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I have, as predicted, been crying a lot. The viewing on Friday was particularly hard for me. One of my stepsisters and her husband had made up a slideshow of pictures of Dad, which kept setting me off, particularly one of him dancing a jig at at Christmas party. And it was obvious, looking at all of these pictures, that even in the time period when he was looking confused and a little grim in a lot of the pics, if there was a kid for him to be focusing on he was smiling, a real smile.
The service on Sunday was really good, and everyone seemed quite sincere in agreement on that. The minister who spoke did a nice sermon. He knew Dad at least a little, and had a typical story to relate - he had shown up for dinner at my Dad's and stepmother's house thinking he was there by prearrangement, and didn't realize that he was a day early. But it never phased my Dad a bit if someone showed up late or a day early, he was happy to see you and always gracious and welcoming.
A group, mostly of our step-siblings, but also Hawk, sang a song or two (I wish I could recall both, I'm pretty sure they said there would be two), and did a nice job, and the stepsister's husband who had made the slideshow also sang Sea Fever, to a tune which he freely admitted he had no idea where it came from, if he stole it or what, but it was surprisingly lively and in the in the proper and appropriate style of the sea shanties that Dad loved. I was dreading it being funereal and sappy, as I don't expect better than maudlin pap out of most people when thinking of things to sing at services for the dead. This guy is no particular singer, but a LOT of people sang along after the first verse, because even after the first line it sounded like the kind of thing you want to sing along with.
My cousin spoke, and tried to be thematic and talk about our world having changed by this person no longer being in it, and how the world had changed while my father was alive. Apparently Dad had told him that when he was young you could walk along the float dock and grab any little rowboat, use it for a while, and 'as long as you returned it people wouldn't get too riled.'
Dad's college roommate, TheHhumble Farmer (that was how he always had the header on his newspaper column) also spoke - he had a story about how one of the neighbors dreaded turning on the light if he got up in the middle of the night to raid the fridge, because if my Dad saw the light on he would be knocking on the door - "I saw your light on and thought I'd stop in." (At the party later I said I wasn't sure I believe that story, but he said it fit with my father's vague, Aspergersish way of not understanding the social boundries and conventions, and that makes sense.)
A few other people said short things, including two of my stepsisters and the son of one of them. That was particularly moving despite, or possibly because of, it's clumsy and un-thought-out style - it's obvious that his learning style is a little different than most. He told how when he was first adopted and introduced to his new grandfather he thought the guy was an absolute nut, with that crazy hair, but later his grandfather patiently helped him build a boat, doing more and more by himself, and "when I was done painting it I just turned to him and gave him a big hug and said 'thank you, thank you.' Though my brothers and I have no children, Dad was the only grandfather to a lot of kids who weren't actually any blood relation to him - thirteen grandkids and six great-grandchildren, I believe the obit said - and by all accounts he tried to be involved and do his best for them.
And I'm doing all this completely out of order because I want to end with highlight of the event for me, Hawk's little speech. But now I'm at the point where I really have to relate it, I suddenly realize that I can't do it justice, and I wonder if I should ask him for his notes. Hm, yes, I think that's what I'll do. Post to follow... sometime.
Now, the service place just phoned about my car, said it should be done by about 2pm, so I guess I should change into my gardening clothes and go kill some bamboo. Hawk's mate was going to help me plant the flowers left over from the service, but I don't think that's going to be able to happen, as she's still out with him somewhere and she's flying out this afternoon.
The service on Sunday was really good, and everyone seemed quite sincere in agreement on that. The minister who spoke did a nice sermon. He knew Dad at least a little, and had a typical story to relate - he had shown up for dinner at my Dad's and stepmother's house thinking he was there by prearrangement, and didn't realize that he was a day early. But it never phased my Dad a bit if someone showed up late or a day early, he was happy to see you and always gracious and welcoming.
A group, mostly of our step-siblings, but also Hawk, sang a song or two (I wish I could recall both, I'm pretty sure they said there would be two), and did a nice job, and the stepsister's husband who had made the slideshow also sang Sea Fever, to a tune which he freely admitted he had no idea where it came from, if he stole it or what, but it was surprisingly lively and in the in the proper and appropriate style of the sea shanties that Dad loved. I was dreading it being funereal and sappy, as I don't expect better than maudlin pap out of most people when thinking of things to sing at services for the dead. This guy is no particular singer, but a LOT of people sang along after the first verse, because even after the first line it sounded like the kind of thing you want to sing along with.
My cousin spoke, and tried to be thematic and talk about our world having changed by this person no longer being in it, and how the world had changed while my father was alive. Apparently Dad had told him that when he was young you could walk along the float dock and grab any little rowboat, use it for a while, and 'as long as you returned it people wouldn't get too riled.'
Dad's college roommate, The
A few other people said short things, including two of my stepsisters and the son of one of them. That was particularly moving despite, or possibly because of, it's clumsy and un-thought-out style - it's obvious that his learning style is a little different than most. He told how when he was first adopted and introduced to his new grandfather he thought the guy was an absolute nut, with that crazy hair, but later his grandfather patiently helped him build a boat, doing more and more by himself, and "when I was done painting it I just turned to him and gave him a big hug and said 'thank you, thank you.' Though my brothers and I have no children, Dad was the only grandfather to a lot of kids who weren't actually any blood relation to him - thirteen grandkids and six great-grandchildren, I believe the obit said - and by all accounts he tried to be involved and do his best for them.
And I'm doing all this completely out of order because I want to end with highlight of the event for me, Hawk's little speech. But now I'm at the point where I really have to relate it, I suddenly realize that I can't do it justice, and I wonder if I should ask him for his notes. Hm, yes, I think that's what I'll do. Post to follow... sometime.
Now, the service place just phoned about my car, said it should be done by about 2pm, so I guess I should change into my gardening clothes and go kill some bamboo. Hawk's mate was going to help me plant the flowers left over from the service, but I don't think that's going to be able to happen, as she's still out with him somewhere and she's flying out this afternoon.