The Speed of Stillness and the Journeys of Angels of Another Kind

Hello Everyone,

I guess everything that needs getting done has been done.  We had my father's funeral and burial.  We've notified who needs notification, though I sometimes forget I recieved that memo, and reality's whip comes a swingin', and with each crack of that whip it all seems more real.

I've probably spent about three hours on the road this week, a far cry from the 100 plus hours I spent on the bus the two previous weeks.  However, the speed at which everything happened this week has to rival that of the speed of light.  Ah, relativity...

My mom handed me the keys on Monday, to drive us all to the funeral home to make the plans and such.  I thought I would be strong for them and allow them to grieve on the drive.  I was prepared for a long tough drive.  We pulled out of the driveway.  We traveled about 100 feet and turned, then another 50 feet, and I turned right.  During that mighty and grueling 3rd minute of the drive my mother and sisters sang loudly and in unison, "turn left!  turn left!"  The funeral home was less than a quarter mile from home.  We got out of the car and I could see the top my parents house.  But I was ready for that 4th minute, that 5th minute...ad infinitum.  The next day, I took the keys and drove mom and the sisters to the flower shop.  Everyone piled in the car.  I, once again, manned up for the drive.  We turned left out of our neighborhood.  We drove for a few minutes, long enough for me to ponder cruise control, when the same choral group sang, "right here!  right here!"  6, 7 minutes tops, but at least I couldn't see the house from there.  We went to the church, to plan the funeral service.  15 minutes, tops.  It all started to feel so convenient.  Except for the time in between traveling, where the clock taunts you with antagonizing tics for what seems a thousand years apart.  The longest drive was to the cemetery, which was the Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery in San Antonio proper.  We piled in the car for that one, too.  There was no singing, however, no rhythm.  All was was very quiet and sounded like it came out of a tin can.  The drive lasted about an hour, and the closer we got to the cemetery, the further I wanted it to be.  Time.  Slowed.  Down.

Time is a joke.  It sped, slowed, stopped and became flat out non-existent at times this week, bringing about the purest circumstance of surreality.  I feel exausted, as if far from the end of a long journey.  And, I haven't traveled in any direction a distance worthy of any notation.  But a lot of other people did, though.  My dad's brothers and sister, many dear old friends, many church members, they all came.  And, many old retired, and still active, railroad workers filled the pews.  My father worked over thirty years for the railroad, retired from it, and I've never encountered a group of men more loyal to each other.  It really touched my heart.  These men share a kinship due to, at least what I think, working one of the last true American jobs in the country: hauling freight across the country on the rails.  You could tell who they were.  Their wonderfully worn denim jeans, pearl snap shirts, scuffed boots trumped the silkiest of ties and tailored suits.  They had gray hair and beards, or no hair and beards.  They're all just about deaf, they've all had a hip, knee, or some kind of operation and about 49 out of every 50 of them would set off an airport metal detector even if they walked through it stark naked.  But, no matter what, they showed up.  Most stayed for the reception afterwards, too, and they all had the solemn look on there face as if funerals are getting very familiar.

The funeral was beautiful, there is no other word.  We all agreed that it didn't look like my father in that casket, but that was ok, because that was just his body.  You turn around and you saw his life in those pews.  So many people came to pay their respects.  I hear "pay respects" differently now.  I started to when person after person came up to my mom and me and my sisters, hugged us and told us they loved him, will miss him, they love us, and "if there's anything I can do just...".  They all meant it or they're all liars and I doubt the latter, we were in a church after all.  I saw the true nature and shape of my father in all those people, their embraces and their wet eyes.  Again, beautiful is the only word.

Maybe glorious is a good word for it, too.  Glorious has religious connotations and I am from a devout Christian family.  Did I say devout?  I, on the other hand, some may even suspect, the left hand, have concerns when it comes to religion.  They all seem so detailed.  I believe, many times the message is lost in those details.  I believe man has hugged, accepted, shunned, banished, beaten, murdered because of acute attention to detail.  I believe entire countries have gone to war and entire peoples have been eliminated due to a matter of detail.  I believe, today, many young men and women - amputated from their families - are dying due to a misguided and deceptive interpretation of those details.  I do not mean to offend anyone, this is only my opinion.  However, it is my blog, and the red flags go up when I see any group hell bent on the details, pardon the expression.  We are all different, therefore the details, by nature, cannot be perfectly the same.  But we can look into people's eyes and tell if they are joined in the search.  We can, details aside, look into them and then tell if they are headed to the same destination, whatever that destination may be.  And that's ok.  No, really, it is.  More so, I can look at you, and understand that we're of the same substance, or we are the same even, I am you and you are me, and if I have that understanding I would never want to hurt you.  Sounds to me like a very shiny rule...possibly golden.

I like to think - believe me, I do, and my friends and family will be more than happy to tell you I do - that we are all sparks from the same fire, floating through the cosmos.  Usually, we have our backs to the fire, but every now and then, the cosmic wind spins us around and we get to see that fire, fully.  We see it with a clarity that words fail to describe, and, just when we know we're looking at it, that wind comes a blowin', and we're looking away before we know it.  But, we search for it passionately.  We have faith, we will see it again.  I believe that artistry is one's impassioned effort to interpret IT, or as I also like to say, the big IS.  Here we are, a bunch of little "i's" trying to paint, write out, or sculpt the big IS.  How honorable.

But the big IS can be found in all actions, can't it?  My dad loved airplanes and was proud to be an engineer on a freight train.  I believe he was on the search.  And, I now believe he is at home in the big IS.  My dad called it heaven.  My mom calls it heaven.  She still has hope for me.

Like I said earlier, my dad was buried at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery.  He recieved military honors, for he served in the Air Force, was a Veteran and served in Viet Nam and other parts of the world.  Let me tell you, if you have an eagle tattooed to your chest or if you've jumped off the diving board in the waters far off to the left like I have, a military burial is a something else to be a part of.  The sound of the rifles go right through you and just try not to cry when they hand that folded flag to your mother.  We went to the gravesight this afternoon.  You can see the planes fly overhead.  Off in the distance, you can hear the moans of the freight trains that my dad once operated.  I felt ok.  And, as we headed to the car, I saw many other people overlooking many other tombstones.  I saw a million little details but really the same thing, people remembering those who so gracefully joined them on their journey, if just for a little while.

Take it easy or don't take it at all....

Todd