A Celebration of Life

[NaughtyLil1]

I'm so happy to hear this. Not because it will make any difference to this girl, but because it will make a difference for you all. Living with hate takes such a toll, both physically and mentally. I wish you all well.

Thank you, bg.

 

[Eilan]

Nine years ago today, my grandfather died. I posted about it on my blog. Those of you who don't have short attention spans are welcome to read what I wrote. It's too long to post here.

September 28, 1997

 

[silverwhisper]

my condolences on your loss, eilan.

ed

 

[someplace]

A litster in my area whom I consider a good friend lost his grandmother this week. About a year or two ago, this friend moved into his grandmother's house so she could maintain her independence and keep the family from worrying about putting her in a nursing home. Last Spring, the very large very Italian family threw a surprise 90th birthday party for the lady in question. I remember hearing about it.

Bluebie and I'd been out to dinner with this friend Saturday night and when he called on Sunday we thought it would be the usual "Had fun, good to see you again, should do it again soon" stuff. Instead we heard about our friend going out and coming home to find his grandmother gone. He felt very guilty about not being there. He asked us to go to the funeral.

So we went to the funeral of someone we'd heard a lot about but never met.

They had her 90th birthday party celebration tape running in a loop at the visitation last night. It was so cool. We really got a sense of who the woman was, and were tickled at her surprise and overwhelmed by the love this very large family had for this woman. Seeing her and her 84 yr old brother jitterbug was so touching.

As we heard more of the stories of how this woman had touched all her relatives lives I was struck at how much of this woman's essence will carry on in her family members. ALL of her grandchildren were shattered. It was very evident that even though they're all grown and on their own now, they kept her involved in their lives on a weekly if not daily basis. They all had their days or nights or special dates with grandma. They all called her frequently. I just don't know many kids in their 20s and 30s who do that now days.

I was really amazed at the impact one modest life could have on their family. There were lessons laid open to me last night and today. I'm still sorting them out. I know I'm very sorry I didn't get to meet and know this woman before her passing.

 

[bobsgirl]

A litster in my area whom I consider a good friend lost his grandmother this week. About a year or two ago, this friend moved into his grandmother's house so she could maintain her independence and keep the family from worrying about putting her in a nursing home. Last Spring, the very large very Italian family threw a surprise 90th birthday party for the lady in question. I remember hearing about it.

Bluebie and I'd been out to dinner with this friend Saturday night and when he called on Sunday we thought it would be the usual "Had fun, good to see you again, should do it again soon" stuff. Instead we heard about our friend going out and coming home to find his grandmother gone. He felt very guilty about not being there. He asked us to go to the funeral.

So we went to the funeral of someone we'd heard a lot about but never met.

They had her 90th birthday party celebration tape running in a loop at the visitation last night. It was so cool. We really got a sense of who the woman was, and were tickled at her surprise and overwhelmed by the love this very large family had for this woman. Seeing her and her 84 yr old brother jitterbug was so touching.

As we heard more of the stories of how this woman had touched all her relatives lives I was struck at how much of this woman's essence will carry on in her family members. ALL of her grandchildren were shattered. It was very evident that even though they're all grown and on their own now, they kept her involved in their lives on a weekly if not daily basis. They all had their days or nights or special dates with grandma. They all called her frequently. I just don't know many kids in their 20s and 30s who do that now days.

I was really amazed at the impact one modest life could have on their family. There were lessons laid open to me last night and today. I'm still sorting them out. I know I'm very sorry I didn't get to meet and know this woman before her passing.

It touches my heart that this woman was so loved by her grandchildren. I lost my last grandparent while I was still a teenager. But I can see how it might have been with my grandma when I watch my daughter with my mother. Being a grandma has to be one of the coolest things going. (Yes, I suppose that's the tiniest, most gentle of hints to my offspring. )

 

[someplace]

*sigh* I know. None of my children are anywhere near a point to make me a grandmother. My 30 yr old even apologized for it a few months ago. I will be an OLD grandma, which I thought would mean I couldn't have fun with them. After yesterday, I'm having to rethink that.

