The Michigan Funeral

Once funeral arrangements were made for my dear friend, Major Patrick McPherson, WW9E, I started getting my act together to attend both visitation and funeral services in southern Michigan. Pat had been chiding me for years about coming up for a visit.  I had resisted forever--not only because I had mobility problems, but also because I felt that just the trip up was formidable enough.  His home in Coloma, Michigan, was just about level in latitude with my daughter's old place in Illinois, except he was on the east side of Lake Michigan, while she was to the west of the lake.  I feared what would be uncharted territory for me.

I got on Facebook and talked to Pat's brother, Larry, in Missouri.  I thought he and wife were already in Michigan, but it turned out that they hadn't left yet.  I asked where they were going to stay.  As it happens, Coloma has no motels.  In short order, Larry told me that they had reserved rooms at a Fairfield Inn and Suites, in Watervliet, adjacent to Coloma.  He had been quoted a ridiculous low bereavement price of $39 per room.  On his lead, I called and got a high class room at the same rate.  Unbelievable!  I got on Mapquest.com to determine routes from Indy to the motel, and the motel to the funeral home....even the motel to their house.  (As it happened, I never went to their house.)  I was a little befuddled because Mapquest wanted me to choose a route.  The most familiar route to me would take me at least 30 miles out of the way and put me in Chicago traffic.  The other routes were more direct but not interstates and unknown to me.  I figured they would take me through every little burg along the way...but I was wrong.  I chose to take US 31 from Indy all the way north and found that it was anywhere from 2-4 lanes of somewhat-limited access highway and light traffic.  It was a beautiful day.  I found the motel in good time.

Immediately upon arrival at the motel, I discovered that I had left my train case at home.  Ack!  The train case contained all of my toiletries--shampoo, hair dryer, hair spray, toothbrush/toothpaste, deodorant, etc...but for reasons known only to God, I had taken my medicines and makeup out of the train case and put in in another bag at the last minute!  The gal at the motel desk directed me to a close Family Dollar store where I was able to replace all that I needed for $13.  Not bad!

I stayed at the visitation on Wednesday for most of the duration.  I was so relieved to see many of our SATERN/Salvation Army friends in attendance--some from quite a distance.  Canada, for example...and Alabama.  It was such a comfort to see all of those familiar faces.  There were a few I had never actually met but knew about because of Pat.  Some were Salvation Army officers (ministers) and some were "just" SATERN members from the Chicago area.

At the end of the visitation, I was pretty much spent.  I had an invitation to go out to eat with our Canadian friends, but I declined.  I knew that I was done for the day.  I hope they understood.  I stopped at the Subway across the street from the motel for a sandwich, and went to bed.  True to my pattern of the previous several days, I only slept about three hours, even though the bed was comfy.  I did the best I could to kill time.  Got myself ready and packed up, drove into Coloma on a wing and a prayer looking for a car wash because my car was filthy and not worthy of a funeral procession, ate the motel's breakfast (which was good), and headed to the funeral home.

Before I even left Indiana, I had written probably three pages worth of things to say about Patrick, should the opportunity come up during his funeral service.  At the visitation, I had pretty much decided to chicken out.  In fact, on the day of the funeral, I left the papers in the car, knowing that the ceremony didn't need me.  Still, I noticed there was an "open mic" opportunity on the funeral program, so I nervously stepped forward.  I didn't want to let Pat down.  Basically, I winged it.  When I look back at it, I'm not sure that what I was saying was followable by the congregants, but my heart was in the right place.  One of Pat's dear SA friends said, "I can see why he liked talking to you."   I feel that I might have made a fool of myself, but it was what it was. The SA officer that presided over his Promotion to Glory service was a fellow that I had met before...a fellow that was born in Streator, IL, the same as I was.  No one gave me a hard time about speaking up at Pat's funeral.

Of course, at the end of the services in the funeral home is that one last pass by the casket.  I stopped to touch Pat's hand and say good-bye to my friend.  Big mistake.  I managed to make it into the hallway before the tears totally took over...and I just sobbed.  One thing I have accepted through my years of funeral attendance is that if there is ever a time when it's okay to weep shamelessly, this is it.  And I did.  Fortunately, there was a sea of ministers and friends there to comfort me.  

Before the service even started, I saw a guy that had been a faithful friend to Pat and SATERN, out of Chicagoland.  His name was Bill.  When we greeted each other, I put my arm around his shoulder and said, "We've lost our boy."  He teared up, as did I, and started to search for words.  I tried to ease the moment.  "There are no words, Bill.  Nothing needs to be said."  He agreed, and we moved on.  It hurts to lose a friend.

After the service, we drove in procession through several towns over country roads to a really lovely cemetery.  I chuckled to myself, "Looky here, Patrick!  We have traffic stopped all over the place, just for you!"  The final words of commitment were spoken in a room inside a mausoleum at the cemetery.  A recording of Taps was played, followed by Reveille--a reminder that as we leave one life, we are called to awaken into the next.  (The recording was made by yet another Salvation Army Officer/friend of Pat's.  TSA is noted for its brass bands!)

As we left that place, I was in trouble.  I had no idea where we were and no idea how to find the Benton Harbor Salvation Army Corps (church) where the luncheon for Pat would take place.  I'll bet at least five people asked me if I had a GPS.  Uh...no.  So I asked the officer in charge to let me follow him...which I did.  I spent the time at the luncheon talking to Pat's wife and children, brother and sister-in-law, and some of our SATERN friends.  Soon, it was 3:00, and time for me to hit the road for Indiana.  That presented another problem.  I had no clue how to get from the corps to US 31 that would take me home.  At the time, I was sitting across the table from Pat's daughter, Tara, and son-in-law, Danny.  Danny is Mexican...fluent in English but sometimes hard to understand to my untrained ear.  Danny got on his phone to check out the route, then volunteered to lead me out of town to where I needed to be.  God bless the man!  It worked.  When I began to see the road signs to know where I needed to go, I passed him, honked, and waved in thanks.  I arrived home maybe 3 1/2 hours later...tired but happy that I had done all I could for my friend, Patrick.

I slept for many hours the day after getting home.  I didn't understand how truly exhausted I was.  It's been a whirlwind of emotions.  I think I even shocked what I thought was my hard-boiled self with the impact of losing this friend.  Seventeen years of talking to and being with a legend of a man in amateur radio is worth something, I guess.  It is now time to get on with the next chapter.

God rest your poor tortured soul, Pat.  I hope I did something to make your passing a bit easier for your family.  I'm content in the knowledge that you loved me, had faith in me, trusted me, and made me your confidante.  I did the best I could to live up to all of that.