In the fall of 2001, I went to several funerals for New York firefighters killed on 9/11. I remember one in particular, at Assumption parish on Cranberry Street in Brooklyn. I stood across the street watching the family come out of the church after it was over. I simply watched for a while, everybody saying their goodbyes. And then when all was over, the young widow, and her little children, walked down the street and around the corner. One of the boys was wearing his father's dress cap, oversized on his head. I followed from a distance, and watched them climb into a minivan. Then the little family drove off into their future.
That struck me as so poignant: the moment after the valedictories end, after the mourners have gone home, and the widow and her children are left alone, to get on with their lives without him.
Check out how manly and courageous Tim Russert's son Luke was today, talking at his dad's memorial service. I'm in awe of that young man:
Here's Bruce Springsteen playing "Thunder Road" live in tribute to Tim Russert. "Luke, this is for your pop."
My father is going to die someday, and what a bad, crazy day that's going to be. Damn.
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It is a terrible day, indeed. It was about a year ago when my Dad passed away. He was 46 years young and it was just the most terrible experience I have ever had. He still had a full head of black hair, very little silver at all, and it was all I could do to tear myself away from him when the time came to close the casket and load it up for the trip to the graveside service. He was buried with the honors due a military veteran, in the beautiful cemetery outside Knoxville, TN, in view of the blue hills. My children will never know him, but you can be sure they will know of him, and what a kind, decent, loving man he was. The only thing extraordinary about him was his heart: he could see what inspired and what motivated the people around him, he had a great empathy and unmatched love for everyone around him, almost to the point of naivite.
I couldn't even go to services on Sunday, for I knew that would be the main topic. The pain is not ever-present now, a year later, but when it recurs it's just as bad as it was the first weeks and months after I lost him.
I think that experiences like this public memorial for Tim Russert help to teach us how to die as well as how to live.
This was a very moving memorial. I thought young Luke was just wonderful up there remembering his dad, and Tom Brokaw and Al Hunt were also particularly moving.
In a society in which the word "awesome" is over-used to the point of being meaningless, something like this restores the meaning of the word. I am in awe of this grieving son and his eulogy.
I'm 23 and I'm starting to have moments where I find myself pondering the things I will say about my Father when I inevitably give his eulogy.
What a fine young man. Like father like son.
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