Sun Showers

Image by Night Owl City via Flickr

Thursday, August 5, 2010, 5:45 a.m.: WANG. WANG. WANG. WANG. My alarm clock went off, but I was already awake. I had gone to bed only hours before and I'd woken up almost every half-hour since. It was the morning of my best friend's father's funeral. I had already had 2 exhausting days driving between the Bronx and Long Island, stopping in Manhattan to pick up and entertain some friends from out of town for the last 24 hours. Exhausting, yes...but nothing compared to what my best friend and her family had to endure during the weeks leading up to her father's death.

I got out of bed and made my way to the shower, hoping the water would rejuvinate me...but it just wasn't that kind of day. I opened my front door and saw that it was raining...appropriate weather for what I guessed would be a dreary day on all levels. It seemed as though nothing could lift my spirits or really wake me up. I got dressed, packed a change of clothes and some other odds and ends, and made my way to Starbucks in hopes that a latte would help perk me up (pun intended). I left more than 3 hours early because I wasn't sure how traffic would be and I didn't want to take any chance of being late...but at least the rain had stopped.

I arrived to the church almost 2 1/2 hours early, but I wasn't the first one there. There was a pickup truck full of firemen ready to pay their final respects and honor their friend and comrade. It touched my heart to see them there so early. It was the first time during the day that I smiled...and it felt like God had tapped me on the shoulder and reminded me of the goodness of people.

I eventually made my way into the church to meet with the organist and cantor. My best friend had requested that I sing the communion song during the mass, "On Eagle's Wings." It's one of my very favorite hymns and it was included at my grandmother's funeral. It always gets me choked up so I was really nervous that I wasn't going to be able to get through it. I met with Jean, the organist, and she offered great advice, consolement, and assurance that I would be fine. Her kindness made me smile for the second time that day...and it felt like God had tapped me on the shoulder again so as to remind me that as long as I sing with my heart, it would be beautiful.

I took a seat in a pew and anxiously waited for everyone to enter. I looked over and realized the cantor had arrived. I walked over to her and we chatted breifly about the song. Her name was Pat; she was a high school music teacher and said that she adapted quickly so not to worry. And for the third time, I smiled...and again, God tapped me on my shoulder...this time, reminding me to take a deep breath and mentally prepare for what was about to happen.

Mass began ceremoniously...with the firemen of Ladder Company 38 leading the way. It was beautiful. I looked across the way and caught eyes with my best friend long enough to blow each other kisses and say, "I love you." The priest gave a a moving a eulogy and shared his own interactions with this great man. Two friends spoke and shared their personal memories, which included some of the antics he was known for. Laughter errupted throughout the church. I not only smiled this time...I laughed, too. And this time it was not God tapping me on the shoulder, it was my friend's father himself. He was reminding me...and everyone else in attendance...that he wanted this day to be a celebration...and not a day of tears. And though I wished I could honor his wish completely, I was able to at least insert some laughter in between tears.

The mass ended and I stayed behind to receive communion. I thanked Pat & Jean for their help. Jean gave me a strong hug, the kind that feels like it's actually replenishing some of the strength that you've cried out of yourself. She held me tight and said that she could hear that I sang from my heart...and that it would be something that my friend and I would always have as part of our friendship. I sobbed in her embrace. And though I wasn't smiling, I could feel God tapping me on the shoulder again...reminding me it was ok to cry. 

I got into my car and followed the long caravan of cars towards the veterans' cemetary, which was about 45 minutes away. Due to him being a war veteran and a member of NYFD, not to mention the number of family and friends in attendance, the police department shut off side roads and escorted us the entire way. I took the opportunity to call my mother during the drive. At that moment, I didn't need God to remind me...I remembered how fortunate I was to have both my parents still in my life.

We arrived at the veterans' cemetary and proceeded to gather in his final resting place. It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining down brightly. The soldiers fired off their gun salute in honor of this brave man…literally the bravest man I’ve ever known: a pilot, a courageous firefighter for 38 years, and a first responder during the 9/11 attacks. Another soldier played Taps and it started to set in that this was truly the end. Finally, a bag piper played the last tune and a woman from the funeral home said a closing prayer, following it with us all reciting the “Our Father” together. It was time to say goodbye. My friend and her family placed their white roses on his casket and watched as others dropped their flowers and said farewell. As the last rose was dropped, huge rain drops started to fall through the sun-drenched sky. I smiled. This time, he and God, were working together to remind us to not linger and be sad…it was time to return to their family home for the party he had requested. I grinned from ear to ear as I ran to my car, realizing just what was happening. As we all returned to our cars and began to drive off, the rain stopped and the sun gleamed as bright as before. It was perfect.

I arrived back at my friend’s house where the cars lined the streets all the way to the end. A neighbor had placed fire helmets and American flags on an island that separated the street. Signs in neighbors’ driveways welcomed his friends and family to park wherever they needed. The sun was still out, but now there was a gentle breeze that blew. I smiled again…God was reminding me they would be at the party, too. It was a beautiful day, a wonderful party with some of the most amazing people I have ever had the honor of meeting, and an eye-opening experience to realize the importance of celebrating life. Celebrating the life of someone can be the most profound and helpful way of mourning the loss of someone as extraordinary as he was. All day I had “Two Step” by Dave Matthews Band stuck in my head, whose chorus jubilantly sings, “Celebrate we will ‘cause life is short, but sweet for certain.” I smiled throughout the entire party…realizing that we were all there because we were honoring his wish to do just that…celebrate.

My friend was inundated with news reporters and phone calls as soon as she arrived home for the party. She was unbothered by any of it and she didn’t hesitate to speak to anyone. She spoke passionately about the loss of her father…the bravery he demonstrated in life, the humor he brought to everyday, and the legacy he now left behind. She is now fighting to help pass a 9/11 healthcare bill…a bill that was rejected just 2 days before her father’s death, a death attributed to the cancer he got as a result of being a first responder during that tragic day. As I watched and listened to her speak, I could see that her father had clearly not gone anywhere. In her eyes, I saw a glimmer…and I smiled. It was God reminding me that our loved ones never really go anywhere…not as long as we keep them in our hearts and our minds. My friend is a living legacy of her father and I am honored to call her a friend. And though her father may not be with us in the physical sense, he and God made themselves more than visible throughout the day…a sign that faith sometimes grows stronger when you least expect it. Today, I celebrate my life, my faith, my friendship, and the realization that God is everywhere…you just have to be paying attention.