September 2, 1994
"Earth, receive an honored guest."
W.H. Auden - In Memory of W. B. Yeats
My father, Kevin's dad, my nephews' Papa and my mother's wonderful and loving husband was buried this morning. My father was a proud and passionate veteran of World War II - he wasn't one who wore his patriotism on his sleeve but it was always present in his heart. A Naval Honor Guard was at the cemetery and at the end of the service taps were played. My father was a trumpet player and when he was in high school he used to play taps at the funerals of veterans. Today he was remembered and rewarded for his service to others, for a job well done.
There is a finality to burial that makes denial impossible. For the past few days I've been in a state of disbelief, waking every morning hoping to here my father in the kitchen making a fresh pot of coffee. But at the cemetery I realized that his sun has set, that his life as faded to memory. What I learned this morning is that on the day you are buried, your family may leave the cemetery with eyes and cheeks red and stained with tears, but they keep on living. The dead are buried, the living go on with their lives.
In the Eighth Day, Thornton Wilder wrote, "We do not choose the day of our birth nor may we choose the day of our death."Whether these days arrive randomly or are predetermined is unimportant. What is important to remember is not that we are born absent of all knowledge, but all too often we are blind-sided by death - we never see it coming for it arrives unannounced.
Before leaving the Cape on Tuesday morning, I lowered by father's flag to half-staff. When I finished my aunt Clare was on our deck and with tears in her eyes she saluted the flag. The flag will remain as it is, night and day, until my father's birthday, September 27th. I want my nephew Casey to raise it back to the top.
"Earth, receive an honored guest," is a line from Auden's poem on the of William Butler Yeats. Yesterday I wrote a brief eulogy for my father based on those words but my mother didn't like it.
So, it was put in his coffin.
Mimi was at the funeral Mass and at the cemetery. She loved my father as she loved her own father and my father loved her as a daughter - and walked her down the aisle when she re-married. I'll call her tonight and thank her for coming. I miss her.
On my way back to the Cape, I mailed a copy of my father's obituary to Maggie. No note, no words, just the obituary. I am curious to see if she calls me or sends me a sympathy card. Since we have known each other for fourteen years I think it is important that she know of my father's death - and just as important that she respond - but I don't think she has the decency to do so, thus I don't really expect to hear from her..
As I look out to Cape Cod Bay, my father's flag snaps a salute in the afternoon breeze. I am alone with my thoughts and there are two moments from this morning's funeral I'll always remember. As my mother and I followed behind the flag covered coffin as it was carried from the church, my cousin Frankie's three year old daughter, Rachel, was standing on the sidewalk. As we proceeded down the walkway, Rachel's big bright blue eyes never left the coffin until it was placed inside the hears. Oh, the eyes of a child, so full of wonder and mystery! If only we never lost the enchantment of seeing life through the eyes of a child.
My final memory is the sight of the Naval Honor Guard and the silent stillness of the cemetery just before taps were played. A peaceful moment of solitude soon followed by the slow, somber tones of taps, the last post and chorus - a loyal and brave sailor, a kind and loving father and husband, was given his final farewell salute.
4:00pm - My Parents' Cottage - Sandwich, MA
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