Went to our friend Pat's funeral mass today. It was your quintessential Irish Catholic funeral where you bounce from tears to laughter, grief to joy, pain to relief, twice a minute. Pat was a beloved husband, father and friend and we all sat helpless in the pews as the liturgy of saying goodbye unfolded in and around his parish church. His granddaughter spoke of his deep, mellifluous voice that "just wrapped itself around you" and made you feel so protected, both as a child and an adult. His daughter spoke of the rich one-on-one time they spent together on the golf course; his son related the stories of their goose hunting trips. His five adult children just held onto each other as they stood together in the pew, putting the final goodbye in place and preparing to move on. We were all free from burden knowing that Pat died at home and deep in love, yet heavier knowing his place at the table will sit vacant.

He was a fire commissioner and we stepped out of the church to watch Spokane County's Bravest afford Pat their highest honor as the bagpipes wailed mournfully in the windy March day. Finally the flag was folded and handed to his widow and as I turned back into the church, I saw 200 wide eyed children in red school sweatshirts and navy blue cords on the school playground, stopped at play. They stood completely still with balls at their side, paying their final respects, too.

Pat would have been deeply honored.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA