Ten days later. About 40 people gathered under a grove of Eucalyptus trees. Reva shared hugs, greeting everyone as they entered the outdoor funeral space, behind the funeral home. Reva hadn’t seen Aunt Helen in at least a decade. Even at 91, Helen was meticulous in her appearance. Helen was Uncle Sam’s wife. She’d been living in a facility in suburban Maryland. Aunt Sarah, Morty’s wife, had moved to Santa Fe after Morty’s death two years ago. Sarah sent her regrets and a platter from a nearby Jewish deli. Sarah explained it was too hard to travel solo from New Mexico, due to her mobility issues. All three of Reva’s first cousins arrived, with their families, from New York and DC. Most of the family were staying in a hotel near the boardwalk.
Eugene, Jules’ old work pal, had flown down from Oregon. Violet’s niece Maya flew in from Austin. Ethan, Leonard’s son, had surprised Reva. Leonard and Jules were college buddies. Ethan made it from Buenos Aires, arriving with his wife Lila and two young kids. Ethan was a photographer, and asked Reva if she’d like him to take pictures. Reva agreed. Reva hadn’t seen Ethan since they were teenagers.
Seamus and his wife, Rosemary, were there. Ako came, wearing a vibrant purple dress, with her daughter Elle. Ruby walked in with little Ruben. He was wearing an adorable tiny gray suit. Charlie got a ride over with Gladys, Jules’ favorite nurse from Brookhaven.
Becca had returned to school and then came back with Marisol for the weekend. Neve had gone back to Tucson, arranged things with work, and then returned with James by her side. Reva was touched to see so many friends and family had come from so far. As she gazed out at the gathering group, she felt the tiny hairs on her arm tingle.
Jules’ body lay inside the pine box Reva ordered.
Reva structured the ceremony the way she imagined Jules would’ve wished. They’d discussed the ideas briefly, before he’d moved into Brookhaven. At the time, Jules had joked, “Hopefully we’ll have more time to discuss!” Those who loved Jules and felt compelled to, would speak freely. The ceremony wouldn’t be explicitly religious, but would allow for collective silence, whether people chose to meditate, pray or simply close their eyes.
After greeting everyone, Reva stood behind the podium, adjusting the microphone. She was about to speak, then looked out at the rows of loved ones, sitting in neatly-arranged chairs. Reva suddenly felt the presence of her father, a wave of comfort that grew from inside her belly, filling and warming her chest and causing her throat to dry up and her eyes to fill. She smiled out at everyone, and held her hand up, to indicate she needed a moment before speaking.
Reva began. “Let’s start with silence. Everyone who wishes to, simply imagine Jules, however you choose to.” At the top of the ceremony handout, the text read, “Collective Silence” for the first 15 minutes. Then the names of those who had volunteered to share: Charlie, Seamus, Ako, Maya, and Becca and at the end, Reva.
The sun shone through the Eucalyptus. The trees swayed, occasionally dropping their long, slender leaves, which fluttered down on the proceedings. People adjusted themselves in their chairs, tugged at their sweaters and scarves. The quiet enabled a natural symphony. The breeze. The birds singing. The occasional cough or sneeze. The voices of babies and young children. The birds again.
Some began to cry. Some looked to be in peaceful reverie. Some grew impatient, unsure of how to imagine Jules, as if they needed more direction in order to honor him. Reva walked over to Charlie and gave him the thumbs up. Charlie walked solemnly over to the podium.
Charlie: “I hate to break that beautiful silence. Wasn’t that wonderful? Why is it we need to be asked to be silent? I love words and was a teacher for over 30 years, so I understand how hard it is for us all to listen. Everyone wants to speak, don’t they?"
“Before I share these words, I want to say how much I loved Jules. I only knew him for a few months. He quickly became a true friend, someone I wished I’d known my whole life. He listened with his heart. Some people only listen with their minds, listening only to respond. Jules listened with his heart. We walked in the mornings together. We talked and listened together. I sensed he understood the pain of loss more than most. I loved sharing that time with him."
“Here’s a passage I love. These are the words of a Tibetan Yogi known as Milarepa.”
(Charlie removed a folded paper from his pocket and opened it up. Charlie put his glasses on.)
