I went to my best friend Vincy's father's funeral today. His service was in Valparaiso, so I drove out there early and enjoyed the drive. I soak so many things in when I drive - always looking at the surroundings, the way the shapes come together around me as I drive, the light... always the light.
I passed a field at about 9:30 a.m. that was full of about 200 crane-like birds. I have never seen such a thing. And so badly I wanted to pull over and get out and start snapping. But my camera was packed away {only had it on me bc after the funeral I went straight to a shoot}. Not to mention I was wearing heels and a dress. Not a good idea to trudge a muddy field before attending a funeral. The time I spent driving was cathartic though. Just me, the open road and the beautiful morning light.
When I got to Valpo I drove through and remembered quite a few buildings. It's amazing how the landscape changes over 20 years time. I went to elementary school in Valpo for a few years. I actually ended up driving past one of the schools I attended, Cooks Corner. I remembered the playground and drove past it with my mouth open just gasping at the memories of playing there, swinging on those swings and getting sick on that tireswing. I thought about how long ago that was. I thought about my childhood. I thought about how quickly life passes. In the blink of an eye I went from 9 on that play ground to 36 in my car. But 9 seems like it was just yesterday.
My sister was born in Valparaiso. Here I was in Valparaiso again, all these many years later to honor my dearest friend's father - and remembering my childhood and my own personal loss of my sister.
Vincy's family had prepared a beautiful service and many tributes to their father. Henry was 90 and straight-off-the-boat Slovakian. For as many years as I have known Vincy or Vinchka as he called her, we have always in her father's accent said to one another when leaving voicemails, "How v'ar you? V'here 'ar you?" in attempt to mimic his beautiful slovakian accent. When I think of the word SLOVAK, I think strong. Vincy is strong. Her father was strong. Here is a man who lived on the side of a mountain and farmed the land, herded sheep, protested communism, was imprisoned twice for it. Here is a man who escaped by tying together scrap wires and climbing out of a window. A man who's travels took him world-wide. His life is literally out of a story book. Here was a man with intellect and opinion. A true European. And it's no wonder that - in a very European fashion - Vincy loves to drink buttermilk. As did her father. It must be a Slovakian thing. Have you TRIED buttermilk? Blech! Keep it to cookies and pancakes, please!
All of his life Henry was active. He exercised all the time. Even later in his life he was busy winning awards time and time again. He participated in Senior Olympics and still participated in races in his 80s. HIS EIGHTIES. {That was not a typo.} Here is a man who loved to run. And ran many, many races. He was an incredible man. Age appeared to have nothing on him, literally the man seemed invincible. But we all know there comes a time when we have to face our mortality. AS STRONG AS WE ARE. There's a day that will come. But what a long and beautiful life he lived. What stories his children now share, have shared and will continue to share - this beautiful gift of his PHENOMENAL legacy.
Henry was no ordinary man. He was "magical" as his son described. I will never forget the first time I met Henry years ago... he had just run in Sunburst with Vincy and was in running shorts. He left a big impression in a little amount of time, I think ... with everyone that was privileged enough to meet him. And though I was headed to a service today that I knew would draw tears, it was a celebration of life. Of a life of a man who is the reason my dearest friend even exists. I am grateful for Henry. I am grateful for his conversations with me about cameras and photography. I am thankful for my small amount of memories of him, his bright blue eyes and beaming source of energy and smiles - the same I see in his Vinchka. He would stand there shirtless with that handle bar mustache and tell me about the Communists. I was enthralled.
She is missed every day.
I remembered today how hard it is to give a Eulogy. You want so badly not to cry. But it is so hard when you look out at the faces of the people there and remember why you are all together - it's so hard not to. It's your last attempt to publicly and in your loved one's memory verbally acknowledge ALL that they meant to you in an honoring way. It's a huge task and undertaking. Her words were beautiful. Emotional and lingering. I wanted to run up and hug her because I remembered myself standing there in a room full of people, some who I never had met until that day who were friends of my sister - and reading my final words to and for her. My knees shaking, my voice wavering... but all the while doing it for her and wanting everyone to KNOW how much I loved her. It is one of the most difficult tasks required of us in life... to acknowledge and then say goodbye.
When I passed Henry's casket for a final time on my way to hug Vincy, in my head I whispered to him, "Thank you Henry for making Vincy." I thought of what an amazing friend I have, the incredible fiery red-head beauty she is, jack of all talents and trades - like her father. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree or I guess in their case the buttermilk far from the cow.
Friendships sustain a lot through the years. Happiness and sorrow. They go through the ups and downs of life together. Babies being born and loved ones passing away. Hardest part of life is our mortality. I leaned on Vincy heavily when my sister passed away - she was - many times what kept me afloat. I only hope to comparably be the comforter and friend she was to me.
Every day is a gift. I say this all the time. And with each passing year, I realize it more and more.
God speed until we see our loved ones again. I'll bet Henry is herding sheep in heaven near his mountain-side mansion.
