So today we attended the funeral of Dave, our friend Jeannette's beloved father. Wifey and I drove in monsoon rain to Lakeside, out in Doral, and gathered in the small chapel. A Sephardic Rabbi led a nice, understated service, and then we followed the hearse to the grave.
It was pouring down. We stood under a tent, but the wind blew in the rain. The Rabbi, and Dave's son in law Bob got soaked to the skin. The rest of us got a bit wet.
Dave was buried next to his son Larry, who died young, 9 years ago. It brought back the very sad memories of Larry's death. I looked up to the North, and saw the townhouses that line the graveyard. I wondered what it must be like to be a child living there - looking nightly outside your window over the quiet field. It must produce some brave children.
After the ceremony, we drove to Hallandale in major traffic to a small shiva -- Wifey caught up with Jeannette and her girls, and I talked with Dennis, her cousin, who is a chef in Delray. I always really liked Dennis -- I told him I would always remember meeting on July 4, 1984, at the huge Beach Boys concert on Miami Beach. He remembers it well, too.
But back to the cemetery. Wifey noticed a gravestone one row over. It had the name of a man, David, who was born in 1943 and died in 2017. "Look at that," Wifey said, "he has the same unusual name as your old friend."
Sure enough, we checked, and it was him -- David, a Jewban advertising lawyer with whom we did a lot of business in the early days of our firm, in the mid 90s. I had no idea he had died. I called Paul and Stuart -- they were shocked to learn it as well.
Eric called to wish me a great trip, and I told him the story. As I did, my memory started to spark -- sure enough, David was a patient of Eric's when he worked on Miami Beach.
So it's come to this. Running into old friends in the cemetery. I much prefer seeing them at Canes tailgate parties. I plan to spend less time at funerals, and more with football games.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment