The funeral yesterday was very nice. There's something about these rituals that binds people together--a feeling of kinship, a commonality, a shared knowledge, both unsettling and demanding to be embraced. Besides, it's a relief to know you're not the star attraction.
Sleek was laid out in khaki pants and a casual polo shirt. I thought that was so appropriate--he never wore suits, I'm sure--and George & Co. did a wonderful job of making him look like himself, as many mentioned. (I'll grant it seems somewhat weird to remark on "how good he looks" at this point when he's not really himself and never will be again.)
The place was jammed. I saw Al G., Mary P., and other Holy Spiriters, plus St. Jamesian George W., of course, who conducted the funeral. (You can't die in Ventnor without George.) He greeted me warmly and we chatted a bit on the porch. I also talked to Kate S., whose daughter lives across the street from Hazel.
Hazel herself held up well. I'm sure she was dazed part of the time--you don't say goodbye to 53 years easily--but rose to the occasion. When she saw me, we hugged and kissed; she thanked me for coming and introduced me to several of her children and their spouses. (Her oldest, Charles--and I remember when he was born 52 or so years ago--is the image of his dad.)
The usual biographical pictures were displayed: Sleek as a child, Sleek holding their twin daughters, Sleek as a sick old man. The one I kept going back to was a snapshot of teenagers Sleek and Hazel dressed up for a prom. Their huge smiles and delighted joy in each other just radiated out of the picture and the past.
At 11:00, there was a short ceremony. Hazel's son-in-law gave a talk with anecdotes of Sleek and the priest led attendees in prayer. Hazel had reminded me that I'm her godmother; Sleek was Catholic and she converted right after their marriage. I understand they hadn't actually practiced any religion for years, but I assume they needed its presence on this occasion. I'm not sure if there are lingering questions or if it's simply the comfort of culture and memory, but I feel the same way.
Sleek was buried in Laurel Memorial where many of Betty's family and my in-laws are. The priest read the graveside prayers--I was surprised to see he was wearing sandals--and we dispersed.
Got home in time to make Pat's lunch and after he went to the bay, I drove to Lowe's and bought myself a "Roller, Jr." It's similar to a wheelbarrow, but light and easy to maneuver. Susan came over to admire it, then I loaded it up with my gardening equipment. Checked my garden, pulled some weeds, and went in to make dinner.
I had been admitted back to the land of the living because that's where I still belong.