There is nothing like attending a funeral that will change your mind about someone.
I just got back from the funeral of a friend – I didn’t know him as well as many, but he was a lovely guy. Truly a good man. As much as I hate funerals, I am of the belief that that it’s not about me or what I dislike, it’s about the deceased’s loved ones and your respect for them.
In any event, TheBug and I went to Joe’s funeral – Joe’s daughter and TheBug were close friends in grade school. It was a smallish turnout, our area is made up of hardworking folks that likely can’t afford to take off work and no doubt made their appearance last night in lieu of being there today.
After a brief prayer and a few musical selections the funeral attendees were asked to share their memories of Joe. I hoped more than anything that someone would have the courage to stand up in front of everybody and salute this wonderful man. Had I known him better, I WOULD have. Sadly, I never got to know Joe as well as I could’ve and for me to have spoken would’ve taken the spotlight off those who did and seemed more self-serving.
Growing up in the VERY, VERY small town that I did, there were some people that were more “well-known” and gossiped about than others. My family was actually at the VERY TOP of that list, but that story is for another time. There was a man, the older brother of a couple of girls that babysat my brothers and I, who was laughed at behind his back (knowing the area where I grew up, it’s not unlikely that he was actually laughed at to his face) and made fun of.
For the most part, I didn’t think of him one way or another, only when his name came up in conversation and then to laugh along with whatever story was being told.
The first person to stand and walk to the podium was that man. He lives on his family’s home spot to this day; Joe and his wife moved nearby some thirty years ago. Having the love of cars in common, they became close friends over the years and you could hear the love this man had for Joe and how his heart was breaking at the loss of his friend.
He told the story of how when Joe was first ill, he’d gone to see him before what I believe was surgery, kissed him on the forehead and told him not to worry that all would be good. It was … that time. The last time that Joe was in the hospital his friend couldn’t be there.
He never saw Joe alive again.
You can’t understand or grasp the enormity of this fifty-something year old man, who had grown up in this German/Belgian community, where any sign of emotion is considered “unmanly”, where he’d suffered at least some ridicule and scorn in his life, not only standing up in front of a group of people and professing his love for his friend, but sharing that he’d actually kissed him.
In my eyes that man is a hero and even though I doubt I said anything against him, I am ashamed of knowing that in all likelihood I shared in hurting him in some small way.
And I am sorry.