The Dichotomy of Loss & Connection

My great-aunt Barb passed away in late March of this year. This was completely shocking to me as I had seen her last summer at my Auntie Eleanor's 90th birthday. (I don't know why I refer to my paternal grandmother's sisters as "auntie" when I don't refer to any of  my other aunts that way, but I can't remember not referring to them as "auntie".) It was such an inclusive event; my second cousins, Carrie & Audra included all of the family who attended in the processional and recessional at the start and end of the church service. My dad, my uncle Tom and 2nd cousin Scott were pall bearers. I gave the Easter card I had already signed and addressed to Auntie Barb to Carrie & Audra. I was told of her passing on Sunday and I was going to mail out my Easter cards on the next day.
It was a "good" funeral service which I define as one not focused on sin and damnation but rather was focused on the love and goodness Auntie Barb exemplified during her life. It was a celebration of her life rather than a condemnation of those left behind.The best funeral I've ever attended was my Grandpa Porath's at Peace Church in Shawano. That ceremony was truly a celebration of his life and how that a life well lived is an example to those he loved, a sort of template of how to live a full and meaningful life even though my Grandma Porath had died in 1977 and Grandpa passed in 1995. After Grandpa Porath's funeral we all gathered at my aunt Sue & uncle Tom's house - the house my dad and his younger brother, my uncle Tom, grew up in. I remember my Grandpa Porath watching "The Lawrence Welk Show" and turning his wheelchair so his back was facing the television when one of the cast members, the tall, blond handsome guy, was singing because although Grandpa enjoyed his voice, he couldn't stand the sight of him. When I consider the family traits that inhabit my personality, Grandpa accommodating his need to enjoy this singer's voice and his inability to actually see the singer performing is one I identify with. There are plenty of  books I've read, poems I've read, and songs I love listening to whose authors and performers I absolutely cannot stand to view. Grandpa wasn't a Taurus, but I am and this strikes me as a particularly Taurus characteristic. Or maybe we're both just stubborn? Who's to say?
One of the ironic benefits of funerals is that it can bring together family who haven't seen each other in years...decades for that matter. Such was the case at Auntie Barb's funeral. I hadn't seen my second cousins Carrie & Audra since we were elementary school age. I sat across from my uncle Tom and shared with him that two summers ago when I was "borrowing" my dad's Corvette, I got it up to 132 mph on Hwy 41 just to see what that felt like. I'm certain this information will not be shared without my consent. My dad has no idea how to access my Facebook page much less my blog.
During the lunch after Auntie Barb's funeral and before her interment, Carrie & Audra told everyone present to take flowers from the displays at the funeral. I picked several white roses because I love them and they're not really "white", they're more cream colored.
I was surprised that after the interment ceremony, Dad drove to the cemetery where his parents, my Grandma and Grandpa Porath are buried. I had never been there. I was seven years old when Grandma Porath died and bringing kids to the cemetery was not a popular practice back then. When Grandpa Porath died, the funeral was in Shawano but he was buried in Wausau, next to Grandma Porath, days after the funeral and I had returned to my life in Milwaukee.
Now I know where they have been laid to rest. I can help my siblings and cousins locate them if necessary. I learned that Grandma Porath had a brother named James who died at age 11 due to running into a rope that was neck-high. He died as a result of the brain trauma from falling back onto the ground after his body hit the rope. She also had a brother, Myron, who died within a day of his birth. Prior to seeing their headstones, I had NO idea of their existence. I've been so focused on the Native Americans of my maternal side of my family that I couldn't even imagine that there were family members on my paternal side that I wasn't even aware of.
So the old adage holds true: we see  most of our family at weddings and funerals. Unfortunately I've reached the age where the funerals out-number the weddings. Although the fact that I've got plenty of family members still alive, despite the likelihood that the next time I see them may be at a funeral gives me pause. At the next funeral, there will again be the dichotomy of the loss of a loved one and connecting with those who are there to celebrate that life; relatives I likely haven't seen since the last funeral.

