Day 89: The Funeral

I could have asked, I suppose.  But asking grieving people if they mind having a dog--even a service dog--at a funeral was just too hard for me to do.  I wanted to go to this funeral because the deceased was my mother and father's doctor in addition to being our neighbor for seven years.  Seven years doesn't sound like a long time to me now, but those seven years took me from age 6 to age 13, pretty important years in a person's life.  They weren't just neighbors either; they were a second family for me, a family where I felt like the oldest rather than the youngest.  I hated leaving Gracie behind today but finally decided that doing so was the considerate thing to do.  I knew Gracie would behave herself and sit quietly at my feet in the church.  But she is a scene stealer, and that didn't seem fair to the doctor or his family.  His oldest son and namesake gave a wonderful talk filled with wit and humor that innumerated the doctor's many amazing achievements in the field of medicine.  Still, to me, the most amazing thing he did was make house calls when my mother was eventually bedridden with Multiple Sclerosis.  Back then, there was no handicap parking.  Getting around was an incredible ordeal for my parents.  Not everyone recognized that or, if they did, recognized it by making things easier for my mother and father.  Even my mother's best friends quit stopping by after a while.  This good man didn't abandon them, though.  He had a presence that exuded calm.  He seemed accepting of what made so many others uncomfortable.  The service was brief, a reflection on a life well-lived.  I enjoyed seeing my childhood friends again too--all younger than me but all in their fifties now.  Still, for a bit today, I was taken back in time.  I had a good childhood and a lot of my fondest memories were thanks to that family.  Of course, Gracie missed me and was glad to have me return and release her from her crate.  And that was good too.