huck

Last Friday, I drove up into the hills of central Massachusetts to attend a funeral for a man I'd met just once. It had just snowed, but not much, so the ride was comfortable, safe, and quite beautiful. I found that glancing at the dusty trees as I drove along the familiar roads was almost meditative. So I arrived at my destination -- a funeral home where the clients are so healthy that the proprietor sells plumbing parts most of the time -- in a rather relaxed frame of mind.

The man who had died, Huck, was 93 and the father of perhaps my favorite manager ever. The room was lightly packed, mostly with younger people. (Huck had outlived most of his friends.) Huck presided from his coffin at the front of the room, as if he had just closed his eyes but was still listening. His son (K) and daughter-in-law (S), and their grown children were there. Many of S's relatives had come, and I saw a few older ladies (widows of Huck's friends, perhaps?) and people who were more my contemporaries (their children?). Another coworker from our era also came and it was good to catch up with her.

Thrown into the mix were about seven children (K and S's grandchildren) just being kids -- running around, playing with each other, the littlest one occasionally making kid noises, including a very loud "Bless you" when she heard the benediction. The children really brought home the thought that death is sad and poignant and important and also very much a part of the fabric of life. That especially for kids, yes, someone has died, but at the same time, life goes on and there's still play and dance and laughter sprinkled in with the more somber moments.

There was a minister who seemed very kind but who had not met Huck. And my friend K gave the eulogy, full of K-wryness and sweetness. There were many good stories told of this practical, capable man.

Afterwards, we lined up to greet the minister, pay our respects to Huck, and admire pictures from past years, including one that looked like a male pinup showing off his muscles.

Then off to the cemetery, where we were met by a small contingent from the local American Legion. Huck had been a veteran, and so the AL wanted to show their respect and present a flag.

And then to lunch, at a place that K has said is one of his favorites. It's old and rustic, next to a duck pond (with plenty of stale bread available should you wish to feed the birds). I sat with K and S and heard some more stories about Huck's last few days. From the telling, it sounded admirably dignified and full of quiet love and care.

I was charmed that K and S's sons and daughter-in-laws came and talked to me, and not just in the "Hi, I'm John, nice to meet you, oh there's someone more interesting" kind of way, but in a "I'd like to know a little of who you are" way. I realized that I'd heard so many sweet stories about the family over the years that I'd already had a bit of an introduction. And they actually remembered that I'd attended the visiting hours and memorial service for K's mother some 6 or 7 years ago. Lovely people.

I think K and S have a lot to be proud of in their sons and their families. I think their sons have a lot to be proud of in their parents. And I think that Huck was lucky indeed to have as fine a son as K. We can all hope for the same thoughtfulness when it is our time.