I
recall clearly when in my mid-twenties I first had a new thought related to
death, specifically regarding the death of my good friend James, a man I
appreciated, with whom our young families spent time together (he and Sue and
their son Charlie, Myrna and I and our son Michael and daughter Desma), and who
with my friend Ted planted and tended a garden in my backyard one summer. My
new thought was that wherever my good friend James lived, I’d travel there to
attend his funeral. I was stunned by my newly-discovered perspective on
friendship that seemed a mark of maturing and represented for me an aspect of
friendship and love that has become an important signifier.
recall clearly when in my mid-twenties I first had a new thought related to
death, specifically regarding the death of my good friend James, a man I
appreciated, with whom our young families spent time together (he and Sue and
their son Charlie, Myrna and I and our son Michael and daughter Desma), and who
with my friend Ted planted and tended a garden in my backyard one summer. My
new thought was that wherever my good friend James lived, I’d travel there to
attend his funeral. I was stunned by my newly-discovered perspective on
friendship that seemed a mark of maturing and represented for me an aspect of
friendship and love that has become an important signifier.
My
work as a minister took me to many funerals, many of which I led. In the
process I learned how to tend to the needs of family and friends of the
deceased in calls I made on them and comments I shared concerning memories,
grief, and hope at the funerals and memorial services I led. In fact, I learned
to do this work well since the congregations which I served had many elders. I
limited the time of my speeches, Bible readings, and prayers on these occasions
(and as a side effect of my brevity, I became popular with the funeral
directors).
work as a minister took me to many funerals, many of which I led. In the
process I learned how to tend to the needs of family and friends of the
deceased in calls I made on them and comments I shared concerning memories,
grief, and hope at the funerals and memorial services I led. In fact, I learned
to do this work well since the congregations which I served had many elders. I
limited the time of my speeches, Bible readings, and prayers on these occasions
(and as a side effect of my brevity, I became popular with the funeral
directors).
Some
years later, death and funerals took on a new aspect, the one I had anticipated
in my twenties, when my longtime friend Ted died in his mid-forties. Our
friendship had endured over twenty years. He lived fifteen hundred miles away,
but I visited him several times after he became seriously ill. I wanted to help
take care of him when his condition became critical but was not asked to do so.
I did fly to San Francisco to attend his memorial service and pondered what I
would say when folk were invited to deliver verbal tributes. I was unable to
say anything and stayed firmly in my pew appreciating the speeches made by
others. I wondered at my inability to talk but appreciated my ability to cry.
years later, death and funerals took on a new aspect, the one I had anticipated
in my twenties, when my longtime friend Ted died in his mid-forties. Our
friendship had endured over twenty years. He lived fifteen hundred miles away,
but I visited him several times after he became seriously ill. I wanted to help
take care of him when his condition became critical but was not asked to do so.
I did fly to San Francisco to attend his memorial service and pondered what I
would say when folk were invited to deliver verbal tributes. I was unable to
say anything and stayed firmly in my pew appreciating the speeches made by
others. I wondered at my inability to talk but appreciated my ability to cry.
Last
month I attended a memorial service for another longtime friend, Geraldean
McMillin. She died unexpectedly at age eighty-two. Geraldean and I had been
intellectual buddies and friends for over thirty years. I flew to Missouri and
with members of my family attended the service. This time I had agreed to say a
benediction at the end of the service. As person after person spoke, I cried;
more specifically I had a constant stream of tears, mostly from my right eye,
while others talked. I was afraid my weeping might leave me dehydrated, my
voice too dry to speak at all, but when the signal came I went to the front of
the chapel and said a few words about Geraldean and pronounced a benediction
made up of some of her oft-repeated phrases and sentiments.
month I attended a memorial service for another longtime friend, Geraldean
McMillin. She died unexpectedly at age eighty-two. Geraldean and I had been
intellectual buddies and friends for over thirty years. I flew to Missouri and
with members of my family attended the service. This time I had agreed to say a
benediction at the end of the service. As person after person spoke, I cried;
more specifically I had a constant stream of tears, mostly from my right eye,
while others talked. I was afraid my weeping might leave me dehydrated, my
voice too dry to speak at all, but when the signal came I went to the front of
the chapel and said a few words about Geraldean and pronounced a benediction
made up of some of her oft-repeated phrases and sentiments.
I
miss her.
miss her.
I
miss Ted.
miss Ted.
I
miss James although I haven’t heard from him in many years and have no idea
where he lives or if he is even still alive. I probably won’t need to travel to
his service but sometimes I wonder who will travel to mine.
miss James although I haven’t heard from him in many years and have no idea
where he lives or if he is even still alive. I probably won’t need to travel to
his service but sometimes I wonder who will travel to mine.
© 22 July 2014
About
the Author
the Author
Phillip Hoyle
lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In
general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two
years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now
focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE
program “Telling Your Story.”
lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In
general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two
years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now
focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE
program “Telling Your Story.”
He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com
