Saying goodbye, again
Aug. 2nd, 2015 10:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kate_schaeferYesterday I went to the funeral for my friend Bruce Durocher. Bruce E. Durocher, II, master of digression and unusual facts. I had expected to be sad but okay, the way one generally is at a funeral of a someone who had been ill for a very long time; instead, I wept uncontrollably all the way through. Some of that weeping was for Bruce; some was for all the other people I miss. Any funeral is a reminder of other funerals, and at this point in my life, my accumulated funeral count is pretty high.
I was hit hardest by the music. The first hymn went, "The strife is o’er, the battle done; The victory of life is won; The song of triumph has begun: Alleluia!" -- and I'm trying to sing along, it's a completely familiar hymn that I sang in my youth, but only a little croak comes out of my mouth, and the tears are splashing on the pew in front of me.
I'm thinking, song of triumph my eye. I'm angry that Bruce didn't get to have a lot more years. I think about Bruce the last time I saw him, a few days before his death, and I try to think about Bruce earlier in life instead. I use three kleenex in the first hymn.
There are readings from the old and new testaments. The officiant sings a lot of the service, a feature I hadn't realized Episcopalian funerals would have. I try to figure out which parts of the service Bruce would have enjoyed and which parts would have made him shrug his shoulders. I could hear him explain the historical progression that led to the modern Episcopalian service, only I couldn't because he wasn't there. I remember his voice, the rhythm of his speech, but I can't remember what he'd say because he hadn't said it yet. I know he would have known something obscure and entertaining.
I'm weirded out by the officiant carrying a Bible (I assume it's a Bible; it's a big closed book with a cross on the tooled leather cover) into the aisle and holding it over his head during part of the service. I was in a generic United Church of Christ congregation in my youth, with very little in the way of pageantry, followed by a few years of an even more informal Baptist congregation. This church is named after John the Baptist, but they're clearly not washed-in-the-blood-of-the-lamb dunked-in-the-river folks. I consider it a bit silly that I have opinions about Christian services given that I'm an atheist. I stand up and sit down when appropriate, and I keep my mouth shut during the prayers.
Dave Howell gets up and sings "Morning Has Broken." He sings it beautifully. I'm running out of room for used kleenex in my bag. Did Bruce like this song? Bruce liked music, but I don't remember his opinion on any particular piece of music. I like this song.
The service ends, and the bell tolls. I try to count the peals, because I think they have some meaning that I can look up later, but I lose track and wander off to John Donne (because really, one must) until I realize that we're expected to recess out to the churchyard while singing "Joyful, joyful we adore thee, God of glory, lord of love." Again, it's a hymn I know well, though I've always made fun of these lyrics ("Hearts unfold like flowers before thee -- " really? Origami hearts, maybe?). The Beethoven tune is of course heartbreaking even or perhaps especially in this situation. I still can't sing, so I walk out with Amy Thomson to the churchyard. The officiant says the appropriate words, and I think, Dust thou art, to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul. Not a great poem, and yet it's full of memorable lines. Tell me not in mournful numbers, damn your eyes. I love many poems that are not great. Dunno what Bruce thought of it; I don't know what most of my friends think of most of the poems I like.
Margaret pours Bruce's ashes into the rather small hole prepared for them. A slight breeze stirs them up, and a bit of Bruce blows over us all. She trowels some dirt over the ashes, and I think, this is very hard, to make Margaret do this, but of course every bit of ritual is something she chose to do and something she and Bruce talked about before he died. These rituals have traditional reasons behind them, and they do help people heal. I think. I expect that either I'll carry Glenn's ashes out to the forest or he'll carry mine, some day, and pouring them into the earth and burying them will be hard, very hard, but it will be a thing we'll want to do, to have done.
