(My wife’s father died in October, 2008. The family, his six children, their spouses and families, all gathered together for the funeral that turned into a three-day celebratory family reunion. I wrote the piece below to accompany the picture.)
Spud's Grandchildren Wearing Spud's Hats
None of us chose that moment to gather, yet we all did, sadly, gladly, sober but smiling, as many, and as one. None chose the location for the reunion. And none of us chose the event that brought us together: Spud’s death.
The missionary, husband, father of six, grandfather of twenty-one, great-grandfather of eleven was such a part of our lives and beings, we his family hardly knew how to act now he was gone. Even latecomer in-laws like me, married by him to his youngest twenty-seven years before, felt lost.
We came together for the usual funeral events, but the reality of Spud’s life in our hearts and minds is what made us one. The visitation, the funeral, and the mountains of food from loving friends and neighbors gave us something to do, but the reality, the influence, the intangible inheritance from Spud coursing through our veins, our hearts, and our minds, gave us something to be.
Listen to his people around the campfire: many conversations, blending into voices raised as one in song. See fifty kinfolk in the church basement recounting a rich life, singing Spud’s songs, laughing at his jokes, recounting foibles and triumphs. See the ebb and flow of family into and out of his daughter’s spacious house: a tidal wave of love shared, pictures shown, humanity shared.
Now, here, see grandpa’s many hats on the heads of his grandchildren: all different, all unique, and yet behatted and bestowed by their grandfather with something marking them as similar, related, a happy oneness celebrated by each individual. All those smiles so alike, so different, so together.
An era ended; an era begun.
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