Hector's Memorial, Grandma, Dad's Health
Hector’s memorial service was the Saturday before last. I’m not sure what’s taken me this long to write about it, but even now the little voice is making a persuasive case to put the laptop down and take a nap, so maybe it’s got something to do with it.
The service was at Durham Community Church, a nice tall white steepled affair. Classic New England ... very nice. As I was pulling into the parking lot I saw Brad and Jill and maybe they recognized my car because they stopped and waited. We walked in together in silence and took our seats in an empty pew, of which there were not many. I was glad to see a strong turnout, most faces that were unknown to me. The reverend was a youngish woman with short blond hair. She held an obligatory doctorate in theology for this university town, and she delivered well-written words, but I couldn’t stop thinking they were empty. She didn’t know Hector, because nothing she said was personalized. I shouldn’t hold it against her. She was just doing her job, so I can blame the tradition that made it her job. No, we really didn’t see God’s loving hand at work, because Hector was 41 years old and his two boys must now learn life without their father. They are victims, like Hector, and others all the way back to Job’s kids. It’s not right and it’s not just, but there is no justice but that which we make for ourselves.
Brad and Jill took it hard, Brad especially. I was reminded of myself at previous wakes. “I keep feeling like I have to do something!” Brad said. “You’re here,” I said, but I doubt that did it for him. Silence stayed with us, except when we talked about how we didn’t know what to say or do next. I admitted to them that since Hector told us about the experimental treatment at Dartmouth that I knew his time would be short, and I began thinking then about how our game would survive, and in all that time I didn’t have any ideas. Both talked about how they wanted the game to continue, and they really meant it, which was heartening. Brad and Jill are geeks and as such they are my people, and I miss them. We talked about that too, and as time went on we found words a little easier.
Wayne and Jeff from New Heights came over. They’re good people and I’m glad that Wayne is taking over Games Weekend. He’ll remake some things but he’ll do them right. The funniest moment was when Leanne came over and regaled us with her Ebay woes, a quest to buy an original D&D white box set, and she kept saying “And it’s your fault, Chris!” I got some laughs as I turned lots of things into my fault. Later Brad said that I inspired him to do some writing so I made that my fault. The funny doesn’t last when the goodbyes come, though, since that brings the reason you’re all there back.
At about 2 a.m. that night, Amanda’s grandmother passed away. It feels like cancer is the real scourge of our age, even though the figures don’t bear me out. People bitch about doctors saying that everything causes cancer, but maybe that’s because almost everything we’re putting into our environment does? Amanda’s mother died of cancer, now her grandmother, Hector, Yung-Ming, hell even Courtney’s fifteen year old friend. Anyway, Grandma was happy at Woodside, and she lived to a good age and outlived both her children. That’s a good death.
In other bad health news, my father’s MRI results came back and showed that the pain he’s been having stems from a fractured pelvis. Dad’s condition is made more worrisome from the fact that he didn’t injure himself from a fall, but from — get this — getting out of a chair. His bones, at least those in his pelvis, are brittle, and that’s got all of us concerned. That brittleness might be a side effect of the radiation he received as treatment for his prostate cancer, or osteoporosis, or both. Mom and Dad and Amanda and I spoke at length, and Mom and Dad said they see this as a sign to move up with us, and we agree that would be a good thing. Dad’s surprised that he’s looking forward to living in NH and so am I. We’re tracking down town regulations and getting figures for any and all options.
The service was at Durham Community Church, a nice tall white steepled affair. Classic New England ... very nice. As I was pulling into the parking lot I saw Brad and Jill and maybe they recognized my car because they stopped and waited. We walked in together in silence and took our seats in an empty pew, of which there were not many. I was glad to see a strong turnout, most faces that were unknown to me. The reverend was a youngish woman with short blond hair. She held an obligatory doctorate in theology for this university town, and she delivered well-written words, but I couldn’t stop thinking they were empty. She didn’t know Hector, because nothing she said was personalized. I shouldn’t hold it against her. She was just doing her job, so I can blame the tradition that made it her job. No, we really didn’t see God’s loving hand at work, because Hector was 41 years old and his two boys must now learn life without their father. They are victims, like Hector, and others all the way back to Job’s kids. It’s not right and it’s not just, but there is no justice but that which we make for ourselves.
Brad and Jill took it hard, Brad especially. I was reminded of myself at previous wakes. “I keep feeling like I have to do something!” Brad said. “You’re here,” I said, but I doubt that did it for him. Silence stayed with us, except when we talked about how we didn’t know what to say or do next. I admitted to them that since Hector told us about the experimental treatment at Dartmouth that I knew his time would be short, and I began thinking then about how our game would survive, and in all that time I didn’t have any ideas. Both talked about how they wanted the game to continue, and they really meant it, which was heartening. Brad and Jill are geeks and as such they are my people, and I miss them. We talked about that too, and as time went on we found words a little easier.
Wayne and Jeff from New Heights came over. They’re good people and I’m glad that Wayne is taking over Games Weekend. He’ll remake some things but he’ll do them right. The funniest moment was when Leanne came over and regaled us with her Ebay woes, a quest to buy an original D&D white box set, and she kept saying “And it’s your fault, Chris!” I got some laughs as I turned lots of things into my fault. Later Brad said that I inspired him to do some writing so I made that my fault. The funny doesn’t last when the goodbyes come, though, since that brings the reason you’re all there back.
At about 2 a.m. that night, Amanda’s grandmother passed away. It feels like cancer is the real scourge of our age, even though the figures don’t bear me out. People bitch about doctors saying that everything causes cancer, but maybe that’s because almost everything we’re putting into our environment does? Amanda’s mother died of cancer, now her grandmother, Hector, Yung-Ming, hell even Courtney’s fifteen year old friend. Anyway, Grandma was happy at Woodside, and she lived to a good age and outlived both her children. That’s a good death.
In other bad health news, my father’s MRI results came back and showed that the pain he’s been having stems from a fractured pelvis. Dad’s condition is made more worrisome from the fact that he didn’t injure himself from a fall, but from — get this — getting out of a chair. His bones, at least those in his pelvis, are brittle, and that’s got all of us concerned. That brittleness might be a side effect of the radiation he received as treatment for his prostate cancer, or osteoporosis, or both. Mom and Dad and Amanda and I spoke at length, and Mom and Dad said they see this as a sign to move up with us, and we agree that would be a good thing. Dad’s surprised that he’s looking forward to living in NH and so am I. We’re tracking down town regulations and getting figures for any and all options.
posted by Christopher A. Dellario at 5:47 PM
1 Comments:
Hi Andy,
It's good to hear from you, and I hope that you and your family are well. What are you up to these days? Any children?
Thanks for your kind words, and for the cancer info. As I mentioned in the post, the figures don't show cancer to be as lethal as other diseases, but I've lost others to it recently and hence the feeling.
Had I known you were going to Google me I would have tried to make my blog more interesting :)
Be well,
Chris
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