We shriek farewell (how to make sad times work for you).

We went to a memorial service, and like many, there were beautiful moments and memories. When it comes to certain life events, this is my thinking:

We go through life together, and that includes honoring and helping to remember those who have passed. Together. Death is a part of life, and early on, we can help integrate that acknowledgment into our lives. It does not disservice to the deceased or others to recognize that at these sad and somber occasions, there are also moments of levity and sudden blasts of mirth. It is in that spirit that I relay some happenings at the most recent memorial we attended. With our children.

We reminded all ours beforehand of how important it was to carry respect throughout. So. These a few things that happened throughout this gathering.

There was tooting.

Yes, there were gastronomic eruptions, both loud and quiet, both lingering and staccato, both solo and bursts during the program. There is nothing like observing a young child’s digestive system emit noxious gases with no attempt at containment, and there is something quaint and downright beautiful about seeing them carry on thinking and listening as if the toot was merely another breath, or a discrete cough.

There was candy.

Somebody had the lovely idea to hand out little candies to some children, and some bigger ones too. Individually wrapped candies. Including chocolate. Possibly the least discrete action in the world is trying to quietly unwrap a piece of candy during a memorial service. Also, I have calculated this mathematically, and learned this: if it takes five seconds to brazenly, loudly unwrap a candy, it takes around two minutes to quietly, discreetly unwrap that same piece. But here’s the thing: trying to quietly unwrap a candy actually isn’t any quieter. At all. It just prolongs the amount of loudness.

Loud forks dropping.

In preparation for food afterwards, certain children had somehow obtained cutlery and utensils before the service. Surprisingly, these fell off laps, out of hands, and from pockets during the service, and surprisingly, emit a singular and voluble clink! When dropped on hard surfaces. Repeatedly.

Center stage.

The program was nice, and there were tearful stories and humorous reminiscing and beautiful music, and it was not overly formal. Angled up at the front, but offset from the main area, was a couch. At a certain point, two young men decided this couch would provide them a better vantage point to fully appreciate the happenings up front. So, with my permission, they ensconced themselves there, and gave their full attention. Here’s the thing: there’s nothing like young children intensely, intently giving their full attention to something, that makes it difficult for others to not give their attention to those so strongly giving their attention. Particularly when combined with the above.

Do you validate as well?

After the program, there was food. Lots of food. And beverages. Cold, glass bottled, nice beverages. We let the younger boys each take one. They sipped and savored and soaked in the thirsty sugar of these special drinks, and then our 5-year old loudly wondered if this was appropriate occasion for us all to take some extra drinks to go.

Injuries

Afterwards, I was playing catch with the boys outside. It really was a lovely setting. People sitting around outside, a beautiful view, good food, beverages in glass, lively conversations, etc. And I played catch with our boys. Catch with the resources available, which in this case was…an apple. There were some apples on the ground, and we played catch with one of them. Except that…one of the boys got distracted, mid-air as an apple flew toward him, and decided as it was incoming that he was suddenly disinterested. The apple did not receive this message in a timely fashion, and due its rigid adherence to Newton’s Three Laws of Motions, continued its trajectory; a path that led straight to my son’s forehead. The resulting sounds were animalistic, horrifying, terrifying, sad, the sounds I imagine William Wallace wanted to make as he was being tortured to death at the end. It was very sad. But I held him, and more importantly his mother held him, and perhaps unimportantly every household in a six-mile radius heard him, and eventually it was time to leave this happy-sad occasion.

Huh?

What are you doing? I asked, as I looked at their armloads and stuffed pockets.

Huh? They looked at me with their combined age of seven as they trotted toward our car.

What are you doing? I repeated. Why are you bringing all this bottled water?

The older looked at, at his stuffed pockets, at his armload of disposable water bottles, as if it was taking him a bit to figure out what I could be referring to.

This? He asked.

Yes. I said. That. The water bottles.

Oh. He said. I thought that’s what you meant. It’s water.

Yeah. I said. Why do you have all this water?

Oh, he said, laughing and continuing to the car. It’s for while we’re driving home. In case we need water to drink.

Oh, right. I said. Just in case. Thank you? Thank you.

You’re welcome, he said, climbing in.