 

[wicked woman]

((((Eilan))))


Someplace...well I am a grandmother. *a very young one * It is absolutely wonderful...but as for your post. Thanks for sharing. You're right it's amazing how she touched some many of her family and how they kept in touch. A lot of adults don't keep in touch with their parents that often let alone their grandparents. Give an extra hug to your friend please.

 

[Quoll]

I don't do death.

What does that mean, well for me it means I shut down my feelings when I hear of the death of someone I don't know or didn't know well, or a friend/family member of someone I do know.
I find it incredibly hard to say anything (I'm not talking about the "no words can convey how I feel" type of thing), I mean I just have no feelings about it whatsoever, eventually the words come to me, weeks later usually.
Being heavy into self analysis I blame it all on my childhood. I know, whoda thunk it.

I'm not even sure if this is the right thread for this, but it's the one that triggered these thoughts so bear with me.

I figure I don't do death because I've had enough of it. (this is already starting to sound all whiny and poor me, maybe there is a bit of that in this too, but the thoughts are there and I want them out.) Before I was born one of my older brothers died on Christmas day, he was twelve, that must have really ripped my parents apart, it's quite weird to hear other members of your family talk about someone you have only seen in photos.
When I was eleven my Father died after a long illness, before he died he was moved to a hospital in the city which meant we had to sell up and leave the small town we lived in.
A few months before my sixteenth birthday my Mum died (long illness no need for details).
My Mum was was pretty cool about a lot of things, and she did the most wonderful thing for me the last time she went into hospital. Two weeks before she died she told me she wasn't coming home this time, she knew it and I believed her, as you can imagine it ripped me apart but I'm so glad she told me. I told some of my family what she said, now maybe they were trying to protect me, but telling me she was losing her mind was not the way to do it. Hell she and I lived together, and she was sharp ( she was still busting me for stuff ). I also told my best friend (guess who) and she comforted me.

Anyway fast forward almost two weeks, I went into the hospital to visit her, she had been moved to a single room, she was heavily drugged and a bit confused, she thought I was still at school, she had forgotten I was working.
Drugged or not she knew what being in the single room meant, as did I, we had gone through this when Dad died.
I was numb when I left that night, I woke up at four thirty, not a good feeling, I went back to sleep, got up before seven, rang work and told them I wouldn't be in, then sat by the phone. One of my sisters rang about eight thirty and told me Mum had died at four thirty, I said I know.

Skip forward a few years to Possy's accident, again I knew, I didn't go to her house to meet her like I usually did, I just sat there waiting for someone to come and get me, they did. She hovered on the brink of death for two weeks before coming back to me.
When my Mum died, Possy's Mum stepped in and took a lot of the pressure off me, she too ended up gravely ill, when my eldest was three months old we spent a night at the hospital with her, she held him and cuddled him, I'm so glad she got to see him, she died that night.

I agree entirely with a celebration of life, I hope when I go my life is celebrated, not just mourned. It's something I'm trying to do, I'm not bitter about the deaths of the ones I love, and I have no problem talking about/to them, I just wish I didn't shut down when others need comfort.

 

[wicked woman]

quoll one thing I've learned about death is that we all deal with it differently. How we deal with it can change over time...but we do what we need to do and sometimes that's to protect us.

I've also learned that my presence is more important to the mourner than any witty words I might, or might not, think of. A hearfelt hug can do wonders...and when they don't want to let go...you've done well.

I hear you...but don't be kicking yourself in the ass.

 

[bobsgirl]

You know, quoll, whatever works for you is what you should do. As WW said, everybody handles death differently. There is no right or wrong.

You've had a lot of loss in your life, and I am sorry for that.

You also have had a great miracle. And she just gave birth to LF.

