Today we said goodbye to the father of a good friend. It was an informal service and, as is proper for a well done graveside service, a light rain fell intermittently – enough to hold an umbrella but not really enough to open it. I didn’t know Mr. Collins very well. We had met a few times. He was very sweet and his daughters, good friends of mine, absolutely adored him. Mr. Collins was a Navy man. After a few words were said by his friend, Larry, two sailors walked to the front of the gathering; a third stood behind with her bugle. I don’t know what it is, but the sound of “Taps” being played is like a kick in the gut. Standing there, at this lovely man’s service with his precious family, I quietly fell apart. It is not enough that attending any funeral I attend, brings back all those who have come before it, but something about that song, that bugle, and the folding of that American flag… I just can’t bear it.
Being there brought back my Daddy’s funeral. He served in the Army and was proud of it. But we weren’t a military family. We didn’t have to move around like most of the kids I knew in school who called themselves “military brats.” Daddy was honorably discharged long before I was born. He didn’t talk much about it until the last few years of his life. He had a very interesting job over in Germany where he was stationed, and he was not allowed to tell anyone what he was doing there. After he returned from Germany, he married my mother and that was that. He worked hard for the next 60 years. Like Mr. Collins, Daddy’s life was not one of fame and glory, but the United States Army sent him off with honors befitting a hero on the day of his funeral. The uniformed men marching and working the guns, the salute, the playing of “Taps,” the folded flag handed to my sister – even now, thinking about it, I need a Kleenex. I miss him so much.
After the sailors delivered Mr. Collins’ flag to his oldest daughter, I leaned over to the friend standing near me and croaked “military services kick my ass.” She said “mine, too,” tears leaking under her sunglasses (her father had died a few years ago). Another friend, wiping away her tears, said “it does me too.” She had also recently lost her father. Still a third friend, who is currently caring for her senior parents full time, said it made her understand how fortunate she is to still have them. She blotted her eyes with a tissue.
While it rained early, today was such a beautiful day in central Oklahoma. A rare August day that wasn’t 100 degrees or more. The sun shone most of the afternoon but it never got above 85. This was the kind of day my mother loved. She would have been outside, either sitting on her porch watching the gulf fritillary butterflies on her passion vine, or dead heading roses, or dragging the water hose around the front yard. This was a perfect day for her. I thought of her as I watched bees and hummingbirds, and all manner of butterflies dance across my cowpen daisy field. Her flowers were, for the most part, neatly contained in beds around the house and fence – nothing like the wildness that makes up my sanctuary. But, I like to think she would have enjoyed sitting on my porch watching the busy pollinators. I know I enjoy it when I feel her there. I miss her so much.
It occurred to me as I stood overlooking my peaceful place, that eventually we have to say goodbye to every one we love. Either a loved moves away, the relationship ends, we die before them, or even worse, they die before us. It doesn’t matter, every relationship has a goodbye. Movies always romanticize death, but to the person who has to say the goodbye there is nothing romantic about it. I know it is the way of things, circle of life, to everything there is a season, and all that, but I don’t really have to like it. And I don’t.
