Monday, August 4, 2008
Bob funeral was Saturday. I was glad I went. The DVD was amazing and allowed me to look into his life before cancer. The service was hard because it is like looking in a mirror. Will this be me? Will my end be like this? During the ceremony, there was a time to remember Bob. Many family members spoke, some long time friends, climbing instructors, etc. No one from cancer. I wanted to speak, but I couldn't. It was too close, too raw, and I didn't want to screw it up by crying. Was I worthy enough to speak at his funeral? I had only known him for a little over a year. Would have people wanted me to speak? Was I making it all about me? Probably not, no, and probably yes. After the service, I met a lot of people from Weyerheauser (sp) and saw some mutual friends. I stood in line to speak to Nancy (his wife) and while I was saying I was so sorry and telling her if she needed anything to call me I started to cry AGAIN. Like seriously, what widow is going to call the crying chick to help her???? I am SUCH a loser. We had a nice conversation. She asked about me....of course she did....she is normal and I am the crying lunatic. I told her I was fine, that they are monitoring me closely but remission continues and then, yes, then, as I turned she said, "Let me give you this." She kissed my check and hugged me hard. She said, "This is from Bob. He cared for you so much." PERFECT - that helped the crying go straight into "fit" stage. I nodded, and as carefully and gracefully as I could exited the back of the building. What happened there I think you all can imagine. As I was getting myself back together, I could feel Bob. I thought I am a TRUE nutbar now. All I felt him say was, "Yes, this sucks. Go get a beer (he was an avid beer maker) and your liver is fine!" I didn't think that was very funny. His stage four went to his liver. I got myself together and went back to the reception to find my girlfriend I came with. As I was waiting, Meredith (his daughter) who I met once saw me, crossed the room, and came to give me a hug. I thought she was going to someone else....my dorkiness continues. We talked about Western and how Caitlin, my fake niece (long story), is waiting for her call to show her around. Words didn't come easily to me, but Meredith like her Dad, is quirky enough not worry about trivial things like that. In the end, I was completely taken care of by the grieving family - FABULOUS. I met up with my girlfriend and her husband and we decided to go get that beer. Some people were going to the Issaquah Brewery for Dead Guy Ale. I couldn't be gone for that long, so we went to the RAM in Kent and got Butt Face Amber. After the beer, I felt a little better. I still am thinking about what I would have said at the funeral that day because I need to say it to him. Maybe I will blog it later.....I am trying to respect the process in all this. I miss him. Love, Ang P.S. During all of this, Susie called. She listened to me and said, "Honey, life is frickin' short. Have you heard of Canyon Ranch? I think you need to go. I just got back and OMG....it was amazing..." and then she made me laugh and laugh and laugh.
Posted by Angela Clarno at 1:23 PM
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I have been waiting to find out what Canyon Ranch is, hoping some one was as ignorant as I am about these secret places ladies go for large doses of Soul Restorer. Sounds like a happy place (as long as it doesn't involve bowell purging). Most people are able to shove their fear about their own mortality to the back of their minds but you and Bob were always cheek to jowell with the proximity of your own fear and wonder about it.Harry Houdini the escape artist/magician promised his wife that when he died he would contact her from the other side and tell her what it was like, you know stuff like were the rooms clean were the beds comfy did they have rooms with views, the kind of stuff that travelers have concern about. The one thing that Harry would have told his wife for sure would have been "stop beating on yourself, you are not a nutbar or a loser" and of all the people at a funeral I would think the Widow would call the "crying chick" because she understands that the "crying chick" really knows what she, the widow, is feeling.
I don't want to think of you as one of those religious zealots who travel miles in the scorching heat chanting while beating themselves on the back with whips. I want to think of you as the chick who enjoys a good bowell purge occasionally along with a bottle of Dead Guys Ale. So cheer up already! love pat&mag
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