Posts Tagged ‘funeral service’
Meeting Ash
A gray, chilly, rainy day that started out somber ended on a much happier note. Cyndie and I took care of the horses early yesterday and then dressed up and drove off for Fort Snelling National Cemetery to join her family at the memorial service for her uncle, Jon Brolin. It was a first for me. I had driven past the cemetery many times but never been amidst the rows upon rows of repeating identical headstones. That alone is a powerful thing.
In what felt like a scene in a movie, we stood protected from the spitting rain beneath a gazebo roof as veterans performed the rituals of saluting, gunshots, the mournful sound of taps, and the excruciatingly precise folding of the U.S. flag.
“On behalf of a grateful nation…”
Jon was a Marine who served during the Korean War.
After a precious few hours with the family at the reception following the service, Cyndie and I set off on a new adventure. We were going to meet a Shepherd Mix named, Ash who is just over a year old and currently being fostered in Stillwater, MN.
Last week, Cyndie asked me why I didn’t want to get another dog. I think I probably talked for three minutes straight listing all the reasons I could think of against owning a dog again at this time. She listened patiently to everything I said and politely acknowledged all my points. Then she told me, with her voice breaking in grief over her still raw emotions over Delilah’s passing, why she felt the need for the companionship of another loving canine.
In fact, she had found a Shepherd Mix pup that was up for adoption from the rescue organization where we had donated food after Delilah’s death. Ash needed a forever home. Cyndie read me the details about Ash, including a description of him that had been written by the foster mom. There wasn’t a single thing that I found concerning.
At that moment, all of the reasons I had articulated seconds earlier about not having a dog melted away.
I wanted to meet Ash.
We weren’t disappointed. Ash was everything we expected.
I think we can give Ash the home he deserves with the parenting he needs and years of companionship from which we all will benefit.
Since Cyndie had recruited coverage for our horses for the rest of the day, we took advantage of the freedom to have dinner at a Stillwater restaurant after we visited Ash at his foster home. After a quick phone search of options, Cyndie selected MatchStick Restaurant & Spirits. What a treat! Every bite was a delight of fabulous flavors, including the best cedar-plank salmon I ever tasted and the most enjoyable caramelized Brussel sprouts in a Thai peanut sauce.
While we were luxuriating in the pleasures of fantastic food, we pondered the fact that Cyndie noticed a car in front of us on our drive to Fort Snelling with “ASH” on its license plate, after which we found ourselves sprinkling flower petals over the urns of her aunt and uncle’s ashes.
We feel like bringing this endearing pup into our lives is what we are going to do.
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Final Rest
Under the wearisome pall of constraints in place due to the global COVID-19 pandemic, Cyndie’s family orchestrated a laudable graveside service for a small number of family and friends to say final goodbyes to her dad, Fred Friswold, under a mostly cloudy but otherwise dry Saturday. Masks were required and reasonable social distancing requested for the limited 30-minute window of time allowed by Lakewood Cemetery in Minneapolis.
We were instructed to arrive at a precise time and remain in our cars until ushered in a parade of vehicles to the gravesite.
The Friswolds have a family plot where Cyndie’s grandparents, her aunt, and her sister have now been joined by her father’s ashes.
In an unfortunate but inconsequential oversight, the canopy ordered to protect from possible rain was missing. The threat of precipitation waned as the appointed hour drew near and by the time we stood as a scattered group to hear various readings and prayers, there were a couple of brief openings in the clouds that revealed blue sky and bathed us in sunshine.
A flock of wild turkeys idly wandered past as if we weren’t there.
Masks served to catch many tears.
From the cemetery, we all drove to the University of Minnesota where the staff of the McNamara Alumni Center –the building Fred and two alumni buddies were instrumental in shepherding to existence– provided a pandemic-constrained space for a meal and program.
It was a day for which I’m confident Fred would approve, partially because only a fraction of the people who would have gushed over his greatness were able to be present so to do.
He touched a lot of people’s lives and impacted exponentially more who never knew him.
I appreciated hearing three different perspectives from people in his world of financial guidance to the YMCA and U of M, as they revealed to me how little first-hand exposure I had to anything but his home and family life.
Fred died in June from a cancer diagnosed the previous December which only compounded preexisting heart and lung ailments. He was clear-minded and fully aware right to the end. In the months since he died, the new reality of his being gone from us was settling in. Yesterday’s events have served to punctuate anew the depths of how much he is missed.
It’s a shame the end of life celebrations are so difficult to hold during a pandemic.
Cyndie’s family did a fine job of achieving all they possibly could under the circumstances.
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Relative Something 