This summer. Did not. Feel like summer.
Out of whack. Weird. Off the beaten path. Of lemonade stands. Or sunny beach days.
Is this called getting older?
Funerals & grieving held more time in my summer months than anything else monumental. Let alone a melting popsicle.
Service 1:
We attended the funeral of a long-time family friend & insurance agent. David Lym truly lived as the kind of man who dropped everything to help a client, stranger, and family member alike. One of his daughters spoke about their friendship, their deep connection. What stuck with me, above all else, is the last time she had been at a funeral, it had been for her father’s father. Her dad had been approached by an individual sharing condolences when his pockets burst, spilling lifesavers. They were Dave’s self-admitted highlight of such occasions. His daughter and him shared a good laugh, a truly priceless moment, she will never forget. Dave’s love is remembered like a lifesaver. Fresh & comforting.
The day hung heavy. It is incredibly difficult to lose someone so light and giving like Dave.
Service 2:
The day following Dave’s funeral my Grandfather died. I called my brother in Los Angeles. We cried. His words etched upon my heart, “I don’t know if I am more sad because Grandpa is dead or because I feel like I never had a Grandpa…” We laughed through heavy tears. It’s true. We never did. In fact, none of my siblings, nor I really have a lifesaver story to share about our Grandfather. He didn’t come to our athletic events. He did not see my brothers win State in Track. He did not attend any of my academic award nights. We saw him over varying Christmas holidays. Some birthdays in between. I never received a single text from Grandpa, and Grandpa I learned, text many. Even still, I decided to speak at his funeral, giving the best speech of my life to date, maybe ever.
I stood and shared a poem my Uncle Tom brought along in his bag of tricks for anyone who wished to share it:
A Trucker’s Prayer
Dear God bless this truck I drive
And help me keep someone alive
Be my mortal sight this day
On streets where little children play
Bless my helper fast asleep
When the night is long and deep
And keep my cargo safe and sound
Through the hours big and round
Make my judgment sound as steel
And be my hands upon the wheel
Bless the traveler going past
And teach him not to go so fast
Give me strength for every trip
So I may care for what they ship
And make me mindful every mile
That life is just a little while
Amen
Then I spoke from my intuition, reflecting on the attributes my gramps and I shared in common: A head full of curly brown hair, a love for baseball, miles of travel, and the Farrimond legs (cue the flash of my calf to the crowd). I told my grandpa I wished we had shared a waterski together. I heard he enjoyed the pastime & it is too one of my most beloved activities.
“Make me mindful every mile, that life is just a little while…” until we meet the grave. The day hung heavy for the moments I wished we had shared.
I hope I pass like Dave, with time to appreciate the people I love.. to say goodbye. But more importantly I hope wherever I venture to in this life or the next, that I do so with intention, mindfulness, and connection.
Save a waterski for me Gramps.
Namaste.