It was for Robert Barnes, who was the father of my sister-in-law, Patsy Loux. Like all such occasions, it was filled with sorrow, condolence, gladness, and greeting and meeting relatives I haven’t seen in generations, some generationally advanced. Some I couldn’t believe had turned into young men and women.
“What right do they have to do that?” I wondered.
Life does that to us. It lives us till we are lived out. And then it sees us off, hopefully to a better place and time. Or so I assume.
Robert was a WWII veteran, an intelligence officer fluent in several languages, and brought home a young, German war bride named Heidi. They brought a baby girl with them, Patricia, Patsy for short, Robert having stayed on for a few years to help in reconstruction. There was a lot of that going on back then.
His son, Don, requested an honor guard be at the memorial. We saw two incredibly young soldiers, a man and a woman-No, let’s be honest. A boy and a girl, in uniforms. They said some words, folded a flag, and presented it to the family in recognition of their father’s valor and service.
“Why do we have a boy and a girl in the army?” I wondered.
I’ve had a lot of friends that were veterans of foreign wars, many of them from Europe or the Pacific, some from Viet Nam. Some who were friends of my father and also served in that terrible war as he did. He was in the Navy in the Pacific theater.
Theater. That almost makes it sound-I don’t know what. Theatrical?
I respect them. And respect them at their passing. And respect those who respect them, as well. The ones alive who, well? Might not have been alive otherwise. Who can tell?
Life is fickle.
Kristin got to talk to cousins who, some of them, she hadn’t seen in years. Since back when they were both much younger, younger than they had any right to not be anymore today.
On the way home Kristin breached a topic with me that must be addressed eventually in every family, and this seemed like the least unawkward time to do it.
“What do you want your funeral arrangements to be?”
I was in my sixties and it was a reasonable question. I had thought about it already, as well. I didn’t care. One way of the other.
Mausoleums and crypts don’t impress me, unless they are ancient. And then I‘d only care about the archaeological fees and gift shop overhead. Can I get a bobble head by the checkout counter?
I said that cremation would be OK with me, as long as I had a plaque.
That’s all I requested.
That one thing.
I just want a memorial plaque. Something people can be inspired by.
Somewhere, in some hall, funeral parlor, or ancient temple, at some point in the future, on some high, unapproachable mountain, in a canyon, in a cavern, in a pineapple at the bottom of the sea, I want a plaque in my name. A bronze plaque.
And I want it to say:
Jonathan
Howard Loux I wanted a
pyramid. Is that too much to ask?
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