the funeral. in Never Say Never

So I went to the funeral. And I am so glad I did. Not only did I get to support my friend and send a very strong message to S, I got to experience something that was surprising and emotional and beautiful and unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

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It was 2:30 pm, a half hour before the service was to start. I sat at the light, waiting to turn into the road that led to the church when 100 bikers in their leather began to turn in front of me. Like a hard slap in the chest, it took my breath away. An awesome display of unity, the bikers and their bikes and their black clothes and their rumbling engines rolled through the light and into the church parking lot while I sat choking on my tears.

I parked. Walked inside, fairly shaken by what I’d just seen and looking for my friend, who was inaccessible in the family room. I wandered into the sanctuary, already crowded with people and started down an aisle to find a seat. I saw S. I walked fast past him a few steps. He grabbed me. Wrapped his arms around me. “Can I say hi?” he asked. I reared back like a frightened horse, my body just as stiff and unwelcoming. I looked him in the face. “Um. Hi.” He dropped me and we turned in opposite directions.

I found a spot against a back wall, trying to position myself so that I couldn’t see him.

Twenty minutes later I got a text from him, which could have been somehow delayed (I guess?) and was obviously at some point sent to a group (though it was not a group text) with instructions about being on time and going to M’s house after the service. I never replied to that.

The service was such that NONE of that mattered really. Wall-to-wall leather, with probably 250 bikers of the 400+ people at the service. I counted members of six different groups. Metallic on the loudspeaker. The choir loft filled with the members of his biker club. The best friends of both husband and wife trying to share their love for the people they’ve lost through tears.

It was easy to be in the moment and feel the friendship and the sorrow in the room. There were laughs. It was too warm. At the end, the biker group read aloud the names of some 80 members dead and gone.

It was absolutely touching and authentic – and a gift to have witnessed.

Leaving the funeral, I was right behind S in my Fiat. When the light turned, he punched the gas on his fancy Mercedes, and he and the sister wives were soon out of view. Leaving me with sadness for my friend and relief for myself.

I did a hard thing. I showed up when it would have been easier not to. And it was so, so worth it.

Last updated April 12, 2016