A birthday, a half-birthday, and a funeral.
7:03 p.m.
The email from the registrar was waiting for me when I opened my inbox on Tuesday morning. D.O’N was only 48 years old. For the last year he had been fighting cancer (I never found out what kind) and ultimately lost. He was a lab technician in the chemistry department and, according to the professor/colleague who eulogized him, he was the chemistry department. Everyone who spoke, his brother, son and colleague, praised him to the skies. Even his brother said he only had one uncomplimentary memory of his older sibling, how when they were kids their mother gave them a small piece of cake to share and Don made off with it and ate it all himself. That was it. Otherwise, he was a perfect human being.
The service was very long. The brother’s eulogy took about 20 minutes, the son spoke for about 15, as did the colleague. There were scripture readings interspersed with special music and hymn singing (except the hymns were all like bad pop songs), and it was very hot in the church. I went with Ed, who knows the oldest daughter from a Bible study group they both attend. Ed himself has no religious affiliation, but he is a scholar and finds the group interesting. Everyone else there is a staunch believer.
The last speaking was done by one of the ministers of the church. I took an immediate dislike to this man. He was supposed to deliver a homily that would “comfort” the bereaved. If I were mourning the loss of a loved one, I would have been in a murderous rage at the arrogance of this man. He went on and on about Jesus and how this life on earth is only a small slice of existence, and that Don is now with God in heaven, and so on and so forth. I kept putting my head back and shutting my eyes, hoping it would end. When I opened them again, I noticed that people had been leaving, including another chemistry prof and his wife.
Ed and I could have gone to the cemetery for the interment or stayed at the church and awaited the return of the mourners for a collation, but we chose to leave and get ice cream instead. As we enjoyed our cold treats, we both complained about the minister. I merely wanted to reach into his throat and crush his larynx so that he’d shut up. Ed, on the other hand, wanted to reach inside his chest and crush his heart so he would die.
I will try to call the widow and see her soon. It’s been years since she and I socialized, ten at least. But we used to walk together several mornings a week with her youngest in the stroller. It’s really the least I can do.
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