Sunday, September 16, 2012

Tribute to Mr. X. I never knew you but I loved your son.

I went to a funeral service yesterday for an ex. I was never fortunate enough to meet the deceased -- his father -- while we were dating but sitting in the room amongst so many who'd gathered to send off this loved man, I felt like I wanted to pay tribute somehow too. I'm not particularly religious nor do I feel like the dead can hear us when they're gone, but I wanted to express something anyway. So quietly, in my head, I offered a little prayer.
Dear Mister X, I loved your son once. I still do, although now we are only friends. From stories, I can see he got his sense of humor from you, his ability to joke quickly, laugh heartily, and live fully.  I can imagine as a father, one of the most important things in life you want is for your kids to turn out okay. He has so much to offer the world. He doesn't know or believe it yet, but those who love him see his many gifts and treasure him. He has many friends and we will look out over him now that you have joined your wife -- his mom. We won't let him be alone. Thank you for raising this wonderful young man who has taught me so much.
I was so proud of him when he got up to share some memories, unrehearsed. He made the entire room laugh on a somber day.

Afterwards, when everyone drifted away and we were alone, he slumped, face turned away from me. "Today was really, really fucking hard." 

"I know," I said, rubbing his back gently. "I'm glad you invited me."

"I'm glad you came."


  1. I am glad that you went as well.

    It is the experiences we have with people, and by connection, direct or indirect, with their friends and family, as you noted, that allows their memory to live on. It is those experiences that become the weave of the fabric of our very own selves is woven into the genetic warp given to us by our mother and father.

  2. Exactly. People tend to have a sense of permanence until they've experienced true loss. As much as they live on inside us though, there is still the missing; an integral and wrenching part of our humanity.