The Memorial Service and Beyond

From San Diego Union 

It was a hectic and crazy week that began when Mom came home from the hospital without Dad.  I remember lots of phone calls.  Dad was to be cremated and the ashes scattered at sea.  He was not a church-going type of guy, and neither was Mom.  She found some little Spiritualist Church in National City that would handle the Memorial service.

I don't remember everyone who came to call during the next 4 days.  I do remember brother Tim and his girlfriend Delores coming over.  Visits from them in the past were sometimes a bit edgy, because Mom despised Delores.  I remember her saying that she was just a bar maid who was old enough to be Tim's mother. Then there was the tension between brothers Tim and Darwin, which may go back further than I can remember, but I witnessed vicious hatred a year or so earlier when they had a big fight out on our front lawn in front of the whole neighborhood.

I think brother Darwin had a crush on Delores' daughter Barbara, who was about the same age as Darwin. I saw her only once, and I remember her being quiet, brunette, skinny, and dressed like a tomboy with leather boots. No one in the family was ok with that budding romance, especially Tim.   It came to a head on the front lawn. I remember hearing screams of anger and pain, and I remember crying and being shielded from the scene.  I think Tim may have even fractured Darwin's arm that day, but can't quite pin down the memory.  Anyhow, since that day, visits from Tim had a undercurrent of stress.  I was too young to know any details.  I just knew that things were not quite right.

Lynda, already exhausted and busy with a two-year-old and a two-month old, came over to try to help out.  She took me in her car up to El Cajon Blvd, to Dave's Flower Box to get Dad some flowers for the service.  She let me pick out what I thought would be pretty, and I selected some bright blue daisies.  When we got to the Spiritualist Church, my daisies joined the other big funeral sprays-- roses and lillies and babies breath.  I always loved flowers and having them there gave me something beautiful to focus on. I stared at the flowers and zoned out the entire service.

From Chula Vista Star-News

After the service, we went home, and soon, all the funeral flowers started arriving at 4071 Eagle Street.  Tim and Delores came back to the house too.  I was just kind of hanging around the living room, keeping Jeff and Tabatha busy. Mom went to the kitchen.  And then Tim and Delores separated and went in different directions.  Tim went out to the garage.  Delores went to Mom and Dad's bedroom.  Suddenly I heard Mom screaming at Delores to get out of the closet.  I ran down the hall to the bedroom to see what was happening and there was Delores tossing all Dad's clothes out of the closet and onto the bed. There was a growing pile of Dad's workclothes-color coordinated shirts, slacks, and socks that Mom would fasten together on the hanger so Dad wouldn't accidently wear clashing colors. Mom was crying and screaming at her not to touch Dad's things.  It got more than heated, and I saw Mom lunge at Delores as she screamed at her.  I backed up and retreated quickly into the living room and just sat there numbly as the yelling continued. Then Delores ran out of the house, and Mom followed.  They were both looking for Tim.

Mom tracked Delores outside to the driveway and I followed too.  The garage door was open, and Tim was in there destroying Dad's organized workbench.  Dad had been a meticulous craftsman.  He had every screw, bolt, nail and washer organized by size and type in baby food jars, and all were labeled in Dad's perfect printing.  Tim was opening each jar and tossing everything together in a box.  He had already boxed up some hand tools and power tools that he wanted to take possession of.  Mom went totally ballistic when she saw how he ruined Dad's workbench.  She screamed at both of them to get the hell out and don't come back. I was really afraid she was going to die too, she was so upset.

Here is just a bit of trivia.  On the day Dad died, Our President was Richard M Nixon, and the California Governor was Ronald Reagan.  Its interesting to see that Henry Boney (from Boney's, Henry's and now Sprouts markets) was a county supervisor.  I never knew that until I was looking at the newspaper with Dad's obituary in it.

When I was looking at the obituaries, I noticed that Susan was not included in the list of survivors.  I don't know if that was an accidental omission or deliberate.  As a ten-year-old, I knew that my family was flawed and fractured.  I just didn't know many details. I don't remember much about dad's memorial service.  I don't remember seeing Patty, Susan, Darwin, or Skippy there.

The night of the service, after everyone had left the house, it was just Mom, me, Jeff and Tabatha.  Mom told me it was time to do my hour of piano practice.  I just couldn't fathom it.  My sadness and fear of the unknown was taking over, and playing the piano was not on my list of things to do on the day of Dad's memorial service. I told Mom that I didn't think I could do it.  She told me to just go back to the den and play some of Dad's favorite songs, and then she retreated to her bedroom with Tabatha, closed the door, and started crying again.

There were a few very old songs that Dad loved to hear me play and sing. So, late that Sunday night, probably about 10 PM, I went to the den, where little Jeff  was laying on the blue and green patio glider that served as his temporary bed, and sat down to play the song Dad always requested to hear:

"Listen to the Mockingbird," a Civil war era song about a guy pining for his dead lover:

"Last night I dreamed of my Halley
Of my Halley, my sweet Halley
Last night I dreamed of my Halley
For the thought of her is one that never dies

She's sleeping now in the valley
In the valley, my sweet Halley
She's sleeping now in the valley
And the Mockingbird is singing where she lies

Listen to the Mockingbird, listen to the Mockingbird
Oh, the Mockingbird is singing Oe'er her grave
Listen to the mockingbird, listen to the mockingbird
Still singing where the weeping willows wave"

I couldn't continue to the next verse.  The lyrics had never really resonated with me before, but I suddenly realized that this song was a sad song about a dead loved one.  It hit home that Dad was dead and never coming back.  I stopped playing and just sat there. And then:

Coming from deep within my new piano: Three loud knocks:

Knock.  Knock.  Knock.

Jeff sat up and asked who was knocking on the piano.  I knew right away this was a message for me.

"That was Daddy," I answered.  "He is here in spirit, telling me he liked hearing the song."

It was a few days later that mom packed us up and drove to Lindbergh Field, the San Diego Airport. In the shadow of Ryan Aeronautical, where Dad began his San Diego working career, we parked near the runway (way before security concerns made this illegal), where both big and little airplanes were taking off and landing.  Dad used to take us to watch the planes sometimes.  He called the passenger Jets "Doozies" and the little private planes "Putt-Putts."

Mom looked at her watch and told us the next Putt-Putt plane that we saw would have Dad's ashes in it.  We saw the little plane go down the runway and take off.  It tipped its wings a little bit as it took off towards the ocean.

"That's Daddy saying goodbye to us,"  Mom said.