death of the old...

My Uncle Carl died unexpectedly, so to support Dad, and Aunt Dort and our cousins, a few of us flew down to Iowa yesterday for the funeral. It was a beautiful sunny day (a nice change after all of our rain), and we ate our rice salad and Subway sandwiches out on the patio so we could feel the sun on our faces. As we walked up the hill to the gravesite, I noticed how beautiful it is in Ames. I don't think I've ever been there. We saw the urn on top of the green "fake grass" and I started to cry. It's so hard to imagine that dust is what remains of Uncle Carl. He was a big man, probably 6'6" at least, and so gentle and intelligent. He taught Civil Engineering at Iowa State University for 30 years, and was well loved by everyone. The church was packed. While we stood at the gravesite listening to the pastor, a cousin whispered to us, "that's the only oak tree in the area." We nodded, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary about that piece of news. "And we're on a hill," she whispered. Again, we nodded, but didn't get it. "What does the name "Ekberg" mean?" she prompted us. Our jaws dropped - the name "Ekberg" literally means "Tall oak on a hill." So there's Uncle Carl, our tall oak on a hill. Perfect. Just perfect.

Dad gave the most beautiful remembrances of Carl, ending with the poem from the Corps. It went something like "when at last you're all done, you can say, "a job well done." " Or something like that. I started crying all over again, not so much for Uncle Carl, because I think he's in a great place right now, and not necessarily for Aunt Dort or all my cousins, but more thinking about the fact that that will be my OWN dad pretty soon, and I'll be the one sitting in the front pew, my shoulders heaving. So I walked through Aunt Dort's house, quietly picking up their plates, forks and cups. I rinsed them off and put them in the dishwasher. I brought the food in from the front room, and put it all back in their containers and put them back in the fridge. I washed the coffee maker and the punch pitcher and wiped down the counters. My cousins Janet and Gretchen came into the kitchen, and when they saw the kitchen, started crying. We all just stood there holding each other for a while. We didn't say anything at all.

We boarded the plane at 9PM and headed back home. I had a splitting headache and my back hurt, but it was such an honor to be a part of that day. Janet whispered to me that I'll never know how much our being there made it better for them. Looking at all 15 of us sitting around that dinner table, I was struck by how we all look alike, even if we have different fathers and mothers. That's DNA at its finest, spreading the Ekberg genes around the country. Looking at all those beautiful faces, I've just got to believe that's a good deal.

I hugged Dad a little closer when we got off the plane, and hugged Bill and Steve a little longer when I got home, exhausted, around 11:30. Life just sprints along, and Dad and Carl were just little kids up at Blackduck, catching minnows, a dozen for $1. Wasn't that just a minute ago? I don't want to miss anything, I don't want to say, "I wish I'd done that," whatever "that" is. I don't want any regrets - I want to live long and love well. I want to keep laughing and not ever forget what we're here for - to love and be together in this big soup. It's always going to be a bit tough, a bit scary, but when we've got each other to hold onto, it makes it all a lot gentler. So I think I'll keep letting the old die - the old thoughts of what's right and wrong, what's good and bad, and think more about how I love everyone to the best of my ability.

Now the sun is shining, I've just gone for a walk, and Steve's got hamburgers on the grill - it doesn't get much better than this, so I'm off to the next adventure. Dad always says, "Don't forget to celebrate." I'll try to remember that.