It was raining all day -- not the ideal weather conditions to travel to a church and then attend the post-funeral reception, but it was the appropriate mood. I didn't know anyone there except his secretary, but I was allowed to just stand and pace and look around in the church and wait for the ceremony to begin.
Nice-looking church. Churches are always nice looking. I'm not Catholic, but some of the psalms and beats and call-and-responses were actually familiar to me. Then I remembered that I attended the funeral of my sister's best friend's mother back in December. She too was Catholic, so I remembered what I had seen yesterday from back in December. And then it dawned on me that I've been to two funerals within the past 12 months, and that I may be going to a lot more as I get older.
I will never know what to say, or how to behave, at a celebration of life memorial. I mean, what can you say?
I saw the family march out in the steady rain to bury him. It was not my place to accompany them, so I drove to his son's townhouse for the reception, then waited about a half-hour to make sure I saw people park and go to what I hoped was the right address. (In the meantime I fell asleep, or at least tried to; a couple of times, as I was about to doze off, I could feel my Adam's apple press up against my collar and tie, and I felt this fear that I was drowning shoot up inside me, and I woke up again. Wearing a collar and tie will always feel like I'm choking myself.)
Feels tacky to say this, but I will: The son has a nice place. For a townhome whose driveway they split with another family, it's really spacious. The food was decked out in what looked like a small indoor racquetball court. I could totally see a family live here. Heck, with the downstairs wet bar, I could see myself living here, even though it might be a big too spacious for just myself. There, I did what a person who was not the deceased's immediate circle would do: Eat and keep to myself. Eventually the daughter-in-law introduced myself, and that was nice to not feel like a total stranger. I wanted to shake hands with her husband, the son, but on my way out (I didn't want to stay too long) I did what I thought was the absolutely necessary thing to do and give my condolences to my therapist's wife, the widow. I remember a couple times calling him where she picked up and handed the phone to him. She said she knows who I was and remembers him raving about me. I can't imagine being one of the people he remembers so fondly, but that's nice to know.
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Seeing a man so loved made me tear up a little at the church. It is jarring to see his two sons break down as they memorialized him. And it is sad to watch, but it's a testament that he was so loved and valued, and what more can you want from a life? I only know him from our relationship, but it was at the church where I saw how many friends he made, and how many lives he touched. He was a hell of a guy who did a whole bunch of nice things, for his family and his professional community. And his patients too, like me.
I have friends, but I don't confide in them like I did with my psychotherapist. There are things I've told him I haven't told my family. It's mostly my fears and sexual urges, and frankly, those are things I am not completely certain I can tell my friends, and definitely not my family. (Sidetrack: Those things, especially my sexual urges, I would totally tell my stripper girlfriends. But nearly all of them do not seem to want that level of emotional intimacy I am ready to give them at the drop of a hat. That favoritism is something I think I told my shrink.) And through all my rants and paranoia and erotic fantasies and violent ideations, for the 10-5 years I had known him, he just ... listened. And that's what I miss about him the most. He was a sounding board, someone I could not only talk to but talk at, and he just listened to me without judgement. That isn't a healthy relationship, but that is definitely what my damaged, damned soul needed, to be listened to without judgement. OK, so his advice the past several times we spoke over the phone were strange and not productive. But that doesn't take away the fact that over the years he was someone I could talk to, and he helped, and tried to help, me when I needed someone to speak to in private. I don't know if I can find another one like him again.
RIP, sir.
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