A classy good-bye (10/20/03)

Doctor Timmins blew a kiss to Mary Alice and told her he loved her. Suddenly she was enveloped in the most intense love she had ever experienced. Light filled the room as her husband passed on to the afterlife. His wife said it was the most beautiful thing she had ever experienced.

When I expressed my condolences to one of their sons, I was surprised that he didn’t consider the death to be a source of sorrow. His response was that they had been blessed to have their father around for this last year.

He had been in declining health for quite some time and his sons had been certain that he would not see another dawn. They had gone home to gather strength from their own families for a few minutes before returning to keep their mother company. Doc slipped away while they were gone.

Friends and relatives gathered from across the country. One of my nieces flew in from California, another arrived from Cincinnati and the third came from just a few miles away.

“Aren’t ladybugs supposed to be good luck?” one niece asked as I shooed one of the little creatures off her shoulder. I had never heard that before but I told her I supposed they were. She’s a beautiful young woman. She was dressed fashionably in black. Her eyes were full of tears. Her emotions were barely under control. I thought it odd that she could consider herself lucky at a time like this. The more I thought about it, the more I realized just how lucky she is.

She is lucky to be born into a loving Catholic family. There are many relatives to help her bear the loss of her grandfather.

As possibly the only Protestant, I kept tripping over minor differences in the religious rituals. Their version of the Lord’s Prayer always throws me. I always feel as if I am teetering on the edge of a cliff when they leave off the last couplet. By the time I regain my equilibrium the priest has added his paragraph and said the last few lines by himself.

It is just the rituals that are different. The basic beliefs are the same as the ones taught every Sunday in the basement of the EUB Church I attended in Arcanum, Ohio or the Open Bible Church in Ithaca. I am always amazed at how different and yet how alike we all are.

I do prefer the comforting type of service performed for Doctor Timmins over the fire and brimstone preacher at my stepfather’s funeral. That minister kept trying to convince us that we were all going to burn for eternity. I half expected him to break into a chorus of “Just As I Am” and motion for us to come up and be saved right there at the casket.

There was no fire and brimstone at Doc’s funeral, only stories of a life well lived. We were told that Doc had been paid in pies, produce and poultry by people too poor or too proud to accept charity or to pay with cash. Personally, I can’t imagine an elegant lady like Mrs. Timmins murdering a live chicken and serving it for dinner. Come to think of it, they never did say what became of those birds.

There was pageantry and prayer, men in feathery hats carrying swords and a bagpipe player playing “Amazing Grace.” There was reassurance that heaven awaited each and every one of those in attendance and that it was a beautiful thing.

If we do get to heaven we may run into Doc Timmins and we can tell him that he chose a really classy way to depart the earth. Then we can ask him about the chickens.[[In-content Ad]]