I got away last week. Got a dog sitter and took off. Spent some time in solitude to clear my head. Long walks. A few dinners with friends. A couple really nice runs. Carried a notebook wherever I went so I could make notes for the eulogy. Then I wrote it in a single two-hour session, a few thousand words to define a life that deserves two thousand pages.
Now I'm home, sitting on the back porch while DJ and Sadie sunbathe. I got the big yellow pad out to write down all the things I need to do between now and Friday. Chief among them is taking care of myself but the rest of the list is more specific: appointments, practices, funeral.
When I planned the funeral service, burial, and memorial service on a single day it seemed like a great idea. Efficient. People coming in from out of town wouldn't have to make two trips. But now I think I overreached. I anticipate an emotional funeral service, followed by an emotional burial, followed by an overwhelming Celebration of Life. I originally scheduled it all for St. Patrick's Day, which would have put an additional emotion and encouraged a little too much drinking. I'm glad to have made the change. No one wants to get sloppy on a day like this. I don't want that sort of distraction because this week, more than ever, I want to be in the moment like never before.
I have been surrounded by all manner of friends in the last two weeks and will be surrounded by many more on Friday. There will be no opportunity for the Irish Exit. Just step outside and keep on walking, no matter how much love is in the room. That's the sort of thing an introvert can get away with when they're married to an extrovert, because the extrovert is always there to explain to people where the introvert has disappeared to. This week I need to be a different kind of introvert; the sort that finds energy in the crowd. Energy is probably not the best word. Perhaps solace. Perhaps life.
I think the eulogy is pretty good. I've practiced it dozens of times, trying to numb myself to the words so I can make it through without breaking down. I edit and cut as I go, tightening, tightening, tightening. It is a writer's conceit that I'll lament a sloppy sentence much more than a good public cry when I read it in the church this Friday.
Pray for me, because I need your prayers. Big week ahead.