The memorial service

All the relatives have arrived.
All the speeches have been written.
All my boys are dressed up in their spiffiest suits.
It's the day of the memorial service for my dad.
My dad wrote his own obituary (see www.paulroley.blogspot.com) which was published in the local newspaper, and there was an even longer article about his death in the university newspaper, since he'd been a professor there for 27 years.

I've already had my first glitch of the day:
Curt and I were staying at a hotel for 2 nights because Mom's house was full with other visitors, and on the counter of the hotel bathroom were two little bottles. Shampoo and conditioner, right? So I used the shampoo to wash my hair. The shampoo seemed awfully thick so I looked at the label, but I didn't have my glasses on in the shower (of course), and the print was really teeny tiny (you really have no idea how microscopic it was), and the light was poor behind the shower curtain, so I couldn't read what the bottle said. I handed the bottle to Curt who went to get his glasses and declared that the bottle was hand lotion. I was washing my hair with a big blob of hand lotion. Great. So then I had to wash my hair 3 or 4 more times with real shampoo which was in a dispenser mounted on the wall. (Who looks on the wall for shampoo? Honestly.) I think I got most of the hand lotion out, but it still seemed a little greasy. Let's call it silky. I hope I look OK.

I've written a speech about my dad which was no easy task. My dad and I didn't always get along and everyone knew it. Furthermore, my dad had told us well before he died that he didn't want anyone to tell lies at his service or to idealize him. He was a bit of a curmudgeon and he knew it. (He rather liked that label.) Somehow I had to find enough good things to say, without dwelling on the bad things. Luckily, I had spent the last 7 days digging through all the old photo albums. My mom wanted me to make a color booklet about him to distribute at the memorial service. I had been selecting photos and excerpts from his columns and creating a lovely 10-page booklet. (see my blog entry called "Memorial booklet") The important thing about digging though all the old photos was that I saw pictures that enabled me to see him in a different light. I saw a photo of him giving me a bath when I was a baby. I never imagined he was the type of father to do that! I saw a photo of him pulling Austin at age 3 on a sled. I don't remember this ever happening, but I guess it did. The most astonishing photo was one of him in his seventies dressed as a clown! My dad took himself very seriously, and was not the type to dress silly for any occasion. I was beginning to realize that there were things about him that I didn't know. Maybe he wasn't such a bad guy after all. And on that note, I was able to write my speech. (see my blog entry called "Memorial speech")

Delivering my speech was another matter. It was a given that I would be concentrating on trying not to cry. However, I also knew I'd be nervous, and I was desperately trying not to wet my pants! No matter how many times I went potty before the service, it still felt like I had a few more gallons in me demanding to escape. My older brother Scott spoke first and started crying soon into his first paragraph, which got my #1 son crying. When I saw my #3 and #4 sons reach out to console their sobbing eldest brother, I lost it too. So much for trying not to cry. Fortunately, I was armed with a large wad of tissues.

I was next. I pulled out Dad's briefcase, opened it, and removed my speech. Dad's briefcase went everywhere with him, even on vacation. It was usually full of newspaper articles he had photocopied that he wanted you to read, in an attempt to cure you of whatever misguided beliefs you had - in my case: liberalism. Everyone at the service had received articles from him at least once over the years. It was one of his trademarks. I read my eulogy. I didn't cry; just a little choked up. And I didn't wet my pants. Hooray!


My younger brother went next. He's a colonel in the Air Force and was dressed impressively in his uniform. Dad would've liked that. He got a little teary during his speech, too. And then he made everyone cry when he presented a flag to my mom that had flown over the USS Arizona in my dad's honor. Dad would've loved that. We were all blubbering by that time.



Three of the grandchildren also spoke, including my #4 son who represented the grandsons who had grown up next door to Grandpa. My #3 son had accompanied the soloist on viola earlier in the service, and he also had created a slide show of old pictures of Grandpa that flashed on the screen with poignant music in the background. So we all got to cry one more time. It was nice.

My mom wrote a short thank you on the printed program which ended like this:
"We all know how strong and stubborn he was, which leads me to suspect that before beginning his new journey, he's hanging around to see and hear us today. So Paul, we'll be fine; be on your way; you loved to travel and I'll catch up. Joan."