Day 1193 Family

 

Death has a way of bringing people together unlike any other event. Tim's brother’s wake was filled with family and friends from all walks of his life. Tom was the oldest of seven children, so even just with family, the room was full. My heart breaks for his wife and children. I remember all too well how it felt to stand there thanking everyone for coming when my dad died, in such a sudden and similar way. I’m not sure the reality of it settles in for weeks—if not months (maybe years...if at all).

Bridie and Greg made the trip to attend, even though she’s expecting her third baby next week and probably should have been home on the couch. She’s one of those beautiful pregnant gals who make people think it may not be so bad… definitely not the case for everyone! Her tiny body holding a basketball-sized bump, the rest of her looking no worse for the wear.

After the wake, we all went to a tavern close to the funeral home—one of the strangest places I’ve ever been. It wasn’t too crazy at first as we bellied up to the bar, ordered food, and chatted, happy to have scored a corner spot. Then, one after another, various casts of characters began to roll in, all eager for karaoke night to begin.

Soon the strange crew took turns singing Broadway tunes—badly—but with theatrics that could have belonged on a stage. And as if that weren’t enough, next up was a clown-faced woman with wild colored hair and clothing to match the whole bizarre vibe. She launched into “Mr. Cellophane,” hitting notes so high and so painfully that we all sat stunned by what we were seeing and hearing. Too crazy to describe. We’re usually game to jump in and sing, but Broadway isn’t exactly our strong suit, so we sat this one out.

We headed home fairly early; funeral mornings always start at dawn, and rest was on everyone’s mind. I’m always amazed by the people who show up for wakes and funerals. We’re blessed to be surrounded by so much love so we all settled into bed still feeling the loving vibes. 

In moments like these, the heaviness of loss and the unexpected bursts of laughter mingle in a way that reminds us how fragile and beautiful life is. And somehow, even in the hardest weeks, the presence of others makes the path forward just a little easier to walk. My dad use to always say that you'll never remember who showed up but you'll never forget who didn't....how can it possibly be ten years since he died...didn't he just say that to me yesterday?? 

“It is not the length of life, but the depth.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson