An old warrior from my childhood passed away on Tuesday morning. A tough old bird that was always smiling and joking, but could break another man with little effort. One of those guys.
I didn’t want to go to the viewing last night, but knew I needed to go to the graveside to pay my respects. So, I pulled one of my two suits out of the plastic cover from the cleaners and donned my best to pay reverence to an old guy that was more man than I’ll ever dream of being.
I pulled around back at my old church to see if they were out of the service yet. They weren’t. So, I walked in to check and see how far in they were. The funerals at my old church drag out longer than the weddings. I saw that the old pastor was speaking and knew the new pastor would speak last. A while to go. So I slipped in and stood in the back though there was plenty of seating. I don’t like getting comfortable at these things. I looked around the sanctuary at the people in attendance. There were fewer than I had expected. It made wonder how a guy that cool and personable wouldn’t fill a church of that size. There were a hundred or so, still yet. These were all the people I had gone to church with up until I was 20. They were older. They were fewer.
I looked through the crowd and saw people there that I would have expected to have done this long before this guy. It just never crossed my mind. Not that you think that people will be around forever. More that you only allow your mind to grasp the idea of a few dying at a time. You subconsciously categorize the few that will be next. When one jumps in too soon it knocks you back a little.
At the graveside I tried to take it all in. I hadn’t been down there in nearly two years. Since my Grandma passed. Guys my age starting to gray in their beards. Gray in my own. The solemn and almost spooky sound of a single voice singing a hymn. Surrounding us were the graves of people I had known from my youth. It seemed like there were more headstones than people in the service. If not, they were gaining ground quickly.
Stones with one in the ground and the name of the other already ominously carved in. The guy standing beside me now. A reminder.
That’ll be my old man one day. That’ll be my mom. That’ll be me.
Maybe I have a ton left to write in my story. Maybe not. Either way, I want it to be good.

