 

[midwestyankee]

Quoll, I'm a lot like you in that I am just terrible about handling tragedy in other people's lives. I never know quite what to say (hell, I'm even terrible at saying the righ thing at weddings). And I have far less reason for this than you describe, for I've not experienced anywhere near the kinds of losses that you have. Still, I don't do death well either.

WW is probably right (she often is) when she says that the most important thing is your presence. Friends want friends to be friends. You don't have to be a professional counselor; you only have to be you.

I guess the problem is that such times are rare and so they take us way out of our normal mode of thinking and acting. We really aren't ourselves at those times. For me anyway, that's what makes it so hard to feel like I'm doing or saying the right thing.

Of course I do have a secret weapon at funerals: I love to tell the story of the time that someone vomited into my wife's aunt's takeout dinner at the funeral home during my father-in-law's wake.

 

[someplace]

Ok Yank, that's just ewwwwwwwwww...but you probably knew that.

Guess it's a pretty effective tale for taking one's mind off the present worry, huh?

*grin*

 

[midwestyankee]

Ok Yank, that's just ewwwwwwwwww...but you probably knew that.

Guess it's a pretty effective tale for taking one's mind off the present worry, huh?

*grin*

It was hysterically funny. The takeout dinner was in a brown paper bag and it was on a table just a few feet from where several of us were sitting. This man came hurrying down the stairs into the family waiting area, clearly a bit green about the gills, and went straight for the brown bag. He was too quick and we did not have time to call him off.

 

[someplace]

Unclej's eulogy

Okay you guys. I had to do some digging around to find this thread, but it is the perfect place to post this because it really was a celebration of a wonderful life. Many of you interacted with unclej here and elsewhere and I didn't have everyone's emails, so here it is...

I finally received a copy of the service Scotty gave, that I promised to so many who couldn't make it. This eulogy was delivered on an icy morning in San Marcos, Tx., Monday, January 15, 2007:

John K******* 1946 ~ 2007

Brothers and sisters, family, friends, nieces and nephews, daughter, grandson, Sugarbear, Mother, and all departed relations ~ we gather here in this house to bid goodbye to our beloved John K******* and begin the celebration of his life that will last the rest of ours.

I will open with a poem from my wife Jamie ~

In this life he was my friend
In the next he may be my brother
Death is not the end
When one becomes another

We may not understand
The things beyond our senses
But I feel there is a plan
In God there are no fences

I am not a priest, a monk, a rabbi, minister, preacher, or ordained Holy Man of any specific cloth... but that's OK. John was not a religious man. He was a spiritual man, however, a devout follower of the Church of life itself with strong beliefs, daily practice, reverence, faith, and sacraments. I am merely a humble servant granted this opportunity to speak of my friend, guru, brother and mentor John. And I am honored.

You know well the whole town would want this opportunity to be here... and aren't we the lucky ones? For to feel the pain of the loss we share means that we have had the gift of his presence in our lives; to feel the hole inside we all share means that we have known and loved another worth knowing and loving; to hurt and to grieve and to mourn and ask why means we are alive, we are able to feel, and all systems are okay.

This is not supposed to be easy... it wouldn't mean anything if it was.

The hands of That Greater do not measure by what is left undone; incomplete projects, unrealized plans or uncounted pennies. We do that because that's what we see from our perspective. What matters is what you have done, whose hearts you have touched, how much beauty you have created and dispersed. If we are to be judged by our actions and ripples, John is to be judged by wood art, songs, his impact on our lives, and the strength of his character. By this measure, three men cannot fill the shoes of Uncle Johnny... that's why it hurts. It's a wound. It will take time to heal. We would be nothing without our scars.

One reason we hurt so badly is the simple fact that the passing of a loved one reminds us of the frailty of life and of our own mortality. This perhaps is our greatest lesson, though...

