Big Daddy has been interred next to my Grandmother, his wife of 60 years, and much like the day of her burial, it was unseasonably cold on 2008 April 14. Only took a month to get everyone together, but it was done. Dad read a bit from the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer, Mom read a Celtic prayer. Charlie put his box down in the hole – quite a ways right of center, just as he was in life – and I sprinkled him well with whiskey. Then in turn, we each turned over a shovelful of that deep red Georgia clay over him.
After everyone had a turn, Charlie and I did the bulk of the backfill with Dad working the tamper. We all said goodbye one last time and went our separate ways for the day.
Two days earlier, we had the memorial service which for the most part went rather well. I read a passage from the book of Wisdom, which certainly had its moments – I especially like “In the time of their visitation they will shine forth, and will run like sparks through the stubble”. No, it’s not disingenuous for a verified Slack Master like myself to read passages from the Christian Bible – that day was all about Big Daddy. Or so I thought it was to be. At some point during the reception some manner of verbal altercation took place which I can’t go into detail upon right now, suffice I shall refer to it as The Church Altercation until it has been resolved further. Most people were very well behaved and dignified as they should be; and they drank champagne and ate tiny sandwiches made with roast turkey or pork tenderloin and shared stories about Big Daddy, as it should be.