Dad's memorial service was lovely-or so I was told. As the emcee, I was more worried about the professors, and whether they were going to speak too long for the friends, relatives and ex-colleagues who came to the Brooklyn Ethical Culture Society to remember Dad.
Those who came up to the podium, included five former friends of Dads from the college. Most of them talked about his wit, his incredible mind, his charm and his devotion to his family.
His companions, the women who got him up from the bed, made his lunches and dinners, bathed him and bantered with him also spoke in their lyrical accents, with warmth and devotion and love-we are family now, one of them said to me. I believe they are.
Those who talked were all wonderful, in their way.
A couple of the speakers also alluded to the shadowed side of Dad's nature-the neurosis, the sadness, the grief over a lost son and wife.
Then we went out to lunch, most of us-again, a time full of intense conversation and affectionate reunions with relatives I rarely am privileged to spend time with, thanks to the accidents of geography and time.
I don't think it's quite sunk in that we had assembled, and accomplished, the official memorial. That's a blessing, and a sadness. The journey towards healing has begun, but it doesn't end on earth.
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