I went to a funeral today. It was the first one I could force myself to go to since my dad died. My dad did not want a funeral, or a service or anything. We had a small family gathering two weeks after he died and that was that. As I was sitting in the church my grandparents built when they came to Canada from Denmark, the church where my dad was baptized, and where Tom’s service was taking place, I couldn’t stop crying. Good thing I was at a funeral.
I loved Tom. He was one of those perpetual people you have in your life. He grew up with my dad in a little rural community that housed the largest settling of Danish people in Canada. I don’t ever remember not knowing him. I played with his children, in highschool I may have smoked pot with his daughter at some party. And he was just part of that world backdrop you have growing up where people are your friends and they feel like they will always be there, even if you didn’t see them for a year.
Tom died of massive head injuries following a motor vehicle accident. It was sudden and unexpected for a 73 yr old. He had five children, 10 grandchildren and a whole community that loved him. And he was one more piece of my dad that I lost. He would come out to my mom’s after dad died and tell mom to put him to work. He was awesome. He took adventures on his own, and travelled North America extensively and on the cheap (and I mean really cheap). He camped under the Florida Keys stars, drove the entire Alaskan highway, canoed and skiied and kayaked. What a beautiful free spirit. And one of the hardest working people I have ever had the privelege of knowing.
As I sat in that tiny church that I love so much, with such a meaningful history to my family, I watched the whole community crowd in. There was no standing room left. We were packed in like sardines in a bursting can. People were standing outside. And it was a tribute to the kind of person Tom was. It was perfect. For him. I also had the sudden realization as I was sitting there that it was not something my dad would have wanted. But sitting there with all the people dad grew up with, I could cry with them. I could mourn my dad in the community that raised him up to be an amazing man, and I could cry for Tom who was also a product of that great place.
My dad didn’t want to be buried, he had things he wanted done with his ashes. And we respected his wishes. Of course we did. But there was a little part of me, as I walked to the cemetery next door that wishes I could have had that physical place to visit my dad. We had a family plot, my grandparents were buried there, and all the people of my grandparents generation. I love cemeteries. And I am madly in love with that cemetery. I said hi to Nanny and Papa as I walked by their headstones. I still miss them, but in that wistful, immature way one has when loss occurs before we can fully appreciate the extent of what is no longer. The way I miss my dad is much more intense.
As I walked into the church I noticed Tom’s youngest daughter cradling her two little girls. I saw her swollen eyes, and look of shock in her eyes. It took what little restraint I had not to run to her. I did bend down, give her a hug and say “I am so sorry. It is so hard to lose your dad. It’s just hard.” She looked up at me and for one second we shared that understanding that comes when someone can truly share your grief. “Yes it is..Yeah….”. It’s not really a club we want to belong to, but we do. We both had fantastic dads, and we are both very grateful in our heartbreak.
Mara ~ So Tom, could you say hi to Dad? I dunno if he was expecting you so soon, but I’m sure he’s happy to see a familiar face. You rest in peace Tom, you are well loved.
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Walking Softly 
