"A Call To Action!"

"Spread joy! Share your love!"

Yesterday I drove out of town for the funeral of a relative. I wasn’t sure what kind of ceremony would be held, because this guy wasn’t a church-goer. He also was having a natural burial – no embalming, no metal coffin, no stone. Just a wooden coffin that would be set in a hilly reserve for this kind of process, with a tree planted on top of it. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, sitting up at the front of the crowd at the funeral home.

He was married to my first cousin. He had also been married to a couple of other women (not contemporaneously), something my cousin didn’t learn about until after they were married a few years. He marched to his own drummer. He frustrated the hell out of my aunt and a few cousins, but was always patient and kind. Those were the traits my cousin held onto. She accepted him, warts and all, and also accepted the three children from his previous marriages. (He and my cousin had a son together, whom I’ll mention in a moment.) She’d decided long ago that life was better with him than without him, whatever his shortcomings, and stood up for him. We are a midwestern Irish-American clan, with ornery opinions and salty tongues, so her devotion was doubly strong. It had to be.

An officiant for the ceremony (she wore a clerical stole, but for all I know it could’ve just been a scarf used for “camouflage” in certain situations) didn’t know him, but she had talked with everyone who knew him to prepare her remarks. I learned new things about this man. That he’d been raised by his grandparents, and was shuffled around between aunts and uncles and cousins when growing up. That he roved around after high school. That music was one thing he relied on through life to bring him joy. (Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic” opened the ceremony, which will always bring a tear to your eye.) His main career was radio deejay, a market that obviously shrank as time went on. He also wrote songs and played guitar, performing around town occasionally in recent years. His wife didn’t know until this week he actually had two Youtube channels.

Oversharing was not one of his shortcomings. Very midwestern of him.

His early life was chaotic, but over time, with some love and stability, he pulled himself together. Watching three separate families cry for his memory and holding each other up in this difficult time brought home the message that we can choose to affirm kindness.

Overcoming life’s confusion emerged as a theme among the relatives I chatted with afterward. Other people I knew, mostly younger relatives, had recently found a path in life after many years of, if not chaos, then disappointment and frustration and wasted potential. (Life goes on and on, doesn’t it? The only constant is change.)

They were helped by many things. Growing self-awareness. Patience. Self-responsibility. Family love. And yes, medication. Whatever it takes.

Another Irishman, well known for his placid nature.

I hope I’ll always remember the scene from yesterday, when the officiant finished her remarks and asked for anyone with memories to add. His son got up to speak. This guy’s a great young man, a skilled artist, trying to start a career in industrial design. He went up to the podium even though he hadn’t prepared anything to say. After a couple of starts that were interrupted by tears, he smiled and admitted, “I didn’t know how hard this would be.”

(I was amazed. My father died when I was 20, and there’s no way I could’ve spoken in front of people then.)

The son talked about his father’s kindness and soft-spoken manner. He talked about learning old songs together. He talked about how he always was there for him through his life, offering firm support.

Then he near-shouted:

“This is a CALL TO ACTION! A CALL TO ACTION! Spread joy! Share your love! If you make art or make music, do it and spread joy that way! Create! Share! Make! Love each other! And spread joy!”

And he finished and sat down.

Then a recording by his father was played, some fine guitar work and agile tenor singing that brought his sweet voice back for everyone. Anyone who’d been drained of tears by then felt the waterworks return. When the song was over, I didn’t want the silence to end. It was one of the most moving memorials I’ve ever been to.

At lunch afterward, I complimented this kid, this young man, and said it took a lot of courage to go up and speak, and that his words rang true with me.

He chuckled, looked in the distance, and said, “I don’t remember WHAT I said.”

That’s a good message for the summer, don’t you think? A good call to action?

We face so many challenges now, see so many battles that need to be fought, so many causes to support. And we will do it. It’s been so tiring, but we will do it. But God, it’s exhausting. And we’ll do it.

But from now on, when I hear the phrase “a call to action,” I will think of my cousin’s son and remember the things we are fighting for.

From moment to moment, I can’t save the world, or save the country. Sometimes I can barely think straight.

But I can spread joy and hope it gives others some solace.

The immortal Howard Hesseman as Dr. Johnny Fever on WKRP.

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