Sometimes we need to be shaken from our surface level dramas and challenges and conquests of our days to realize how rich we all are to have another day here, another opportunity to love and be loved, to help, to create, to laugh, to fix, to get some on you and make it mean something, to make some good times right now while we're planning and dreaming of tomorrows. This is what we have, our fortune. How are we going to spend it?

Big memories don't just happen, they are made like a handcrafted box ~ the results of care and attention, craftsmanship, a reverence for what one is given to work with, and a desire to manifest That Greater within us into something we can hold and pass along to others... be it a lesson, a song, a deck, a piece of art, or turning a wrench with a little extra care.

As a much younger man a very cosmically sensitive, creepy old French woman on Cape Cod saw into my future and told me I'd meet "The man who worked with the wood"; that he could be trusted; that he would show me the way. She didn't mention beer, puns, juvenile humor, ratty old pickups or (other stuff)... I guess that was all just icing on the cake.

I stand before you what some call a self-made man... but there's no such thing. I built my life out of what I learned from a few great teachers; the greatest of which was Uncle Johnny Kirtland. I'll miss those lessons, I'll miss the stories. More than anything I'll miss his laugh ~ it was huge, often funnier than the joke itself, and you heard it every time because he cracked himself up with every joke he ever told.

I had the honor of getting some life on me with Uncle Johnny. As a friend, we shared cold beers and fart jokes too numerous to mention. As a brother, he helped out with his heart and hands whenever there was a need. As a mentor, he showed me how to work with wood... not just cut it and shape it; I could do that... but to work with the wood. When I first came here, he let me build guitars out of his woodshop. It was there I shared that with him, while he showed me how to turn my work into a higher art and gave me the tools to make it my life's path.

And as the crazy uncle everyone wishes they had (and we did), we wrote songs together, ran a music shop together, shared victories and losses, made music, bowed our heads when it was time, and also when it was time gloated and taunted those who squared off against us with fingers flying and mention of their mothers having worn combat boots, having swam up to troop ships, and being Bigfeet and Chupacabras.

No opportunity to make light of anything or inject humor of questionable taste into any situation, so far as I saw, ever snuck by John Kirtland. He set every one of us up for a spike or punch line at least once, and we can all rest easy (and John can rest in peace) knowing he will be at every party and gathering ever where anybody who ever knew him is there. There are that many stories to tell.

From John I learned the following:
- The word vegetarian is Native American for "He with bad aim"...
- An old Corvette's not only fast, it gets faster every time you remember it...
- It's your life ~ trim it to fit and season to taste...
- You're only young once but you can remain immature forever...
- "Collard-green-eatin'" and "Big ol' waterheaded" are real, genuine adjectives...
- Never pull an old man's finger...
- If you're 5'4" never say "I'll be back shortly..."
- To reconnect with a loved one is the joy of one's life...
- Square it on the ground and run 'em diagonal for strength...
- Theresa doesn't eat slimy stuff...
- It's not so much what you own as what doesn't own you...
- Loud shirts truly make the man...
- It's the rest of the world that's crazy; I'm fine...
- Anything is edible...

...and the list goes on and on.

I remember John's old '72 Chevy truck; just flat wore out. For months I heard about his research, his comparison shopping, his wanting to step up to a later model, something that looked and ran better. We talked engines, financing, size, you name it. A mid-'90s would be depreciated but have life left in it. OK. I went on a road trip... I came back and John was beaming; his new truck was parked out in front of the shop. It was a '78.

Lesson ONE - be true to who you are. Embrace it even if other folks can't.

He loved his family, he loved his life, he loved his woodshop. Equal parts Buddhist, Baptist, beatnik, backwoodsman and Native Holy Man, he was good with a hammer, arrow, fret file, wrench, skillet, flute or pen... but in his hands wood came to life again. John was the guru of grain, the sensei of sanding, the Buddha of the bandsaw, the... the Plato of the planer! Johnny Appleseed with tiny wooden boxes.