My Auntie Barb

It's a Cold and It's a Broken Hallelujah

It's been a hell of a week. If you've seen some of my Facebook posts from the week, you're aware that the husband of one of my best friends in the world died of cancer one week ago.
Mike was the kind of guy that slid right in to our circle of friends. Had he gone to high school with us, we totally would have hung out with him. He would've been one of "us", that's how closely he matched our general vibe, interests, music & "recreational activities". If I have to explain to you why recreational activities is in quotes, you didn't know us in high school. The "us" I refer to know who you are & anyone else from the 1989 class from Appleton West knows who comprised "us" as well.
I think I have a unique perspective on Jeanette & Mike's relationship, at least the budding beginning of it. She came out to Boston to visit me my senior year in college and reported that she was "interested" in this guy who worked with her mother (of all people) and they had gone on one or two dates by that time. Nothing serious, no expectations, but she was hot for him - girlfriends know these things about each other.
After she returned to Fond du Lac, she kept me updated on when they spent time together.
Then there was the week that went by when he didn't call her. She called me sobbing that he was "a thoughtless mother-fucker" and she was pissed off at herself for "thinking that it would work out." I had not laid eyes on Mike at this point and I was obviously totally loyal to my friend, so I concurred that he was indeed a "thoughtless mother-fucker" for stringing her along.
Then he called.
Then they had sex. Sorry Jeanette, but this is a crucial part of your history with Mike & this story. Her update about the sex was, "Man, I think he was going through the stats of the National League" (baseball) because it wasn't over in under two minutes, as is a common phenomenon for men in their early 20's. We were women in our early 20's and had plenty of experience with "the two-minute magic" but Mike is, was, 13 years older than Jeanette. He had moves. He had experience. He knew how to turn the two-minute magic into the twenty to thirty minute magic, which is very appealing when you're in your early 20's.
They eventually married. Her "g-ma" hand-made her wedding gown. She was stunning and he was majestic. The look on his face said, "Oh yeah, she kicks ass and she's mine." And he was right. He surprised her with a horse drawn carriage ride at the end of the ceremony. One of her attendants was our friend Eric J who told me at Mike's funeral that when he was standing up at the altar during their wedding ceremony he thought he was going to pass out because everyone in the church was staring at the wedding party and this was the first wedding he'd stood up for.
I remember our friend Steve taking communion, which generally isn't a remarkable event except that he's Jewish and "just got wrapped up in the crowd" that was heading toward the altar.
This was way before digital cameras and every time I snapped a photo my camera made a hideous "rrr-rrr-rrr" sound as the film advanced and wrapped around the spokes. Our friend Robb was seated in the pew in front of me and eventually got fed up with the whirling of my camera so he turned around to me and said, "If you take one more picture and that camera makes one more sound, I'm going to snatch it out of your hands and NOT give it back to you." This explains why I have photos of the first half of their wedding ceremony but none of the second half.
One of my pictures from their wedding was on a photo display at Mike's funeral. It includes Mike, me, Kate and Carrie. That photo captures a glorious moment in all of our lives and includes some of my favorite people in the world. I'm truly honored that it was chosen to be displayed as a testament to Mike's life.
I also have the dubious honor of making the first toast at their wedding reception. I was drunk off my ass, rambled on completely aimlessly for several minutes, raised my glass of whatever liquor I was swilling in large quantities and weaved my way back to my seat. My father and my sister were in attendance and after I returned to my seat, my sister immediately walked me out of the reception hall, plunked me in the backseat of my car, gave me a can of Sprite and said, "Just pass out and be done with it." I stupidly said to her, "But they must have liked it (my toast) because they were applauding when I was done." Her response: "They were just being polite."
A few years later Jeanette told me that the hotel where most of the guests stayed (not me as my sister drove us both back to Appleton that night, which I have absolutely no memory of) complained because by the end of the night, there was a large portion of a cheese and sausage platter floating in the hotel pool. I love those kind of weddings.
By the time our 20th class reunion came, Mike had been diagnosed with cancer and had undergone his initial treatment at Beth Israel Hospital in Boston. He and Jeanette showed up at my parents' house as I had invited "all of us" to reunite there. We spent many a weekend night in my parents' basement engaging in all sorts of debauchery that I won't describe in detail here; if you were there, you know what I'm referring to. At one point Jeanette asked my mom where I was and my mom's response was, "She's downstairs with some of you kids." At Mike's funeral Jeanette's mom Elaine referred to us as "you kids" as well.  My dad's assessment of that reunion evening was, "there are still cars lined up and down Lynndale Drive, but the cars are newer and in much better condition." My friends actually brought beer and liquor to my parents' house instead of drinking what had belonged to my parents at the time.
Mike was a huge Packers fan and during their run up to Super Bowl 36, or whatever the number was when Brett Favre took us to the Super Bowl and we actually won, Eric, Mike & Jeanette, Hays and I would get together at one of our apartments and watch playoff games. I again brought my camera and have wonderful snapshots of those playoff weekends.
Throughout Mike's past six years of treatment, he was a fighter. He would absolutely go to work on the days he was feeling up to it; likely he went when he wasn't feeling up to it because that's how loyal and dedicated to commitment he was. As a result of witnessing Mike's treatment, Jeanette went to graduate school and got her Master's Degree in Nursing and has become a huge advocate for cancer patients, cancer research and the care cancer patients receive.
For those of us who knew and loved Mike, our lives were made richer and better for it. Rest in peace my friend. Tell Jack-Dog and Peanut that we all love and miss them and take good care of them as they will take good care of you.