By Margi Washburn
One of my favorite people in the world is an uncle on hubby's side of the family. Uncle Marvin looks an awful lot like Willie Nelson, lives in Georgia, and rarely makes it back to Kewanee. I miss seeing him driving around in his pickup truck on his way to a paint job, or stopping by forcoffee at his sister's house. You almost never see him without a giant coffee mug.
I may be the only one in the family who gets by with calling Uncle Marvin by his first name. To everyone else he's Uncle Rich, known by many and loved by us all. And no matter who it is you love, an uncle or aunt or cousin or friend, it affects you deeply when they get bad news.
We don't want our loved ones to get sick, lose their job, or worst of all, lose a child. That's exactly what happened early last Sunday morning.The first thing that went through my mind when we heard the news about our cousin Richie's untimely death, was how it had affected his dad. He was too many miles away to hug, and there wasn't anything we could do to comfort him over the telephone.
A steady stream of people came to Richie's calling hours, so we sat nearby and let old friends pay their respects, give hugs and shed tears. Even with all of those people around, I wanted to stand next to Uncle Marvin and be there for him in case he needed someone. It wasn't necessary because he was surrounded by Richie's brothers, sisters, and other family.At the funeral, even more people came.
Some wore suits and shiny shoes, some dressed in leather jackets and dusty cowboy boots. Some spoke in whispers, others cried, and a few communicated with sign language.All of us knew that Richie was born deaf, and as the pastor noted, he lived in a silent world, but one that he learned to adapt to. When someone couldn't understand what he was signing, he would write a note. He must have written a lot of them, because quite a few people laughed when that was mentioned.
Before pastor spoke, though, the first few notes of the song, “When I Get Where I'm Going” began playing and the tissues came out. The lyrics tell us, “don't cry for me down here” but most of us did anyway.We all found out some things his family shared with pastor. He had lots of friends, and a few of them did some strange things. For one, they painted him green on St. Patrick's Day. They also painted his shoes gray, but Richie just painted them black again and wore them anyway.
You know, Richie couldn't hear music but the selection for his funeral couldn't have been better. The second song was called, “Don't Laugh At Me” by Mark Wills. It's too easy for us to look at people who are different and if we don't laugh on the outside, maybe there's a chuckle inside. These lyrics should remind us how unkind that is: “I'm fat, I'm thin, I'm short, I'm tall. I'm deaf, I'm blind, Lord ain't we all.”
After pastor was finished, the last song was played. It's a familiar one, and it reached deep inside us and made us hear every word. “Jesus, Take the Wheel” played as we made our way past Richie one last time and out into the bright sunlight of an uncommonly warm fall afternoon.We drove slowly to the cemetery and it made me smile when I saw an elderly man on a bicycle waiting patiently for us to pass.
Just before we turned into Pleasantview, a young man on a bicycle saw us coming and rode on ahead. I found out later that his family couldn't make it because they were stuck in traffic, so they sent him to record the rest of the service on video.
It seemed inappropriate to speak the words, “what a beautiful day” when we were gathered together for such an occasion, but Richie would encourage us to say just that. Besides, I believe with all my heart that just as some of us were really hearing those songs for the first time yesterday, Richie was too. He was a special guy, and he had to have been a terrific friend to lots of people to have so many come to say goodbye.Looking out over that crowd, I'd have to say it really was a beautiful day, in a lot of ways.
One of my favorite people in the world is an uncle on hubby's side of the family. Uncle Marvin looks an awful lot like Willie Nelson, lives in Georgia, and rarely makes it back to Kewanee. I miss seeing him driving around in his pickup truck on his way to a paint job, or stopping by forcoffee at his sister's house. You almost never see him without a giant coffee mug.
I may be the only one in the family who gets by with calling Uncle Marvin by his first name. To everyone else he's Uncle Rich, known by many and loved by us all. And no matter who it is you love, an uncle or aunt or cousin or friend, it affects you deeply when they get bad news.
We don't want our loved ones to get sick, lose their job, or worst of all, lose a child. That's exactly what happened early last Sunday morning.The first thing that went through my mind when we heard the news about our cousin Richie's untimely death, was how it had affected his dad. He was too many miles away to hug, and there wasn't anything we could do to comfort him over the telephone.
A steady stream of people came to Richie's calling hours, so we sat nearby and let old friends pay their respects, give hugs and shed tears. Even with all of those people around, I wanted to stand next to Uncle Marvin and be there for him in case he needed someone. It wasn't necessary because he was surrounded by Richie's brothers, sisters, and other family.At the funeral, even more people came.
Some wore suits and shiny shoes, some dressed in leather jackets and dusty cowboy boots. Some spoke in whispers, others cried, and a few communicated with sign language.All of us knew that Richie was born deaf, and as the pastor noted, he lived in a silent world, but one that he learned to adapt to. When someone couldn't understand what he was signing, he would write a note. He must have written a lot of them, because quite a few people laughed when that was mentioned.
Before pastor spoke, though, the first few notes of the song, “When I Get Where I'm Going” began playing and the tissues came out. The lyrics tell us, “don't cry for me down here” but most of us did anyway.We all found out some things his family shared with pastor. He had lots of friends, and a few of them did some strange things. For one, they painted him green on St. Patrick's Day. They also painted his shoes gray, but Richie just painted them black again and wore them anyway.
You know, Richie couldn't hear music but the selection for his funeral couldn't have been better. The second song was called, “Don't Laugh At Me” by Mark Wills. It's too easy for us to look at people who are different and if we don't laugh on the outside, maybe there's a chuckle inside. These lyrics should remind us how unkind that is: “I'm fat, I'm thin, I'm short, I'm tall. I'm deaf, I'm blind, Lord ain't we all.”
After pastor was finished, the last song was played. It's a familiar one, and it reached deep inside us and made us hear every word. “Jesus, Take the Wheel” played as we made our way past Richie one last time and out into the bright sunlight of an uncommonly warm fall afternoon.We drove slowly to the cemetery and it made me smile when I saw an elderly man on a bicycle waiting patiently for us to pass.
Just before we turned into Pleasantview, a young man on a bicycle saw us coming and rode on ahead. I found out later that his family couldn't make it because they were stuck in traffic, so they sent him to record the rest of the service on video.
It seemed inappropriate to speak the words, “what a beautiful day” when we were gathered together for such an occasion, but Richie would encourage us to say just that. Besides, I believe with all my heart that just as some of us were really hearing those songs for the first time yesterday, Richie was too. He was a special guy, and he had to have been a terrific friend to lots of people to have so many come to say goodbye.Looking out over that crowd, I'd have to say it really was a beautiful day, in a lot of ways.
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