I’ve never attended a funeral in my swimsuit before.
We have a timeshare, one of the old-fashioned types, where
you stay in the exact same place the exact same weeks each year. There are 32
units at our place, and we have gotten to know people over the past dozen+
years simply by virtue of proximity. (For instance, we know to dread the noise
from the party-hearty types that show up each year for week 30.) Over the
years, we’ve shared some significant life events together. Some life events happen at the beach itself,
such as the year our daughter was rushed to the ICU with undiagnosed and
life-threatening juvenile diabetes. Most events happen during the other 51
weeks of the year, and we share them with each other annually in beach
conversations or in passing.
This year, there had been a loss to death. I knew the man
only from watching him kitesurf in front of our beach, marveling at how high he
could fly into the air. A brain aneurysm claimed him over Memorial Day weekend.
Although he was my age, it fell to his
mother to plan his funeral. His surfing buddies suggested a “paddle out” as an
appropriate way to memorialize him. Word
spread. I offered my services as a pastor, but another pastor who stayed there
had offered already. (Imagine that- 2
pastors at the same place!)
And so we gathered on the beach on a Wednesday afternoon.
His 5 siblings spoke of the man and their love for him. There were funny
memories and laughter, the way that there usually is, and talk of his
excellence in his profession as a partner at a major accounting firm. The outer
ring of us stood in tribute to a man whom we knew only for his soaring above
the sea, tethered to a kite and a surfboard. It was beautiful and perfect, and the pastor
said exactly the right things. When the talking was done, the nieces and
nephews got on surfboards and paddled out past the sandbar. There, ashes and flowers were showered into
the sea. And the salt of tears mixed with the salt of the ocean, even for those
of us in the outer circle.
That night, we were in our condo when Andy called us out to
the porch. The family had one more act of tribute, lighting floating lanterns
that sailed into the night sky towards the full moon. The beauty of those lights floating off gave
us goosebumps, as we heard the echoes of voices calling out his name one last
time into the sea air.
Families come in all sorts of different ways, shapes, and sizes.
Until this year, though, I never realized that family can come a week at a
time.
