Friday, November 4

The niche-side celebration was a blur. (But later, I remembered more and I do write about it below. Read on!) I remember images: the hot sun, the flowers around Ren's photograph, my family arrayed in front of me on folding chairs. My brother and his wife had driven from Oregon, and I was glad we had selected a wheelchair-friendly location. Family spoke, I spoke, and we shared good memories.  The youngest granddaughters shared tears and drawings to illustrate how much they would also miss Ren. It was a moving time, but I held it together. I couldn’t hold the urn for long though, so Son 2 stood next to me and held it when I tired. I didn’t expect it to be so heavy. I had lost weight, so I'd probably lost muscle too.

SOME MEMORIES FROM THE NICHE-SIDE CEREMONY

On Friday November 4 we held a niche-side ceremony for the immediate family. One of the directors, (that someone said could have been out of central casting) was a very stiff and formal man whose solemn expression never varied. He led our procession of cars up the hill to the area where the niche was located. Everyone there except two granddaughters—too far away in university to attend. The director introduced himself and welcomed us. Ren’s urn rested on a small table and was surrounded by flowers. His framed photograph had been placed on top on top of the urn. 

First, Daughter 1 spoke of how much Ren meant to her. She told the story of the two rose bushes they chose together: Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Kennedy—one red and one white. Unable to decide between them, Ren bought both of them for her, and he helped her plant them in our garden. She wove a story of her understanding, as an adult, of how it was possible to love two fathers at the same time, just as she had loved those two very different rose bushes. Very moving and very well done.

Then I read aloud excerpts from sympathy cards that illustrated how people saw Ren—from those who knew him as a young man to those who only encountered him at family gatherings. His talents, his kindness, and his interest in them shone through. Somewhere in there I read from "Funeral Blues," but it was hard.

Son 3 spoke of how Ren inspired him, and he focused on their shared interest in cars—especially his Triumph—and also Ren’s example of raising kids not born to him.

Son 2 talked about Ren giving him advice not to quit his job, who, instead, followed Ren's example of taking risks, as in running his own business and marrying a woman with five children.

Son 1 spoke of the example Ren set of entrepreneurship in his store, and his consulting business. He reminded us also of Ren’s last-minute donation of $1500 to enable Son 1 to attend Stanford, which changed his entire life—from meeting his wife, to the children they had, and to Son 1's many years as a Stanford employee. 

The son-in-law spoke of Ren being a saint for marrying me with five children!

Daughter 2 spoke of Ren’s calmness in teaching them all to drive, and of making sure she and Daughter 1 had cars to go to college—Volkswagen Rabbits.

My brother said Ren told him at our wedding that he loved me very much, and that he wasn’t intending to discipline the boys or girls, but just support wherever he could. He didn’t intend to try to be a father, as they already had one.

Wife of Son 3 came forward to say a few words of appreciation.

Finally, Grandsons 1 and 2 spoke of Ren’s kindness and generosity in talking to them, listening to them, and showing interest in whatever they were doing.

Afterwards Son 2 stood beside me as I placed the urn in the niche and put a small toy Mustang in with it. In my speech I said Ren’s heaven must be a wild and rocky road with 4-wheel-drive Jeep. But all I had was a toy Mustang and thought it appropriate because he never got one, even though he wanted one. He even had a Mustang savings account!

Daughter 1 had saved a selection of music that Ren liked and played it as we entered and as we left. The last song was Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again,” which title will be inscribed on the niche tablet when it is finally finished and installed. (The urn bears the phrase, “You may be a redneck if . . .” the footnote to all of his emails. He would fill in the full phrase with varying funny endings.)