Two Brim in a Pond

So, last weekend I went home to go to my great-uncle's funeral. I feel close to him even though we hadn't spoken much in our lives. This closeness is the result of the grace he showed to two young boys. When my grandfather was dying of cancer. Uncle Trin let Grandady (that's how Ralph spelled it), Ryan, and I fish at his pond. We caught two brim. Three weeks later my grandfather died. We received the mounted brim shortly after.

As we walked into the funeral home on Friday, my uncle told me I was getting into a hard business. Thinking I understood him, I responded that I was beginning to know that. I didn't. While I was thinking about the difficulties of campus ministry, and how hard my first year as an apprentice was, Uncle Bubba quickly clarified his statement. He said he didn't want to think of the number of family funerals he'd presided over. His first was my grandmother, his mom. Followed by many others, some kinfolk, some not, but never a wedding. We went to see Uncle Trin at Chirstmas, and before my uncle had crossed the threshold, Uncle Trin reminded him that Bud was to conduct his funeral...

We didn't think it would be so soon. When Grandady died, Uncle Trin and the brim were still there. When you're four you think someone who survives something like that, the world ending, you think they will live forever. And, as they age, they aren't dying, they don't even slow down, it's you that's speeding up. I guess I held onto that for the last 20 years and didn't grow out of it.

Everyone one said it was the best eulogy they had ever heard. Uncle Trin's wink and nod were recounted with best of memory. It was beautiful and poetic. It was homey and vintage without all the kitschy trendiness that pervades today's busy society that grasps for its rural roots. The age was real, not like the distressed furniture we have today, but an honest to goodness storyteller showing our favorite memories and thoughts of loved ones. Jack said it was the best eulogy because Uncle Bubba was a real storyteller with a real gift. I think that's true, but part of me wonders if he's had too much practice. Though, he did have good subject material.

Also that weekend, we saw the play 'Our Town.' The last scene shows a dead woman asking the storyteller if anyone really understands, really enjoys, really values the life they live each day. His answer was, "...the saints and the poets, maybe, some of them." The line is sad to me because it rings true. I'm not a saint, I'm not a poet. I watch people living their lives on TV, and read them in books. I think I get something out of life, but I don't get it all. I felt for her husband and motherless son. The girl who became the woman he married and mother to his child was now gone forever...

I don't want to die, not now anyway. During the eulogy, Uncle Bubba read those siblings (he had eleven brothers and sisters) who preceded Trin in death, and we realized as a family that those were the only times we had seen each other in last decade or so. I have a few really cool second cousins that I never knew about. One went to UGA, another teaches art, another is a Biology teacher, and another is going to be a doctor. There was talk of a family reunion that afternoon. It's hard to keep the Wootens down. There was a somber spirit about the place, but there was laughter about getting lost on the way to the cemetery, and how Trin always played jokes. One by one we left that day, Aunt Polly ultimately sleeping alone, missing her husband of 59 years who wrote such a great story.

I hope mine can be just as good

namaste

vaya con DIOS