In the calm that came after the fierce battle of my father’s death and before the wrenching celebration of his funeral, we all did one last thing for Dad. Or rather, for ourselves as a way to say goodbye to him.
Mom held his ashes in her hands and touched him one last time.
Sam gathered photos from the beginning of his life to his last days.
Randy prepared his last ride.
I made memory quilts for him to rest on one last time.
His motorcycle buddies sat with him and smoked one last cigar, then mixed the ashes into Dad’s ashes.
On the day of the funeral the family gathered early and we dug the grave for Dad ourselves. We put the dirt on top of a tarp that Dad had used to cover his motorcycles. We laid my quilts on the ground while Sam polished Dad’s eternal ride until it gleamed.
Mom held his ashes in her hands and touched him one last time.
Sam gathered photos from the beginning of his life to his last days.
Randy prepared his last ride.
I made memory quilts for him to rest on one last time.
His motorcycle buddies sat with him and smoked one last cigar, then mixed the ashes into Dad’s ashes.
On the day of the funeral the family gathered early and we dug the grave for Dad ourselves. We put the dirt on top of a tarp that Dad had used to cover his motorcycles. We laid my quilts on the ground while Sam polished Dad’s eternal ride until it gleamed.
Then we gently settled Dad in his ride on top of the quilts.
We stood together while the preacher offered words of comfort. And when my brothers and I knelt together and lowered Dad into the ground it became truly final and my heart broke.
Sitting on the grass, sunshine on my back, the leaves on the trees overhead rustling in the breeze, the smell of fresh dirt filling my nose, surrounded by the love of my family, the dam cracked open and I was finally able to cry.
We covered Dad in good Oregon dirt and patted it down snug around him. Mom went from person to person and hugged us all. And that was the last time we were with Dad in any physical way.
We covered Dad in good Oregon dirt and patted it down snug around him. Mom went from person to person and hugged us all. And that was the last time we were with Dad in any physical way.
My Dad’s funeral was both traditional and non-traditional, and in that way it fit Dad perfectly. He lived a traditional life: Married, patriarch, preacher.But he lived it in a very non-traditional way: Lover, friend, dreamer.
So, while his burial was not so traditional, his funeral service was. It was held at the church he had pastored for ten years. There were two speakers; a close friend and the current pastor of the church. There was singing, both family and congregational. My brother’s photo album of Dad’s life played across the screen at the front of the sanctuary. And afterward there was a gathering with food and stories.
A huge gathering. Literally hundreds of people came to say goodbye. Dad wasn’t perfect (no one is!) but he loved people. And they knew it and loved him in return.
Last night Mike and I attended a celebration of a friend’s life. Rob died of cancer at the age of 52. The life of the party, gone, just like that. He wasn’t perfect either, but he loved a good time, especially if it involved family, friends, food, music, beer, laughter. He loved being in the middle of the party. He loved his family and friends and they knew it and loved him in return. And literally hundreds of people showed up last night to say goodbye.
Dad and Rob were very different people. But the one thing they had in common was a vast capacity to love. And people loved them for it.
Everyone is different.
We live differently.
We grieve differently.
We love differently.
But we all love.
Dad and Rob just found a way to do it bigger, louder, more. They proved that the more you love, the more you are loved.
So in honor of these two very different men, I just want to say I love you. From the tips of my toes to the top of my head, from the bottom of my heart to the moon and back. I love you.
Love,
Chris
So, while his burial was not so traditional, his funeral service was. It was held at the church he had pastored for ten years. There were two speakers; a close friend and the current pastor of the church. There was singing, both family and congregational. My brother’s photo album of Dad’s life played across the screen at the front of the sanctuary. And afterward there was a gathering with food and stories.
A huge gathering. Literally hundreds of people came to say goodbye. Dad wasn’t perfect (no one is!) but he loved people. And they knew it and loved him in return.
Last night Mike and I attended a celebration of a friend’s life. Rob died of cancer at the age of 52. The life of the party, gone, just like that. He wasn’t perfect either, but he loved a good time, especially if it involved family, friends, food, music, beer, laughter. He loved being in the middle of the party. He loved his family and friends and they knew it and loved him in return. And literally hundreds of people showed up last night to say goodbye.
Dad and Rob were very different people. But the one thing they had in common was a vast capacity to love. And people loved them for it.
Everyone is different.
We live differently.
We grieve differently.
We love differently.
But we all love.
Dad and Rob just found a way to do it bigger, louder, more. They proved that the more you love, the more you are loved.
So in honor of these two very different men, I just want to say I love you. From the tips of my toes to the top of my head, from the bottom of my heart to the moon and back. I love you.
Love,
Chris