I'm sad but it's hard to lament a man who lived the way he wanted, changed lives, filled the world with beauty & bullcorn with such complete integrity and then was taken quickly, spared any suffering... what a life this teacher of mine had.

But what I really learned from Uncle J is that if you want your life to mean something, if you want to do justice to this gift we have of consciousness, skin, bone, and sunrises, make what ever you do mean something and don't waste your time on trivial stuff that does not. Don't get hung up in the drama; don't let it stick to you. Toss your pebbles into the pond... make ripples. Make your footprints your prayer, make them big enough so others can fall into step. Lead from the front even when it looks like you're kicking back on the side... and leave your heart prints on other people's souls.

Help each other to heal, and your healing will take care of itself.

So as we prepare to leave the chapel to heal, and transition into our next chapters, I want you all to repeat after me:

I (state your name)
shall remember the good times
shall let go of the bad
shall have no regrets
and shall walk back out into the world
a little more at peace than when I walked in
a little more reverent
and a richer soul
for having shared this ride with you John

I am sad to say goodbye
but I know
the best part of you
lives on in my heart
and I know the best way
to honor your life
is to live mine well

* * * * *

The Ballad of Uncle Johnny

Years ago I was told 'bout the man who works with wood
She saw him in my future and said his soul was good
Little did I know how far I'd ride the road I'm on
But that was years ago before I met Uncle John

(K*******, that is... with a t... John C...
Cold beer, bad jokes, and tall tales...
"What's kickin' chicken?")

He took me in as family where I had none of my own
He let me use his woodshop; what I needed he would loan
I learned a lot 'bout carvin', buildin' decks and brewin' tea
And we wrote and sang together and built things made of tree

(chorus)

He was a simple livin' good country man
This little town won't be the same now that he's gone
And he was half philosopher, half redneck
But the third half was what made him Uncle John

Just like that old lady said, my whole life turned around
And led me to this starin' at this stone in the ground
I'm the woodshop man now and I promise 'till I wane
To fill the world with laughter, song and amber waves of grain

(chorus)

* * * * *

So many people were touched by John - folks that can't be here today, so many others that may not even know of his passing yet. Uncle Johnny made more ripples than could possibly be gathered in one room. Maybe that's our greatest lesson. That's all I have to say... everybody get up and hug the people around you. Peace be with you all.


-end of service-

Note:
"Ballad Of Uncle Johnny" was written Jan. 11 in a motel room in Moss Point, Mississippi. ©2007 S. Beckwith.

 

[Quoll]

A timely bump.

There have been a few posts in the Cafe of late that had me thinking we should have a special thread to leave messages to those that are no longer with us. The Dear X thread didn't seem quite right to me, I think they should have their own place. Anyway I've been mulling it over for a week or so but couldn't come up with a name that wasn't clichéd and trite so I let it go.
Tonight I was looking for a particular post, turned out it was in this thread, the sort of thread I was thinking of making, with the correct name (thanks Mr Wag wherever you may be) as well.

 

[Quoll]

Dear Dad,
I think I'm beginning to understand why you were the way you were.
If I'm right, then you did the best you could, you handled it just fine, thanks.

 

[bobsgirl]

Well, Q-ey, seeing a thread by Mr.Wag gave me something of a start. But it was good to read it again.

Interesting that you have that thought about your Dad -- it's very close to the same conclusion I came to about my own Dad in the year since his death. He had a terrible childhood, and really had no positive experience and role model for how to be a dad. He did do the best he could. It helps me remember him with compassion instead of bitterness.

 

[someplace]

I'm going to bump an 11 yr old thread. I hope no one minds. It's a good thread that could still serve a good purpose.

My Facebook memories today had unclej's eulogy in them. How odd that I came here looking for something and found his eulogy here today as well. He was SUCH a great guy, and SO funny! His passing affected both Bluesboy2 and me for a long long time.

 

[twister947]

It's nice thread; thanks for breathing life back into it.