Remembrance

Lileks had a post about attending his Uncle Myron's funeral.

Teaser:

One by one, the menfolk and the daughters and granddaughters and longtime friends get up to talk, and it didn’t take long before I remembered the thing I always forget about these events: the laughter. Story after story, punchlines, chuckles, guffaws. A good life leaves laughter in its wake; these sounds are the last waves slapping the shore.

One of the sons of the men described a night when Myron, my Dad, and some other fellows from the Harwood side of the world decided to surprise his dad with a shotgun salute on his birthday. Shotguns! At midnight! (I filed that one away to ask my dad about later.) I watched men I’d known all my life totter up with difficulty, speak in voices that lacked the punch and brio of their early incarnations. My Dad stood with ease and spoke as always; he is a stone and time is a river. When it ended the mood of the room was merry and kind, sighs and tears in the margins for the moment.

We should all be so lucky to have lived a life that give our friends and family members laughter long after we are gone . . .