Dearest Rachel –
Today, I probably should be telling you about the events of the annual Halloween substitute that we have at the church (hey, if the real Halloween refuses to move around such that it falls on a Saturday, when it’s easier for the kids to go around gathering candy from houses in broad daylight, we gotta make our own version). But considering that, after the events of Family Fest are over and done with, I’m going right on into the booth to work this weekend’s service, I don’t know if I’ll have the time to put anything together before the end of the day (and you know from your days of playing Candy Crush and Gardens of Time how it’s increasingly more difficult, psychologically, to let yourself break a streak). So, since I woke up too late to go to the gym (again – you’d think I was deliberately avoiding the place – and you might not be all that wrong), but still have an extra hour or so (since the men’s Bible study was canceled this week, due to the Fest), I’d at least send you a quick letter explaining the background behind this year’s festivities – and how I almost double-booked myself… again.
Now, I don’t know how the greeting system works on your side of the Jordan. Sometimes, I’m of the understanding that everyone is in a sort of stasis, waiting for the day of the final resurrection. Then again, Jesus told the penitent thief that “today you will be with Me in paradise”; not “when you wake up,” not “at the resurrection,” “today,” as in that very day. Of course, that puts a crimp in the ‘harrowing of hell’ story, but it doesn’t seem to be canon in any event.
Then again, what do I know about how time functions on the other side, anyway? When is today, as opposed to any other day? How do you even mark off days, when there is no night?
But I digress. Allowing me to assume that you are, somehow, aware of what goes on in heaven, specifically regarding newcomers and all that, you may be aware of my dad’s cousin Carol, who arrived a couple of weeks ago, after a brief emergency room visit. Actually, that ‘brief’ visit was just the last in a series of chronic ailments – including, if my memory serves me correctly, several bouts with various cancers – that have kept her in poor health and pain for what seems like all the time I’ve known her. Every Christmas gathering has always seemed like it might be her last – and her husband Clyde, while not dealing with all the infirmities as she has, hasn’t been in peak condition himself for some time, either. Then again, at 89 and 92, respectively, it shouldn’t come as a great surprise when the end arrives… and yet, as you know from your experience with your parents, you’re never quite ready for it when it happens.
This weekend was when her memorial (actually, her ‘celebration of life’ service, but it’s pretty much the same thing) was to be held, and I had committed to going down to the western suburbs with the folks to commemorate Carol and commiserate with Clyde along with them. I had even told my producer that I wouldn’t be able to work the booth on Saturday of this weekend because of this (actually, I wasn’t assigned this weekend at all, initially, but something apparently came up for whoever was slotted, and I was asked to fill in. I told him I could do Sunday, but Saturday was right out).
However, late last week, Mom reminded me that the Family Fest was going on, and I already had a longstanding commitment to work there as well. This posed a bit of a dilemma; the Fest is an important “reach out to the community” kind of event, and needs all the hands running the show that it can get (even though I’m not indispensable, by any means – there are other campuses doing the same thing without me, after all, and the fact that Daniel is staying home with a cold he’s been fighting for the last couple of days shows that one less person there wouldn’t make or break the event), but as Lars has pointed out, this is literally a once-in-a-lifetime event, and a chance to be there for Clyde.
Always go to other people’s funerals; otherwise, they won’t go to yours.
Attributed to Yogi Berra (who else), but evidence suggests it’s older than him.
Considering what I already mentioned at the opening of this letter what I intend to write you about next, I think you know what I decided upon doing. The thing is, Clyde and Carol were of my parents’ generation; while my presence would be comforting – as would any additional mourner, I’m sure – he would most appreciate the support of his peers, those of his own generation (as few as there still are) more than mine. The fact that they weren’t particularly close – at least from a literal, geographic sense – also bled over into a relational sense. Sure, we’re family, but Christmas get-togethers aside, we rarely saw or spoke to each other. Now, between him and Dad, they’ve been talking with increasing frequency (nearly every day, as Carol began to fade), so his presence is almost imperative. Mine? Not so much.
Ironically, I might be able to relate to his situation now in a way that Mom and Dad wouldn’t, as a widower myself. Then again, the circumstances are so different between Clyde and myself that I know better than to even dare to say something to him along the lines of “I know what you’re going through.” I don’t; everyone’s experience is different. All I could tell him for now was to rely on those that offer their help and support; he’s going to need it.
Just like I need the luck I keep asking you to wish me, honey. It’s gonna be quite the day.
Letters to Rachel 