Posts Tagged ‘funeral’

19
Jun

This Is The Day I Said Goodbye

   Posted by: Michael Bernier   in Today's Reality, Tomorrow's Dreams, Yesterday's Memories

This is the day I said goodbye
This is the day you reached out to fly;
This is the day I let go of your hand
This is the day you alone would stand.

This is the day I wanted to weep
This is the day you were laid down to sleep;
This is the day I felt ever so numb
This is the day you showed me how to be strong.

This is the day I will never forget
This is the day you taught me to feel no regret;
This is the day I felt so much love
This is the day you shined down from above.

This is the day I said goodbye.

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11
Dec

Task Completed

   Posted by: Michael Bernier   in Today's Reality

Every day since Stephen died, I have kept myself focused on making sure that everything regarding his final arrangements has been taken care of. Now, almost six months since his death, the last of those arrangements has been completed – installing the headstone for his grave. We had spent several weeks determining what we wanted to put on it, and finally placed the order with the monument company in the latter part of August. We had received word before Thanksgiving that the stone had been completed and was awaiting installation, and on Friday morning we learned that it was in place. We went by the cemetery that afternoon for our first visit.

Steve had truly loved his music and playing in the school band; the day of the accident, he was hosting a pizza party for his fellow trumpet players. We wanted to somehow incorporate that passion of his into the headstone, and I came up with the idea of having a trumpet with musical notes coming out of it to represent his playing. We went back and forth with the monument company on the details, with me finally locating some line art of a realistic-looking trumpet and asking them to match it as closely as possible. Their artists came back with a design that we thought was appropriate, and we signed off on the order.

When we walked up to the stone for the first time, we were both amazed and extremely pleased with what we saw. The monument company had never before depicted a trumpet with such detail, but they stepped up to the challenge and the result was absolutely beautiful, far exceeding my expectations.

We had included a vase next to the stone so that we (and other visitors) could place flowers at the grave and not have them falling over or easily blowing away. It came in handy, for we had brought with us a flower arrangement my mother had purchased while we were visiting her last month for Thanksgiving. That arrangement became the first flowers to go in the vase.

With the flowers placed, we retrieved the temporary marker that had been placed at the grave by the funeral home and turned to leave.

We returned home, and as I sat in my office downloading from my camera the pictures I had just taken I began to realize that there was nothing left to be done for Steve. It was all finished – the huge task that began almost six months ago had finally been completed. I wrote in my last entry about how I was unsure of the way in which I would react when this time finally arrived. Now it is here, and I am more uncertain than ever.

I can, however, start to see a few early signs. One of my favorite musical groups to listen to around Christmastime is Mannheim Steamroller (for those who do not know them, they are the folks who perform the “funky-sounding” versions of traditional Christmas music like the Halleluiah Chorus, Winter Wonderland, and Deck The Halls). The leader of the group, Chip Davis, wrote a Christmas carol in 1988 called “Traditions Of Christmas” (on the album “A Fresh Aire Christmas”). From the first time I heard it, that piece of music has always held a special place in my heart, but I have never really understood why. On Friday evening I listened to it for the first time this season, and a wave of emotion swept through me that I had not felt since the accident. There is something in the tune that strikes a chord deep inside me, one that obviously has strong ties to my feelings and memories of Steve. It is nowhere close to being an answer to my fears, but it does give me a direction to start looking.

And so I continue to move forward…step by step, one day at a time.

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20
Aug

An Unwanted Anniversary

   Posted by: Michael Bernier   in Yesterday's Memories

It was 22 years ago today, on August 20, 1988, that my father passed away. It was a Saturday morning, and the word came from his wife at about 7am (my parents divorced in 1980, and he remarried in 1987). The entire sequence of events that followed, right up to the end of the funeral two days later, are as clear in my mind today as they were when they happened. Those memories were actually helpful to me when my son passed away in June; having been through the experience of making funeral preparations back then made it much less confusing when the time came to make Stephen’s arrangements.

For the first few years after Dad died, I would visit his grave on this day. I was always by myself when I visited…that was not because I wanted to be alone; it just seemed to work out that way. He had been in the Army when he was younger, and the government provided a metal grave marker that sits flush with the ground; I would usually make sure nothing was growing over it, then stand there silently for some time. Some years, I would talk to him as though he was there listening patiently; somehow, I felt he was.

 

Photo courtesy of Randy Sheppard

I got married in 1993, and the effort of raising a family took me away from visiting his grave regularly; then finally in 2000 I moved out of the state altogether, making any kind of simple visit impossible. I have been back to visit relatives several times since then, usually around holidays or while on business trips, but I never seemed to have enough time to pay Dad a visit.

When I stop to think about all of the changes in my life since that day, it boggles my mind – getting married and raising three children, moving 1,000 miles away from where I was raised and starting over in a new town, watching the kids grow into teenagers, sending my first one off to college, and recently losing my son. I have reached the pinnacles of success and the depths of despair, and had many accomplishments in between that were both good and bad; I wonder, though, how many of those might have been different had I been able to seek Dad’s counsel. There were countless times I wanted to talk with him about what I was doing and where I was going, and ask for his advice on so many difficult decisions, but I could not; instead, I had to figure things out on my own. I have tried to reason with myself, asking “what would Dad have done in this situation?” but it is simply not the same as talking to a living, breathing person.

If he were alive today Dad would be 79 years old, but I would be willing to bet his mind would still be as sharp as it ever was. He was a big baseball fan, and would watch or listen to every Atlanta Braves game each season and could rattle off stats about all of the players; today, he would probably still be trying to follow them, even though their games are rarely televised any more. He and my son Stephen would have gotten along great because Steve was also a big baseball fan, having played in Little League and also having followed the Braves as much as he could. I am certain they are both in Heaven now, swapping stories about their favorite players and games. They might even be taking turns hitting some balls around; both of them liked to do that, oddly enough. I’m sure I’ll have a lot of catching up to do with both of them when I get there!

And so, this is my salute to you, Dad. May you always rest in peace.

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8
Jul

Sibling Parity, Final Take

   Posted by: Michael Bernier   in Today's Reality

I have related in several earlier postings the constant back-and-forth competition between my two sons and their computers. The latest round in the battle occurred around Memorial Day, when I was finally able to purchase the pieces I needed to make the older son’s machine as capable of playing games as the younger son’s. Both of the boys were thrilled to be able to play games equally well, and at long last I had achieved balance in the universe.

Little did I know it would be the last competition between them.

Two weeks later, on June 15th, my older son was hosting a party for his marching band section at a local lake. Without going through a lot of detail (I will do that in the future), there was an accident on the lake and he drowned. The funeral was held four days later, with many of his friends and classmates and their families attending.

It has been three weeks since my son’s death, and even though his younger brother is in the house all day long it still feels eerily quiet. He has been spending these hot summer days alternating between watching TV shows and spending time on his computer. He hasn’t been playing his games as much, opting instead to read online or listen to music…the same music my older son used to play on his computer and MP3 player. He doesn’t talk about his brother very much, mostly when my wife or I mention him in conversation. He reminds me a lot of how I used to be when I was younger…not letting on about how much I was hurting inside. I wish I could get him to talk about it more, but it’s difficult to do when you’re also trying to come to terms with the same loss.

Some of my older son’s friends and classmates have tried reaching out to him, both by phone and online through Facebook, and he seems to be responding to them; perhaps I can try getting them to spend more time with him and maybe it will help him open up more. I plan to contact a couple of their parents to see if they can help out as well.

Unfortunately, even with all of their help I will never be able to restore that delicate balance ever again.

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