I remember eating dinner after my maternal grandmother's non-interment, with the urn full of her ashes sitting on a chair in her sister's country club because we'd scheduled the service on a day when the sextant didn't dig holes and we weren't allowed to dig a hole ourselves. "Marian always loved a party," said Joan, and Virginia giggled. My great-aunts: Virginia died a few years after that, and Joan died last year. That accumulated funeral count again. I wonder if I ever told Bruce funny funeral stories. I bet he had some of his own, but I don't remember them.
We go to the parish hall, where the church ladies are serving coffee, punch, and cookies. We sit with friends and talk about Bruce. I remember the world's best orange peeler, a gadget Bruce had by the cartload because of some long-ago business venture of his dad's. Bruce gave us all orange peelers, maybe 10-15 years ago. "Oh, is that where that came from?" says Eileen. We all agree that they were, indeed, the world's best orange peelers, but that most people don't need a single-purpose orange peeler when a paring knife does the job nearly as well.
Dave talks about how kind Bruce was, how he was always doing things to make other people happy, how he wasn't ambitious because he had achieved his purpose in life: trying to make other people, and especially Margaret, happy.
After a while, we hug Margaret and go away.
Today, I remember Bruce singing in his slight but accurate low tenor voice: "Morning has broken, call the repairman. He said he'd be over an hour ago." I know Bruce wasn't the first person I heard sing that parody, not by years (I think that would have been my high school friend Melody Oakley, which adds both to my melancholy because Melody died of lung cancer a few years back and to the sweetness of the bittersweet memory, because Melody was also a person who always made connections between other people, who worked to surprise people in small pleasant ways and to get other people to be kind to each other, a much harder task). Bruce loved parodies. I wonder if Margaret and Dave had that in mind when they chose that song. Whether they did or not, it makes me happy to have that association.
Goodbye, Bruce. I know this entry is all about me and not about you. I am so sorry not to know what stories you would have told in response to my stories. I know they would have surprised me.
I was hit hardest by the music. The first hymn went, "The strife is o’er, the battle done; The victory of life is won; The song of triumph has begun: Alleluia!" -- and I'm trying to sing along, it's a completely familiar hymn that I sang in my youth, but only a little croak comes out of my mouth, and the tears are splashing on the pew in front of me.
I'm thinking, song of triumph my eye. I'm angry that Bruce didn't get to have a lot more years. I think about Bruce the last time I saw him, a few days before his death, and I try to think about Bruce earlier in life instead. I use three kleenex in the first hymn.
There are readings from the old and new testaments. The officiant sings a lot of the service, a feature I hadn't realized Episcopalian funerals would have. I try to figure out which parts of the service Bruce would have enjoyed and which parts would have made him shrug his shoulders. I could hear him explain the historical progression that led to the modern Episcopalian service, only I couldn't because he wasn't there. I remember his voice, the rhythm of his speech, but I can't remember what he'd say because he hadn't said it yet. I know he would have known something obscure and entertaining.
I'm weirded out by the officiant carrying a Bible (I assume it's a Bible; it's a big closed book with a cross on the tooled leather cover) into the aisle and holding it over his head during part of the service. I was in a generic United Church of Christ congregation in my youth, with very little in the way of pageantry, followed by a few years of an even more informal Baptist congregation. This church is named after John the Baptist, but they're clearly not washed-in-the-blood-of-the-lamb dunked-in-the-river folks. I consider it a bit silly that I have opinions about Christian services given that I'm an atheist. I stand up and sit down when appropriate, and I keep my mouth shut during the prayers.
Dave Howell gets up and sings "Morning Has Broken." He sings it beautifully. I'm running out of room for used kleenex in my bag. Did Bruce like this song? Bruce liked music, but I don't remember his opinion on any particular piece of music. I like this song.
