Yesterday (and this is why I missed yesterday's Musings), I had the privilege to attend the memorial service of one of my dad's dear cousins - though I think Howard himself would have objected to the adjective "dear." He was born in South Dakota but lived in Sweet Home, Oregon for most of his 71 years. He was well-loved, and an integral part of this small community. He was a man who hugged his children before that was a trendy thing to do as a dad, and he pursued human connection throughout his life with pleasure and energy.
So, the privilege was to attend and remember him, and to tell his wife, kids, siblings and mother that he had touched my life. It is also a privilege to have lived long enough to be able to see Sweet Home in a more balanced light. Some of you know I spent my last two years of high school there, and it was not my kind of place. It was - and is - narrow in many regards. But the minister (who'd known Howard most of both of their lives) spoke early about how we come together at these times because the family "needs encouragement" from its family and friends. He said at one point to Howard's wife, Jan, "We'll get through this," and he wept himself at a number of points during the service.
If I had not returned for this service - if I had not lived long enough to realize that nothing human is ever simple or completely one thing - I could not have found some healing for myself with the parts of Sweet Home that were hard for me. It is a place with limitations. It is also a place where it's possible to know many people for nearly all of one's life, where it is possible to be woven into the lives of countless people such that, when one dies, those others gather and grieve together, and carry the memories together that remind us of the value of that particular life.
I do not pretend to understand this Death thing. It is very large. It makes me hug my kids just a little more.
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