The other day I received an e-mail from one of my best friends from High School. His father had passed away and he was letting us know. He was only 67 years old. Much too young.
Brenda and Grant were off to Iowa to visit the Grandparents and help out with the Barn Tour. (Brenda's parents had their barn renovated/updated courtesy of the Iowa Barn Foundation 3 years ago). Anyhow, Stanley and I were going to be hanging out here because he's got hockey over the weekend and I was hesitant in bringing him. We'd talked about it and while he was a bit nervous, I felt that it was important to him to start understanding more about the circle of life.
The ride up was quiet, he didn't have much to say. When we entered the church I saw my friend Steve, and his wife Ana. We chatted for a while, and spent a few ,minutes with Steve measuring his emotions. He was strong as a rock - solid in his belief that his dad was in a better place. When the day comes for me to bury my parents (much later than sooner of course) I hope that I have the strength that he showed.
After we disengaged ourselves, Stanley and I took a seat near the back of the church. I asked him if he wanted to go to view the body with me, and I was mildly surprised when he said yes. We went forward and stood quietly for a couple of minutes as others paid their respects besides us. And without too much conversation we turned and walked away as well.
I don't remember how old I was when I had attended my first wake/funeral. I remember being really apprehensive about it though. I didn't take it as well as Stanley did. On the way home I asked him if had felt scared or sad. "Different" was the word that he used. I haven't pressed him about it. I'll try to draw it out of him another time.
On a completely different subject he's going to experience another Rite of Passage.
Tonight we rent "Monty Python and the Holy Grail."
Something tells me that he'll use the word "different" again.
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