The service ends, and the bell tolls. I try to count the peals, because I think they have some meaning that I can look up later, but I lose track and wander off to John Donne (because really, one must) until I realize that we're expected to recess out to the churchyard while singing "Joyful, joyful we adore thee, God of glory, lord of love." Again, it's a hymn I know well, though I've always made fun of these lyrics ("Hearts unfold like flowers before thee -- " really? Origami hearts, maybe?). The Beethoven tune is of course heartbreaking even or perhaps especially in this situation. I still can't sing, so I walk out with Amy Thomson to the churchyard. The officiant says the appropriate words, and I think, Dust thou art, to dust returneth, was not spoken of the soul. Not a great poem, and yet it's full of memorable lines. Tell me not in mournful numbers, damn your eyes. I love many poems that are not great. Dunno what Bruce thought of it; I don't know what most of my friends think of most of the poems I like.
Margaret pours Bruce's ashes into the rather small hole prepared for them. A slight breeze stirs them up, and a bit of Bruce blows over us all. She trowels some dirt over the ashes, and I think, this is very hard, to make Margaret do this, but of course every bit of ritual is something she chose to do and something she and Bruce talked about before he died. These rituals have traditional reasons behind them, and they do help people heal. I think. I expect that either I'll carry Glenn's ashes out to the forest or he'll carry mine, some day, and pouring them into the earth and burying them will be hard, very hard, but it will be a thing we'll want to do, to have done.
I remember eating dinner after my maternal grandmother's non-interment, with the urn full of her ashes sitting on a chair in her sister's country club because we'd scheduled the service on a day when the sextant didn't dig holes and we weren't allowed to dig a hole ourselves. "Marian always loved a party," said Joan, and Virginia giggled. My great-aunts: Virginia died a few years after that, and Joan died last year. That accumulated funeral count again. I wonder if I ever told Bruce funny funeral stories. I bet he had some of his own, but I don't remember them.
We go to the parish hall, where the church ladies are serving coffee, punch, and cookies. We sit with friends and talk about Bruce. I remember the world's best orange peeler, a gadget Bruce had by the cartload because of some long-ago business venture of his dad's. Bruce gave us all orange peelers, maybe 10-15 years ago. "Oh, is that where that came from?" says Eileen. We all agree that they were, indeed, the world's best orange peelers, but that most people don't need a single-purpose orange peeler when a paring knife does the job nearly as well.
Dave talks about how kind Bruce was, how he was always doing things to make other people happy, how he wasn't ambitious because he had achieved his purpose in life: trying to make other people, and especially Margaret, happy.
After a while, we hug Margaret and go away.
Today, I remember Bruce singing in his slight but accurate low tenor voice: "Morning has broken, call the repairman. He said he'd be over an hour ago." I know Bruce wasn't the first person I heard sing that parody, not by years (I think that would have been my high school friend Melody Oakley, which adds both to my melancholy because Melody died of lung cancer a few years back and to the sweetness of the bittersweet memory, because Melody was also a person who always made connections between other people, who worked to surprise people in small pleasant ways and to get other people to be kind to each other, a much harder task). Bruce loved parodies. I wonder if Margaret and Dave had that in mind when they chose that song. Whether they did or not, it makes me happy to have that association.
Goodbye, Bruce. I know this entry is all about me and not about you. I am so sorry not to know what stories you would have told in response to my stories. I know they would have surprised me.
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no subject
Date: 2015-08-03 06:21 am (UTC)I must have met Bruce, but I can't call him to mind. I really wasn't part of Seattle fandom for very long, though, just a year and a half. He sounds like a thoroughly swell guy.
no subject
Date: 2015-08-03 03:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-03 04:16 pm (UTC)Bruce was sweet, kind, and soft-spoken; not precisely self-effacing, but you wouldn't notice him in a crowd of ebullient people.
no subject
Date: 2015-08-03 04:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-03 04:27 pm (UTC)One of the things that really set me off crying that I didn't even mention was the sight of Margaret standing or sitting alone in the pew, alone when she had been so well partnered.
no subject
Date: 2015-08-03 04:34 pm (UTC)Yes, that's been hitting me when I've visited Andi Shechter recently. In fact, there was a thread on Andi's Facebook involving people who had recently lost partners that included Margaret and also John Sapienza.
no subject
Date: 2015-08-03 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-03 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-03 11:05 pm (UTC)I didn't know Bruce either, and you evoke him beautifully.
no subject
Date: 2015-08-03 11:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-03 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-04 12:08 am (UTC)Many, many hugs.
no subject
Date: 2015-08-04 04:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-04 04:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-04 05:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-04 05:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-08-04 06:17 am (UTC)The movie was *awful.* Depressing! (It was the one where Jackie ends up going to jail in place of his disabled brother. Sorry for the spoiler but [a] I can't recall the title, and [b] it's more than 20 years old so presumably if one were going to see it, one has probably already seen it.)
