbye my love" in the most heart wrenching broken voice I'd ever heard.
in three words she summed up her 64 years of marriage. In three words she put the weight of 3 children and 6 grandchildren and 3 great grandchildren on her tongue and pushed it out into this world.
64 years.
No way she could have known this day would come when they got married in 1949.
I'll never forget when she said those 3 words. I will never forget how so much weight could rest on 3 words.
I'll never forget that.
After she got into the car all that remained were the lives that she and her husband had created through their love. Their children, their children's children, their children's children's children.
We all stood completely still.
None of us knew what to do, or maybe it was just me that didn't know what to do. Maybe as the baby of the family I was clueless but I knew I was waiting on Brett to lead the way of me. My oldest cousin the police officer, the father, the responsible one.
He moved towards the remains with this family in front of him saying good bye.
Next came his brother and his fiancee.
After that was my aunt and her daughter my cousin.
Then came her brother and his family, with a new born baby, the strange irony of life.
Lastly came the Schuchs.
The youngest of my grandpa's children, and the last remaining family to carry his last name. We stepped past the grave on our way to our car. There is was. It was the first time I'd ever seen my last name on a tombstone.
After that we headed to grandma's house.
I hadn't seen the entire whole side of my dad's side all together like this in YEARS...but it was only through the loss of the patriarch of the family that brought us together.
In a way we were whole but in a way we weren't at all and never would be again.
As we hung out we laughed and told more stories. It was one of the funniest nights I've had in a while. But this looming idea kept popping into my head.
What about when we all leave and my grandmother is left laying in her bed...alone...
For the first time in 64 years...alone.
She spent the night opening cards and talking about the people who sent them.
Her Schwan's truck driver sent a card. she told us that he didn't show up this past Thursday for his weekly delivery. She had now pieced together that he must have heard my grandpa passing and couldn't bare to walk up to the house and see my grandpa's chair empty.
It was strange how moved I was by the story it seemed like my grandma and I were the only two who really felt that that was powerful.
I guess it sort of encapsulated this idea of just how electric my grandfather was. Even if you just saw him for seconds at a time, his smile and kindness stood out.
He even impacted the delivery guy.
there was this pride in my grandmother as she opened the cards. She loved her husband very much and to see the wake of love he left.
death is a strange thing but it is part of life.
Sigur Rós - Valtari