long day's journey into night

Four hours sleep.  Up at five.  On a train to Stamford with Alexander by 6:26.  We are meeting Valerie to go up to Sharon Massachusetts for Lee’s funeral.  It’s at the same place where my father’s funeral was just eight and a half weeks ago. 

Everything feels familiar, though the rabbi is different and the speeches are given by Lee’s children and grandchildren rather than my dad’s children and grandchildren.  I learn things about my uncle I hadn’t known before, and feel that in death, I know him just a little better.

After the funeral we go to the nearby cemetery where the procession of cars is lead by a Brockton police car.  “Gee,” my mom comments.  “I wish the funeral home had offered that for your father.”  Valerie then reminds my mom that Lee’s son-in-law is head of the detectives (and soon to be chief) of the Brockton Police force. 

On the way to the cemetery, we agree we will say hi to dad.  After shoveling the traditional dirt on my uncle’s coffin, I see my mom and put my arm around her.  “Let’s go see dad, “ I say.  “You’re standing on him, “ my mom replies.  I look down and there I see a plaque with my dad’s name on it.  We all laugh, and know my dad is doing the same.

The rabbi is excellent.  He is a strong and comforting presence.  Alexander remarks, “He was good at Papa George’s funeral too.”  I remind my son that that was a different rabbi.  Their only similarity is grey hair.

The day is cold and sunny.  I had debated what coat to wear.  My warmest is my gorgeous long shearling; it’s the one I rarely wear and still get compliments on when I do.  Valerie has the same coat and when I got mine (after she got hers) I agreed never to wear it at the same time.  So before coming today, I consult with my sister.  She doesn’t remember the coat and thinks it was given to the Salvation Army years before.  Then I realize the coat was purchased in 2004.  I needn’t have worried.

I was wondering what my family would think of my blond streak.  My mom likes it.  Valerie thinks it’s unnecessary, though she likes the cut and color of my hair and overall thinks it looks good.  And Jeannie?  She asks me if my streak is an accident.  I am not sure what she means and so she qualifies her question. “I don’t know.  Like maybe someone put bleach in it and forgot about it?”  She is not joking.  I infer from her response that she doesn’t like it.

Snow is in the forecast for tomorrow, so with my mom’s blessing, we drive home after the burial.  We stop at a Friendly's for a late lunch. We are all surprised at the quality of their burgers and fries.  They are seriously good.

Spending eight hours in the car with Valerie and Alexander is filled with laughs, funny stories, provocative and good discussions, and music from the 60’s. 

We are back in the City by 7; I’m in bed by 8.