“Eight Things to Remember”
At the moment you are fond of large estate sites, you surround yourself with a manor and its grounds; but when your time to go has come, you'll have to leave it behind you like an empty shell.
Are you aware that this is what will happen? You'd do well to remember and keep it well in mind.
At the moment you are fond of fame and fortune, you surround yourself with power and pomp; but when your time to go has come, who will you turn to? Not a refuge in this sorry world for you.
Are you aware that this is what will happen? You'd do well to remember and keep it well in mind.
At the moment you are fond of family relations, you surround yourself with relatives and friends. But when your time to go has come, you'll have to leave them—Kin and dear ones, every last one.
Are you aware that this is what will happen? You'd do well to remember and keep it well in mind.
At the moment you like admirers and helpers, you surround yourself with children and good things; but when your time to go has come, you'll leave without them—empty-handed and stark naked you'll depart.
Are you aware that this is what will happen? You'd do well to remember and keep it well in mind.
At the moment you are fond of material comforts, you surround yourself with the status of success; but when your time to go has come, your body will fail you—Then it's fit for nothing more than to be put in the ground.
Are you aware that this is what will happen? You'd do well to remember and keep it well in mind.
At the moment you are fond of your good condition, your faculties work and your physical state is fine; but when your time to go has come, it's another story—You no longer have any power over your mind.
Are you aware that this is what will happen? You'd do well to remember and keep it well in mind.
At the moment you are fond of the palate's pleasures, you surround yourself with delicious food to eat; but when your time to go has come, your appetite dwindles—You won't even manage to get a little water down.
Are you aware that this is what will happen? You'd do well to remember and keep it well in mind.
By keeping these in mind I practice Dharma, I know the bliss of having no worldly goods. This melody on eight things to remember, Sung at the Karakache Inn in Tsang, Composed by I, the yogi, Milarepa, May it give you the boost you need to practice well.
Under the guidance of Khenpo Tsultrim Gyamtso Rinpoche, translated and arranged by Jim Scott, KTC, New York City, Summer 1995. From the Tibetan text at page 315. Translation copyright 2012, Jim Scott
Charlie took off his glasses and put them in his pocket. He folded the paper up and looked out at the gathering of people. He took in the silence for a moment. Then Reva came over and opened her arms. Charlie gave her a big hug, then shuffled back to where he’d been sitting and sat down.
Seamus got up and walked to the edge of the podium. Reva opened her arms. Seamus bent down and embraced Reva. Then he stood in front of the podium. He was visibly nervous, hands shaking until he placed them flat on the wood in front of him.
Seamus: “Good morning, everyone. I’m Seamus. I’ve been pals with Jules since he and Violet moved out here to Santa Barbara. Before I share my love of Jules, I need to apologize to all of you. I… (Seamus choked up for a moment, then cleared his throat a few times and shook his head.) I was with Jules when he fell. I took him out to lunch that day. I knew he wanted a little time away from Brookhaven and I was happy to take him to a place we loved to eat down near the beach. I want to say to you all that I should have been holding his hand. My old friend fell down those stairs and I should have been holding his hand.
“Okay, everyone. Jules was the best. We laughed and cried together and watched movies together. He kept me from falling apart at least a dozen times. I fucking hate that he’s gone now. Jesus Christ, I hate it. Here are my hero’s words. Van Morrison.”
“Into the Mystic”
We were born before the wind. Also, younger than the sun. 'Ere the bonnie boat was won. As we sailed into the mystic. Hark now, hear the sailors cry. Smell the sea and feel the sky. Let your soul and spirit fly. Into the mystic. Yeah, when that fog horn blows, I will be coming home. Yeah, when that fog horn blows, I wanna hear it, I don't have to fear it, And I wanna rock your gypsy soul, Just like way back in the days of old. Then magnificently we will float, Into the mystic.
Lyrics by Van Morrison. Album: Moondance. 1970.
Seamus looked up toward the sky and shouted, “Wherever the hell you are my friend, please enjoy yourself!” Then he practically jumped down from the platform and moved swiftly past his seat and the assembled crowd, down and away from the gathering.
