So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, but not Good-bye

There’s lots of fabulous things about my church, but one of my early favorites, one of things I loved even when I wasn’t sure about the church was this pair of sisters.  Older women, they reminded me of the aunts from Arsenic and Old Lace; one tall, one short, always together.  As far as I know, they didn’t serve anybody elderberry wine.

Marie and Nina.  They always sat together near the front of the church, which was quite in contrast to the older people at the churches where I grew up who hid in the back rows.  There they were, always sitting together.

For the past many weeks, it’s been Nina without Marie.  It seemed very strange the first week, and only slightly less strange in the weeks following.  Yet it also always seemed like Marie was still will us, though not physically present.  She was ill and in between hospitals and home.  Yesterday, Marie went Home-home.

I’m sad to think I won’t see her sitting in that pew again or hear her insightful comments at church small group or grasp her hand during sharing of the peace.  I actually know very little about her outside of the relatives who have come to church.  But there was one glimpse I will never forget.

At the church’s Thanksgiving potluck, we were to bring our favorite Thanksgiving dishes.  I brought sauerkraut made the way my grandma used to make it (minus the turkey drippings.)  Most of the locals were befuddled as to what to do with this “condiment” without any hot dogs, but then I heard Marie ask, “who made the sauerkraut?”  Not only did she like it, it reminded her of when she was younger.  Someone in her family used to make it, from scratch.  Here I was feeling all foreigner again and then someone else shared a piece of my culture!  I suddenly didn’t feel so out of place.  It meant the world to me at that moment.

Marie always struck me as very regal and tall, even though she needed to lean on something or someone to walk.  She was also always well dressed.  And I would often think, “when I’m older, I want to be like Marie.”  Not just for her fashion and strong presence, but also for the warmth and calm understanding that seemed to radiate from her.

I have a feeling that warmth will be back in church on Sunday, radiating from somewhere unseen.  ‘Til we meet again…

 

 

Photo: painting by Martin Johnson Heade – A Vase of Corn Lilies and Heliotrope, public domain.  Held at the St. Louis Art Museum

We All Know One

A young boy, four years old at most, looked up at his grandmother, his tiny hands held one in hers and the other in the weathered hand of a Vietnam Veteran. He timidly walked down the center aisle, the three of them leading the Vietnam Veterans of America Chapter to present two wreaths at the Alameda Memorial Day Ceremony. One wreath was a regular memorial wreath for all those who have served their country.  The other wreath was for the small boy’s father, a thirty-year-old Staff Sergeant who was killed in Afghanistan within the past year.

Members of other various veterans groups, gold star parents, wives clubs and other service organizations brought forward their wreathes to honor and remember the fallen. Most wreaths had red, white and blue flowers. The disabled American Veterans Alameda Chapter placed a wreath of light purple flowers.

Below the large flag pole with its half-mast American flag, a flag for each branch of the armed services snapped in the wind.  A ceremonial table stood to the front of the whipping flags.  Six empty seats, chairs folded and leaned against the table, places set for those who are missing in action, a place for each branch of the armed services, a hat from each branch resting on the plate in front of the folded chair. 

Rear Admiral Castillo stood at the podium, his strong words echoing from the portable speakers across the large crowd spread over the small park’s lawn.  The Rear Admiral’s address spoke of the Staff Sergeant, of the sacrifice he and his family and so many other service members and their families have given.  “We all know someone;” he said, “we all have friends or family who have been in the combat zones.”  Speaking to this particular crowd in this Coast Guard City with its decommissioned naval base and its museum aircraft carrier, he may have been right. 

I thought about the people I know: two uncles who were in the Navy, a cousin who currently is; family friends posted in Afghanistan; a sorority sister in the National Guard; a sorority sweetheart who was killed in Iraq, acquaintances from high school and college in the Marines, and probably more that I’m forgetting or don’t know about.

At first, the Rear Admiral’s comment struck me as odd. I’m so used to the loud anti-war, anti-services messages in Berkeley, that I forgot there are others in the Bay Area (and in Berkeley), who are still connected to those making sacrifices for the sake of the country, still honoring, still respecting.  It was a good reminder.  A good reminder of the humanity around me to which I am often blind, and a good reminder of what others have given for all our sakes, even the four-year-old boys who do not yet understand the sacrifice.

Photo: Memorial Day 2007 in Lowell, Massachusetts by Dick Howe Jr. CC-BY

The Lord’s Newest Super Angel–Part II

The sweet notes drifted through the sanctuary as the saxophonist began to play.  God joined in on the thunder, perfectly befitting the somber, yet joyous people gathered below Him.

It sounds odd to describe people at a funeral as joyous, but there was joy.  There were tears; there was laughter and stories and sadness and celebration, but most of all, there was peace.   One look at her mom standing proud in the front row and you immediately saw where Angie got her strength.  Her father, brother and fiancé were holding up well, too.  But her mom, her mom was solid; grieving, but not despairing. 

Many services for the departed claim to be Celebrations of Life, but this was the first one I attended that truly lived up to the designation.  It was also the first time I’ve heard people pay their respects without any exaggerations.  Angie was so incredible, it would have been impossible to exaggerate and be even remotely believable.

The celebration was beautiful.  People from throughout her life’s journey shared their remembrances.  Everyone who spoke praised God for the gift she had been to their lives.  There was no anger, at least not here.  No demands, no “why, oh why” pleas.  Just peace, and love and celebration.

Our tears flowed.  Even the friend sitting next to me who promised herself she wouldn’t cry had to dab at her eyes with her tissue from time to time.  We mourned.  But we also celebrated.  And I think that’s exactly what Angie would have wanted.

The Lord’s Newest Super Angel - In memory of Angela Holland

She was like Elle Woods; one of those people who’s so amazing she makes you feel like you can do anything.  And I hate that I’m talking about her in the past tense.

Everyone gravitated towards Angie. You couldn’t help it. Her bubbly personality, her enthusiasm for everything, the sincere compassion that just oozed out of her being.  The only bad thing you could possibly say about her was that she was always so busy doing 1800 million incredible things that she’d probably be late to the 1800 millionth and one thing she was going to do with you.

Teach for America, Street Law, and probably scores of other projects I don’t even know about, Angie was always giving of herself.  And she was so smart.  She chaired the academic program for BLSA (the Black Law Students Association), and she wrote onto a journal (instead of getting on through the normal competition) and became Editor. For anyone who’s been to law school, you know how difficult it is to get on a journal, and she did it the harder way.

No matter how down and out you felt, Angie would lift your spirits.  When you felt excluded, she’d make sure you were part of the group.  And when you felt overwhelmed by all the things you had to do, you spent 5 minutes talking to Angie and felt like you had all the free time in the world.

Somewhere out there, a new angel with a big smile on her face is walking up to a someone in need, “Hey girl.”

Mr. Trizzle, Angie and her family/fiancé at VULS graduation 2008

 

 

(I almost got to see Angie just a few weeks ago. In DC for a friend’s birthday, I went to house warming party for another friend and Angie was likely to come to that party. Whether she went to the party or not, I don’t know. I had to leave pretty early to catch my flight back to California. I figured I’d see her soon enough at the Vandy reunion in a year or two. I was wrong. And now I’m on my way back to DC…)