Two Funerals and a Sad Heart

“Chicken or Fish,” the stewardess turns to me and says.

“Chicken,” I eagerly reply.

Simple enough choice I’ve had to make many times over in my flying experiences in life because a) who on EARTH would ever dare decide to eat the fish and b) what are the simple-sited consequences? I mean, sure, you COULD get food poisoning, but you could also get hit by a car when you step outside your front door. Let’s not get all type-a super neurotic here and let’s just stick to the point. It’s a choice - an easy choice.

Some choices have not been so simple to make:
Should I move to FL with my family or stay and finish high school in the bay area?
What college should I go to?
Should I move to NYC?
Love him or leave him?
How do I move out?

These choices I tend to agonize over for months and months causing my friends to put in earplugs as I drone on and on relentlessly about these doesn’t-have-to-be-painful subjects. Yet, never have I ever been faced with: which funeral should I go to?

Until this week.

Unluckily or luckily, depending on your view, I am very late in life to experience evoking contemplation on the volatile state of life. My first funeral and I might have to go to two in one day? I might have to go to two funerals in one day ALONE? Turns out that both funerals conflicted, and I chose to go to the funeral of my fellow actor and friend John.

Rushing to Oakland at 6:15pm is quite the oxymoron when in fact I crawled as slow as I possibly could to Oakland, to the funeral service. At one point, I realized I could probably run there faster. So, I got out of my car and started sprinting across the Bay Bridge. Then I opened my eyes and realized it was my turn to finally merge on. Many points in the day, I contemplated flaking on the service by rationalizing the hell out of my fear. “We were only in one show together.” “There will be lots of people there.” “I shouldn’t go if I can’t handle it.” I had never gone to a funeral, and I’m going completely alone. A usual basket case, I welcomed the “I’m going to be late” sentiments to fill the hollow and numb feeling engrossing my state of being, except, being late only extenuated my aloneness.

Speeding, rushing, cutting every corner, I lurked the area for parking. Of course no space is going to be available. I mean REALLY? I rolled down my window, and in sweet solemn desperation I say, “Do you know where I can find parking for the service?” One shiny tear trickles down my face and he says, “You can park right here behind the Hearst.” Fine, you’re right - I didn’t have the perfect tear, but I did have the rock star parking spot saving me 60 seconds. I darted into the church and filed into the very last pew realizing that I had to sit through a catholic mass. In normal circumstances, this would have been fine as I have sat through many a catholic service, but I had to go to the bathroom. I had to go to the bathroom an hour ago, but I was rushing that I just held it. Now, I’m bursting. F**k. Wait, can I think that in a church?

I waited until the blessing of the bread and wine, and made a dash for the restroom. Whew! Perfect timing except for the part of me body slamming myself back into the church when it’s dead silent during prayer – Awesome Beverley.

The service was incredibly touching, and I felt extremely moved seeing the amount of people that John had personally touched. At one point, the priest asked everyone he had ever sung with in a show to come up and sing “What I did for Love” This little corner by the piano filled with people like sardines in a can, and I knew that some others did not come up. In addition, the church filled the pews with people supporting the grieving loved ones.

It was so comforting to be around my ACLO family, and to see people that I have not seen in so long. How I have missed their company, but I’m contemplating now why we wait for tragic events to bring us together. In addition, I was overwhelmed by how many people John meant to, but was he aware of how many people he touched? Are funerals more important to have before the passing of a loved one?

Yes, yes, I’m just regurgitating the “usual” questions we ask ourselves when jarring events occur, but why do we as humans always get so sidetracked?