One year ago

A year ago today was Chris’s funeral. The children and I had to say a final good-bye. Our family and friends were there to support us, and to have their chance to say good-bye as well. The week leading up to the funeral was daunting to say the least. It was made smoother with the support of family and friends that arrived. Some came with food. Others came with hugs. All arrived with love. It was an overwhelming experience.

While planning the funeral, I did consult with the children on what they wanted to happen. I had to realize that the funeral was for all of us. Although they were only 12, 10, and 6, it was important to know their thoughts and feelings on how best to say good-bye to Daddy. It was during one of our conversations, that the 10 year old said she wanted to read a poem at the funeral. I’m not really sure why it surprised me, but it did. I tried to tell her that it was a lovely idea, but really, she didn’t have to do that. She stood strong, and said she needed to do it. I told her okay, and that if she needed me, I would stand beside her while she read it. She said that would be fine. Then she floored me when she asked me what I would be saying at the funeral. In reality, I had not thought about speaking at the funeral. I am terrified of public speaking, afraid of making a mistake, afraid of being an embarrassment, and being in a rather emotional state, I did not think it would be the best of ideas. But trying to explain those weaknesses to a 10 year old, who was looking at me with quiet expectation, just wasn’t going to fly. So I agreed, that if she thought I should speak at the funeral, then I would.

So today, my post is a reflection of last November 10. At the funeral, the minister spoke first, followed by my mother in law, then my 10 year old, and finally me. When it was her turn, my 10 year old walked to the microphone at the front of the church. When I asked her if she would like me to join her, she gave her head a small shake to tell me no. She stood tall, and stood alone. She was truly amazing, as she spoke clearly and without hesitation. I know I was so very proud of her, and I know Chris was too.

This is what she read:

Where the Sidewalk Ends, by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends

And before the street begins,

And there the grass grows soft and white,

And there the sun burns crimson bright,

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight

To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

And the dark street winds and bends.

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go

To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,

And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know

The place where the sidewalk ends.

I have to admit, that following her was a challenge. But I knew what her expectation was. Her faith in me was much too important, and there was no way for me to turn away from it. I know that I drew strength from her faith in me. Now, looking back on what I wrote, I don’t think I would change anything. I do know I added a few things as I read it aloud that afternoon. But it all comes down to the simple fact that Chris was my friend, and he is the man that I love.  

So this is what I had to say a year ago:

So I have had a week of thinking of things to say today. I have had so many thoughts in my head as to what would be the best. It all felt like it was too much to say, or not adequate at all. 

I thought of talking about the many titles Chris had . . . son, brother, friend, SC Trojan, husband, Dad. I thought of reassuring all of our family and friends that seriously, Chris never wore the title of spy. 

I thought of sharing how I used to tease him about saving the world. I would call him at work to ask him to pause in saving the world and come home in time for dinner. I was actually cooking. I find out now, that in truth, he really was out saving the world. He had a passion for it, and most of us will never realize the impact he has had on the world.

There were thoughts of what an amazing family man Chris was. From the time N came into our lives, he was an integral part in all of his children’s lives. Everything from changing diapers to homework, playing puzzles, baseball, and soccer. He even learned how to put MK and B’s hair into ponytails. He attended parent teacher conferences, back to school nights, dance recitals, school assemblies, and school board meetings.

Then I thought about when we first met at school in California. We were first friends, and an amazing love followed.

But then I realized that all of these things could not begin to explain such an extraordinary, complex man, who had a passion for his family, his work, his Southern California Trojans, and Life.

So then I decided that I would rather share a poem that we both liked, and maybe that would scratch the surface of all my thoughts and feelings for Chris:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears of all my life! – and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

(Elizabeth Barrett Browning)