700 club

[kirkcudbright]

So I've been out in California this week, going home on the red-eye tomorrow night. I've spent most of my time in Alameda (it's a business trip, after all), but last night went down to Santa Cruz to see my uncle. You may recall that my aunt died last October. This is the first stime I've seen John since the memorial service, so it was pretty important to both of us.

For whatever reason, I never blogged about the memorial service itself, just about banana slugs. So here's the deal: there were 700 people at the memorial service. Seven. Hundred. See, John was pastor at Los Altos United Methodist Church for about 20 years, and they were both very active in the community, and very socially active. I have friends, sure, and I cherish that, but I haven't touched anything like 700 people's lives, that they would come from all across the country for my funeral. But Sue did. I really put more effort into seeing her and John whenever I could, than I put into seeing my own parents, a mere 100 miles away. I really felt like I had a special relationship with her; she made everyone feel special, and they really were special to her. I'm glad I got to have that relationship with her as an adult, and I continue to miss her.

Anyway, the reason I'm writing this now, so long after the fact, is not only that I saw my uncle for the first time since the memorial service, but he gave me a card that I guess he had sent out afterwards. It has a big smiling picture of Sue, and the theme of the service: "The adventure continues", because Sue was a big traveller and travel organizer. Inside was this letter from John:

Dear Friends,

"How does the creature say thanks?" This is what I find myself struggling to understand. How do you find a way to respond to all the goodness shown when the event that caused this occasion is so dark and dangerous? How do you celebrate a life when all you want to do is reverse time and call life back.

First, you listen to friends and family as they send their cards, care, contributions, and love. And you thank them because you know they are calling you back to life and to living. I sit here reading over and over again the notes and cards, the messages of hope and faith. They help more than you can imagine.

Next, you are grateful for what did not happen. No one else was hurt in the crash, a gift that Sue would really have desired. She died instantly; I think that is the best way to die.

Then, you cherish the fact that Sue died on one of the best days of our lives. We had spent the whole day together at a preview of the opening of the DeYoung Museum. We had a ball. We were like kids pointing out wonderful discoveries, coming up to each other and bringing each other to different parts of the art gallery. Afterwards we went to a burger place across from the SF Zoo and Sue had her favorite lunch: a juicy hamburger, onion rings, and a chocolate shake.

When we arrive home, Sue deposited me and went on to her beloved Bell Choir. She never arrived; instead she began another adventure. And we began ours - first in shock, then in unbearable sadness, and then, thankfully, in the company of loving friends and family. The memorial service was a true celebration of Sue's life - one I think would have made her happy. Our sons each spoke and brought new dimension to my understanding of Sue's life and their close relationships. They amazed me and have filled me with such love and pride and hope: Sue's spirit shines so brightly in them.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I have read and re-read your cards, notes, and e-mails over and over again. They are a source of comfort to me. I am grateful we have so many great and good friends. I cannot be overwhelmed by sadness and still be true to the best thing in my life. The reason the pain is so great is because we weathered so much and come so far in our love and relationship. It was a productive and truly blessed one. My family, Mark and Angie, Richard and Gabrielle, David and Laura and all our grandchildren join me in our thanks and appreciation for your love and care.

Sue was a happy camper.

With a heart full of love,
John Dodson

So we had a nice visit, last night. John cooked up a couple Dungeness crabs he had bought off the pier in Santa Cruz, and showed me her artwork and photography, which he's been framing and displaying around the house. Sue had prepared a submission to a photo contest, her first ever; my cousin found it and mailed in for her; out of several thousand entries, she was named a finalist for a portrait of two lions in South Africa. John and I talked for a couple hours, and I told him about my accident; it was too big an event and too recent not to mention; he made me call when I got back to Alameda at midnight.

I'm glad I didn't die last week. It was stupid, and I'll try not to do it again. I can't honestly say I can't believe I did it - more like I can't believe I didn't do it before now, because I've gotten too used to driving while tired. So I'm glad I didn't die, and I'll try not to die for a long time, but there's never a good time, and I'm pretty much at peace with the world. Dig it.

Comments

[weegoddess.livejournal.com]

Wow. I got teary-eyed reading that. It's the kind of 'Life Celebrated' that most of us would want. Makes me want to not waste one more minute and get to living and loving.

You may not know/have touched the lives of 700 people. But you are loved just the same. And I would wager that lots of folks would travel from just about anywhere for you, if there was need. Not that you likely required such reassurance, but there it is.

[sends hugs for the loss of a beloved aunt]

[goddessfarmer.livejournal.com]

yea, what she said.

[lyonesse.livejournal.com]

quality counts, too.

i really, really liked your aunt.

[gosling.livejournal.com]

I cried reading that. Your aunt was clearly wonderful, and your uncle's writing is beautiful.

It reminds me to live my life the way I want to more, too.

And I think you touch more lives than you realize, probably a lot more.

Thank you for sharing this. *hugs*