Beautiful Afternoon Funeral

Monday afternoon I was finishing up some work, looking forward to attending the Miami Heat game with Wifey, D1, and a banker friend named Carole. As it turned out --it was the best game I've ever seen --double overtime win, with Dwayne Wade playing like Michael Jordan.

But back to the pre game. Wifey called, with awful news: her dear friend JEannette's brother Larry was found dead in his room at Fellowship House. He was 49.

Poor Larry was such a gentle and wounded soul. Wifey met him when he was 10, and an adorable and funny little brother to Jeannette. When Larry turned 16, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and was began the challenge of his life.

He was never able to work, but seemed to enjoy is life. He moved into Fellowship House in South Miami probably 20 years ago, and enjoyed the friends he met there. As long as he stayed on his medication, Larry was functional. We'd see him at Jeannette's many family functions, and he was a sweet, charming guy.

When he stopped the meds, he acted manically, and Jeannette and her parents had to deal with those episodes. It was, to say the least, trying for them.

Ah, JEannette's parents --Inez and Dave. They're such warm and genuine people. Wifey is like a second daughter to them. They drive down from Hollywood to see JEannette and her family every week. They live for their kids and grandkids.

Anyway --LArry died of an arrythmia. The Director of Fellowship House found him in his room.

Yesterday, we met at the cemetery just west of Miami Airport. I've been to two funerals there before --both young people: a lawyer who died of a congenital heart defect in his 30s, and the ex wife of my friend Alan, who was in her early 50s.

The graveside ceremony was my first Sephardic Jewish service. The Rabbi spoke, in Spanish, and then the casket was lowered. We all helped shovel some of the soil, which the Ashkenazis do, but then the crew came and put ALL of the soil back into the grave. I guess they truly want closure.

One of the attendees, who I know, whispered to me that this was a blessing, since Larry had brought so much difficulty and sadness to his parents. I looked at Inez and Dave --they didn't look like they felt blessed. They looked like any parents who have to bury a child -- inconsolable.

I looked off into the distance at the landing jet liners --to dry my tears --and I saw that some developer built some townhouses SMACK next to the cemetery. The second floor windows looked directly on to the site. I wondered if some budding first generation Cuban immigrant poet had one of those bedrooms, and would grow up inspired by the souls of the departed Jews he lived right beside. Strange thing.

Wifey drove to Miami Beach for a service at the Sephardic shul. They began the healing reminiscing there.

A van load of Larry's friends attended the funeral, from Fellowship House. They were such sweet folks --they reminded me of the scene from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" where Jack Nicholson takes some of the mental hospital patients for a field trip. They miss their friend and companion dearly.

If, as Tevye wondered, there is some vast eternal plan out there in which parents bury a child --I can't imagine ever understanding it.