Funeral

We laid Dan Taylor (N9GT) to rest today. This was a tough one. Dan was only 54 and didn't look his age. The weather resembled the day we buried my own brother...rain, sleet, etc...with sun coming out in between.

From the funeral home to the cemetery (on Indy's south side), I had lots of time to think about things...and my mind wandered. For example, we had some kind of crack tag-team motorcycle escort that covered us on three interstates and on to the cemetery. Don't know if they were policemen or not (although they rode police-equipped motorcycles) because they were covered head-to-toe in weather suits. They were interesting to watch. One would stop on-ramp traffic while we passed. When the last car in the procession got through, that dude would race up through the line to get the next intersection while the other one maintained his position at a stoplight...or whatever the situation required. These guys had the routine down to a fine science. They were good!

Then there were cars on side roads, going the opposite way, who would stop and wait for us to pass. Why? Why should traffic...even interstate traffic...stop for a funeral procession? They didn't have to. It was out of respect. Respect for the dead, perhaps...or for the living. I mean, a life was gone. In this day and age of road rage, child pornography, and the ME mentality, it renewed my faith in mankind that some things are still sacred.

Dan's teenage niece said a few words about "Uncle Danny". One thing she said was that he loved to torment her, which caused me to remember that my brother loved to torment Megan...and my Uncle Bob loved to torment me. Is there something in the uncle job description that warrants that? I thought maybe it was just unmarried uncles, but my Uncle Bob was married to my mother's sister. So much for that theory! As I said, my mind was wandering... *No paragraph breaks again!* *I don't know how many funerals I've been to in my lifetime, but it gets more and more difficult to say good-bye to friends. Old, young...doesn't matter anymore. The last pass by the casket demands that I weep for what is lost. Dan was too young to be a Silent Key...but there you are. *Silent Key is ham radio lingo for "passed away". It is part of the old days of Morse Code. Figuratively, a "silent key" means the key operator is silent forever. Literally, the Morse Code letters SK (... -.-) means "end of conversation/transmissions". *73, Dan, my friend. See you on the other side.