At the end of the movie, as the credits were rolling -- Constance, Bruce, and I have the same habit of always sitting through the credits -- Bruce and Constance turned to me and in perfect stereophonic sound, said "They're not all like that!"
They persuaded me to give the second feature a chance, and in fact it was funny and entertaining.
no subject
Date: 2015-08-07 03:33 am (UTC)As my world begins to seriously erode as the people it's made of start dying off, I am gaining understandings of mortality I don't really want.
Last night I got to see a very hard to find early Richard Lester movie, "It's Trad, Dad!", which was the reason the Beatles hired him. It stunningly, precisely, is 1962, the cusp between the 50s and 60s, but I don't know if anyone else in the audience had actually been there and could appreciate it.
One of my tag lines lately is, "I'm learning how to be old." And Things No One Told Me About Getting Old. There's a terrible transition when obituaries for your contemporaries no longer say "untimely".
no subject
Date: 2015-08-08 02:20 am (UTC)Songs
Date: 2015-08-08 05:19 am (UTC)I did chose to carry the ashes out and to bury him, although I thought he'd still be in a little box when I did it. A few other things were buried with him; a bit of fur from our cat who'd died two days before the funeral, a letter I wrote to him that morning, and a copy of one of my paintings that he liked. Grave goods and rather pagan I suppose, but it was important to me.
Re: Songs
Date: 2015-08-08 03:09 pm (UTC)Choices
Date: 2015-08-11 09:12 am (UTC)Oh, I know. She had obviously been worrying about the music. Margaret is the first to admit she's very good at worrying. I am very, very grateful that I was blessed with a decent singing voice, and with a series of talented teachers to help me learn what to do with it. I feel that one of the best ways to show my appreciation for these gifts is to say "yes" to requests like this, and then to give the best performance I can.
The last time I sang at a funeral, it was for somebody I'd never met. But many close friends of mine had, so yes, of course I'd sing. In this case, I was very honored to participate in the service.
A Few More Notes on "Morning Has Broken."
Date: 2015-08-11 09:30 am (UTC)Bruce, I felt, would rather have something a bit rowdy, instead of something gray and somber. Brian and I tweaked the arrangement slightly to add a smidge more sparkle, and I worked with him to shape the phrases.
For my part, I took the first verse at a "normal" (mezzo-forte) volume level. The 2nd verse is all dewy, so it was softer. The third is the one with "Elation!" in it, so, well, yea. Hooray, dammit! Yes, we've lost somebody dear, but how awesome that we got to know him in the first place! Praise for the singing! Praise for the morning! Praise for friendship, and life, and memories!
My big worry was that if I pulled off what I was shooting at, a lot of people might be feeling, how to phrase this...less squashed? I really didn't want anybody to applaud. As it turned out, the rest of the service was formal enough to make that pretty unlikely, but I didn't know that when I was rehearsing. That's why I folded my hands and bowed my head on the last few notes, and snapped it down on the last one. I held that prayerful pose for a few heartbeats before stepping down to help encourage people to let the last notes fade away into silence.
I got to chat a bit with the priest afterwards. Turns out "Morning Has Broken" is also one of his favorite hymns. "It's not often sung at funerals because it's a 'morning' hymn, although there's no reason why it can't be." The Episcopalian hymnal is organized by time of day, so MHB is #8 in theirs. I'm Methodist, and it's #145 in ours. (I don't know how ours is organized.)