Logistics

My brother-in-law passed away two days ago.  He had a variety of chronic illnesses, some major surgery which, while successful, had difficult convalescence.  Yet he rallied with some permanent limitations.  His limited longevity was expected but the time and circumstances of his passing could not be anticipated.

Thus, we enter a difficult YK weekend.  He lived about 130 miles away but he and his widow opted for funeral arrangements near the rest of their families.  His widow and the funeral director decided on a place and time, erev YK, which is a Sunday.  The yontif precludes Shiva and the shloshim gets halted by Sukkot a few days following.

As the person with the car and the mobility and some activities arranged previously, that leaves me with my share of tasks as well.  I have my big OLLI morning on Fridays.  For Saturday, I had agreed to lead Shacharit, one with a few Shabbos Shuvah insertions that I had not done publicly before but have familiarity with them.  My daughter arrives from the west coast sometime Saturday, arranged long in advance to be with us for YK but she will be able to attend her uncle's funeral.  I will retrieve her from the airport's arrival curb.  My son and daughter-in-law arrive from Pittsburgh on Saturday night.  They will have a car and can get themselves to the funeral.

I do not know where my sister-in-law and nephew will be staying, but a limo from the Funeral Director will transport them to the graveside service.  A kosher caterer will provide a meal of condolence platter which I need to retrieve before the funeral, deliver to my other sister-in-law, then transport some people to the cemetery.  And the weatherman predicts rain.

Some eating and memories at my sister-in-law's house, leaving early enough to assure that I can assemble a suitable meal before YK.  Then Kol Nidre Sunday night, with its various speeches.  I am Torah reader YK morning, something I've done proficiently before and have adequately rehearsed for this year.  Eventually shofar blowing.

My daughter will then need to be transported to the airport, not sure when.  But I'm the one with the car.

If I like anything about retirement, it has been my control over my time.  I have imposed a few timed tasks, when to get up, when it's lights out, my OLLI course selection with meeting times a huge influence on what I take, my morning routine, when and where I want to travel.  Occasionally I will get an invitation for synagogue, which I usually but not always accept.  And shabbos arrives at its determined time.  My life has enough structure with a few things to do each day, mostly in the mornings. Consecutive days of being at this place at this time to do this, once my daily expectation, has become infrequent.  Even traveling in Paris this month, the tour had its schedule, dividing each day into three parts, but I had enough opt in or out choices to remain in control.  For the next few days, I will need to conform to a series of externally created tasks with specified times.  I'm no longer used to this, but up to the challenge.

Saying Goodbye to a Mensch

I had never been to a Hindu funeral despite many medical friends from India.  The son of a dear friend fell victim to a fatal pedestrian mishap a few days ago, assembling his many medical friends, neighbors, relatives from afar, and members of the Indian community at the funeral chapel where the sanctuary filled before my arrival.  Tributes came in sequence of a few minutes, conveying a compelling impression of the deceased, who I may have met one time many years ago when his father was a professional medical colleague.  The young man, certainly young by end of life standards and sudden tragic end, lived a very meaningful life, pursuing a variety of interests, some personal pleasures, others contributions to family and neighbors.  He like to walk among nature, photograph what he experienced, sample craft beer, expand his kitchen talents, and assemble photographs for his relatives who are geographically disperse but have shared memories now readily transmissible at the speed of light.  Basically a mensch, a man dedicated to his family, to the world, and the pleasures put in place by nature for people to enjoy.

Amid tragedy, even devastation as my friend has no other direct descendants, there is a joy for the time he had and the way he allotted that time.  Hindu custom is to cremate, with that aspect of the ceremony following the tributes.  There seems more a finality to that than to our Jewish requirement of burial, where we erect grave monuments that become part of history long after the two generations that follow have either inclination or ability to visit, placing a nearby stone on the matzevah as something of a calling card.  Cremation leaves memories to be internalized with oral legacies that perpetuate.  The comments at the funeral tied the deceased being honored with those who predeceased him and those still present.  Family and menschlichkeit endure.