He had been sick for awhile, months and months, so it was not a surprise. It was a Monday morning, sometime between 6 and 7 as I recall, St. Jude Hospital, Fullerton, CA. My mother was there; my brother and I had been late Sunday night, but had gone home for some rest. He was 79 when he died which would place him at 104 if he were breathing today. Hard to believe that. But he was 56 when I was born, so that's how the math adds up, I guess.That week we bought a plot at a cemetery (Our Lady Queen of Angels, maybe?) in Rowland Heights, and a casket at a mortuary which was I think on Euclid Avenue in La Habra. The gentleman at the mortuary was very nice, very sympathetic, and he showed us this beautiful wood coffin for I want to say $3,000 to $5,000, but told us that, you know, up around $7,500 we could get a coffin that would "protect" my father longer. Which struck me as pretty fucking odd - Man you are dust and unto dust you shall return, right? I just couldn't see my mother spending several thousand more of her dollars to delay an inevitable process. In any event, she was in shock and not up to making any decisions; my brother, I could tell, just wanted to hit somebody (because that's who he is, and that's how he copes), and the mortuary guy was looking like a pretty good candidate right about then. So I cut the conversation short and told the gentleman the wood coffin would be just fine, and we left there and went about our business of finishing out the rest of the week which, to be quite honest, couldn't have been less ideal.
We buried him that Friday, the 13th of May, 1987. In the church (Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic, La Habra Blvd.) after the service one of my best friends walked up to me in the receiving line and said, "Geez, that was depressing." (This just in.)
The photo above is from July of 1964, so I would have been six months old. That is almost certainly the living room of the house I grew up in until age five or six, 10808 Newgate Avenue, Whittier, CA.
And so it goes...
IBL:mm
I value having this glimpse into your past. Thanks for sharing. I'm currently as old as your dad was in that photo. Impossible for me to imagine the experience of being a father.
ReplyDeleteI remember the burial quite well, I think I've told you several times. I remember your cousins too. Your folks' house in La Habra. I am sure my memories blend with other visits I made when your father was alive. Your father looks like quite the strapping lad to be 56 in that picture. Everyone lives in different places than he or she did when your father died. Gives me generational vertigo.
ReplyDeleteHe does look a strapping lad does he not? A great description, George. It was truly great you were able to come down for the funeral. I know he really enjoyed your company...
ReplyDelete61/2 years my father died. It's never fucking easy. And it always fucking sucks. Wish we could throw one back together on this anniversary. Garth
ReplyDeleteWish the same, Garth...
ReplyDelete