Hubs and I went to a memorial service of a friend today. He was just nine months older than me. He and his husband had been together for 46 years. It was love at first sight for both of them. He had been married to a woman prior to meeting his husband and had children. His ex-wife and children remained a part of his and his husband’s life as did his grandchildren, nieces and nephews and great-grand children.
He had a business for many years, was a hospice volunteer during the height of the AIDS crisis, worked with special education students and made friends in many places throughout the country. We did not know them when they were young and I would not have recognized either of them from the old photos being shown on the monitor above the remains at the funeral chapel.
There were 75 or more people at the memorial. Several offered eulogies. Seems everyone loved, cherished and admired him. If they had been Catholics, they would have made him a Saint right then and there.
I could not help but imagine my own memorial (which I hope not to have). There might be a handful of friends, maybe a relative or two. I’ve never been that close to my brother (we are 6 years apart) or with my niece and nephew, for whatever reason. My parents and sister, aunts and uncles and many of my cousins are deceased.
I’m not sure who would eulogize me, perhaps my husband, brother or an acquaintance. They would use words like: “too sensitive” “cranky” “stubborn” “hot-headed” “anxious” “bipolar” “reclusive” “quick to curse and swear” “hated crowds” “hates talking on the phone” “impatient” “opinionated” “hates Mexican food”.
They would struggle to find some positive attributes: “a pretty good husband” “a good cook” “an interesting sense of humor” “a good writer” “liked the beach and the ocean” and would try to make my work history sound better by not mentioning the quits and fireds: “worked with children with behavioral problems” “worked in HIV/AIDS health care” “ran a group for LGBTQ young people” “wrote grants for nonprofits”.
All in all they would be remembering me in all my earthy, irreverent humanity, not as a saintly person who had led a particularly “heroically virtuous life, or martyred for the faith, or worthy of imitation.”
So the memorial was not only thought provoking for me but, as I am just about at the edge of the grave myself, somewhat personally depressing.
To make matters worse we were all invited to a restaurant for luncheon buffet: chicken and beef enchiladas, rice, beans, sopapillas. The sopapillas were ok.
