[img]1325|left|Alex Campbell ||no_popup[/img]Dateline Boston — My future father-in-law died a couple of weeks ago. I cried like a baby at his funeral, yet I never even met the man. “Dad” had Alzheimer’s for the last 10 years of his life. His wife, “Mom,” told me he was a wanderer. He used to go out walking in the neighborhood, not knowing where he was. Someone would find him and bring him to his house, and he’d complain about wanting to “go home.” Eventually, Mom learned to say, “Why don’t you stay here for the night? Then in the morning you can go home.” He would agree, then forget about it in the morning.
After a few years, it became difficult for Mom to take care of her husband. He was moved to a facility that had a floor just for people with Alzheimer’s. Mom visited regularly, as did his best friend, who, even after Dad stopped talking, gave him regular haircuts. What a touching gesture.
S.O. didn’t visit when Dad went to the facility; I imagine it was just too difficult. He wasn’t the man S.O. had known all his life—a tinkerer, coin and stamp collector, bolo tie wearer, man of few words. S.O. said goodbye to his dad when Dad moved out of the house.
Mom herself moved to an independent living facility last year when it got too lonesome, and taking care of the house got to be taxing. It took some time for her to get moved in and situated, so she didn’t visit Dad for a few months. She saw him again for the last time three days before he died of pneumonia at the age of eighty.
The funeral was short and poignant. At the funeral home, each person knelt by Dad’s coffin to say goodbye. I waited until the very end, after S.O. I knelt down, and just said to him in my head, “Rest in peace”, over and over. When I got up I started bawling. I cried because I had never met him. I cried because I was glad he was no longer trapped by such a horrible disease. I cried because my own dad was dead. I cried because it’s just sad when someone dies.
We all got in our cars and drove to the cemetery, where Dad would have a military burial; he had been in the Korean War. It was raining that day, and my imagination conjured up all sorts of images of standing around the casket in the rain, with big black umbrellas. I imagined tossing dirt down onto the casket as it was being lowered into the ground. None of that happened.
We were led to a room that held the coffin—in front of the coffin was a long bench, which we all sat on. To our right was a large sliding glass door. Outside was a man with a bugle, and to his left, three military personnel with guns. A priest spoke, and then the man with the bugle played Taps. Have you ever heard Taps played in real life? Wow. It’s almost indescribable. We all lost it, it was so moving. Then blanks were fired from the guns, and that was shocking. Then the military personnel came in and folded the flag that had been draped on the casket. They did that just like in the movies, very precisely, into a triangle, and presented it to Mom.
After that, we each put a flower on Dad’s casket, and filed back out to our cars. We went to lunch at the restaurant where Mom and Dad had their wedding reception almost fifty-two years ago. We were all exhausted, but we had a good lunch and it lightened up the mood a little.
Dad. I didn’t know you, but I feel like I did. I can see you in S.O., who is also a man of few words, and apparently the spitting image of you. May you rest in peace. And if you see him, tell my dad I said hi.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at snobbyblog@gmail.com
