Chris Boyce, long time member of the Northboro Ward dropped us off (after typical Boston rush hour traffic) at the Marlboro chapel where the 4-7pm wake for dad was already in progress. Emotionally I was all over the place – laughing one minute at seeing long absent family and friends, and weeping the next, remembering why we were gathered. The circular hallway of this building was set up in remarkable fashion - every 20 feet another display of photos, military / police uniforms, a video tribute and more. So many photos I had never seen before. Those who worked on preparing that did a remarkable job. There was a changing of the guards every thirty minutes during the wake, where two policemen stood at attention on either side of the casket.
Friday was the funeral and the remnants of Elsa showed no mercy. I wonder if that impacted attendance – although we had 200+ by my estimate in the building and another 270 linked in via zoom. I’m not sure I have the right words to describe the service – so I will just say it was exactly perfect. With Aaron conducting it was expectedly unorthodox in all good ways, and with Naomi starting off with an epic rhyming eulogy – I think it captured Dad perfectly. He was unorthodox in so many of his approaches and would get all laughing and before they realized he had taught them truth and lifted their spirts. I loved Zach’s eulogy, remarks by Amy and Jenny, including a message tape recorded from dad, and Mom slipping Father Houston, their Catholic Priest friend in town, onto the program as well. I could have listened to the musical numbers again and again – Rachel singing “Brightly Beams Our Father’s Mercy” (and what better song could be sung after hearing about the Texas Towers rescue attempt dad was involved in from Zach?) and Aaron and the barbershop octet singing “He Touched Me”. That song and Naomi’s poem were my favorite parts. By the time I stood to speak, I felt like enough doctrine had been taught that I could leave my talk at my seat. We were over time (thanks to the Chief of Police’s stories) but the Presiding authority said I could share a few thoughts anyway. And I did.
We exited the building to a bagpiper, in torrential rain, and were all amazed at what we saw enroute to the cemetery – two ladder trucks with flags draped from them overhanging the road (Dad served as interim Fire Chief for 9m simultaneous to Police Chief while the town sought a replacement), and all the town’s highway trucks parked facing the road with drivers from each saluting – in the downpour – as we passed by.
At the cemetery the police carried the casket, and later deposited their gloves and Dad’s hat / badge onto it, two Navy officers were there to fold and present the flag to mom, Adam Whitcomb played taps and Ben dedicated the grave. Seeing mom get out of the car at the cemetery – dressed now with her bright yellow rain boots (that she loves to garden in) and bright yellow rain jacket made me smile. She said to me: “I wanted your father to be able to pick me out in the crowd’. And as soon as the service had ended – the rain stopped. Mom said: “That’s because Dad wants us to be happy now.” And we are.
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