I recently
attended the funeral service for a “greatest generation” gentleman who also
happened to be the father of one of my “bestest” friends growing up in our
small West Texas town. Not that we hung out all the time when we
weren’t at school—neither she nor I was much into that as we were busy with
piano lessons (she) or athletic practice (me) or studying (both). She was brilliant, and I was a wannabe
brilliant; she was chic while I was the tomboy.
She was a reader and a writer, and I had yet to develop a desire to pursue either of those titles. It would be our sense of humor
which would connect us to the day we graduated.
After that, we both went off to private school universities and just
stayed in touch minimally. Sadly, that’s
what often happens; however, the texture of such deeply-rooted friendships
remains, in ways that don’t have to be seen or heard or touched. The Spirit does that for us.
Her
father had moved from our small hometown after Anne’s mother passed away years
ago—which was the last time I had seen the family. I remember Mr. Monroney as the vibrant Dad, the funny
Dad, the stern Dad, and the fiercely devoted Dad to Anne and her sister. It could not have been easy for this
middle-aged war veteran to raise two teenage daughters in the late 60s to
mid-Seventies, in the midst of a country divided by yet another cultural
revolution. But he, and the girls' mom, did just that. As with many men and women
of his generation, Anne’s dad epitomized his generation’s best qualities: they were hard workers, survivors, team players,
frugal economists, and faithful partners.
I sat in the chapel pew and was overwhelmed with my shortcomings in a
life that only spans two-thirds of his longevity. Not that I felt a complete failure, but I was
keenly aware that this man did simply what we are all supposed to do in living
a full life: he took care of the basics,
the fundamentals. Too often, my generation has neglected them, and as a result,
our foundations have cracked.
The Naval Honor Guard, in
attendance to send this military servant home with the traditional bugling of
Taps, folded our country’s flag and passed it on to Anne and her sister at the
conclusion of the service. Wrapped in
that flag were not just the stars of these United States but a galaxy of
shining moments, passed on from a father to his daughters and his four
grandchildren.
Two
important messages stayed with me as I exited the chapel: (1) some very special people walk the face of
this earth and grace it beyond words and (2) those of us who
remain are quite capable of healing the cracks if we just draw on their
examples.