Reva walked over to Ako, seated with her teenage daughter. Ako stood up and they embraced. Ako walked up toward the podium.
Ako: “Good morning, everyone. I am so pleased to see so many here, celebrating one of my favorite men. Jules. A gentle soul. A kindred soul. I knew Jules for only one year, but I feel I knew him for many. I cared for Jules like one of my uncles back home, whose heart had also been broken by tragedy. Jules’ heart was broken when Violet died. I sensed the pain went very deep. He did not want to speak about Violet. I held his hand in silence. He became calm. Sometimes, we held hands and I spoke about my own pain. Sometimes, we were silent. Finally, Jules spoke about Violet’s sudden death.
“After that, we had many fun times. We watched my favorite player, Embiid. Jules loved his Sixers. He recorded the games and we watched the next morning. I sometimes brought Jules French pastries and my traditional Kumba bread. Here’s to you, Jules. May the Sixers win a title soon for you. No more heartache. Rest now, Jules.”
Reva strode toward Ako. She held both of Ako’s hands, saying “Thank you. Love you.” Then Ako walked back to her seat while Reva made her way over to Ruby and Ruben. Ruby was clearly nervous. Reva whispered, “I will help you.” Together, they walked up to the podium. Ruby took out the piece of paper and unfolded it. Ruben gripped his mom’s leg fiercely. Ruby scooped him up and held him, then cleared her throat and looked down at the paper.
Ruby: “I speak Spanish, but not speak English very well. I try. Jules is like an uncle to me. He want to help Ruben. He want to help me understand English. I make him my food. He tell me “Ruby! You can have restaurant!” I wish for more days with Jules. I sorry he is gone now. A gentle and good man. In Spanish we say, “Que los respetos, el cariño y la tristeza por su pérdida sean sentidos en tu corazón.” In English, ‘May respect, affection and sorrow for this loss be felt in your heart.’”
Next, Reva found Becca and they held each other for a moment. Marisol gave Becca a shoulder squeeze and offered words of encouragement. Becca walked gingerly up toward the platform and the podium. Becca hadn’t written her thoughts out, choosing instead to speak from the heart.
Becca: “I’m so grateful to be among you all today. The love we are sharing is a testament to my father’s love. My grandfather was my guide. He believed in me when I was at my lowest. I was in eighth grade. My parents had been separated for a while and my older sister was in high school, hanging out with her boyfriends. I was miserable when my parents divorced. My dad was reporting from Darfur when I was young and then he was back in South Sudan in 2013. I was afraid for him and I saw how it changed him. I saw my mom not knowing what to do. I needed help. Jules was my support. He kept me going. He understood me. My mom was a warrior and kept things together for all of us. My grandpa kept us from becoming numb. He kept us laughing. Every day, he wanted…no…he needed us to know how much he loved us and believed in us. I don’t know what to do without him. I’ll miss him every day. I’ll think about him. I’ll walk and pretend he’s walking beside me.”
Becca smiled and said, “I love you, Grandpa.”
Reva walked back to the podium.
Reva: “I’m sharing Allen Ginsberg with you today. He was one of Dad’s favorites. The poem ‘Song.’ My dad believed in the idea of love. Of the transformative power of love. His belief in love took a mighty toll on his life. He was unlucky. He married my mother. He had no way of knowing what mental illness would do to her, how it would change her, force her to escape from her own life. I’ve spent years trying to make sense of it myself. Dad refused to give in to life. Refused to give in to cynicism, despite the grief that often overwhelmed him. Here’s part of Allen Ginsberg’s ‘Song.’”
“Song”
The weight of the world is love.
Under the burden of solitude,
Under the burden of dissatisfaction
The weight, the weight we carry is love.
Who can deny?
In dreams it touches the body,
In thought constructs a miracle,
In imagination anguishes till born
In human—looks out of the heart burning with purity—
For the burden of life is love,
But we carry the weight wearily,
And so must rest
In the arms of love at last,
Must rest in the arms
Of love.
Allen Ginsberg, Allen. Howl and Other Poems. First published in 1956 by City Lights Books.
Reva folded the paper and looked out at all the people who loved her dad. She looked up toward the tops of the Eucalyptus. “I love you, Dad. Rest in peace at last.”