It had been quite a while since my sons joined me for a getaway. The era of family vacations is long behind us, and their burgeoning commitments to jobs, university, and girlfriends severely curtail opportunities for the three of us to hit the road collectively. There have been a couple of trips with one son or the other, but traveling with both of them has become a rarity.
It had been quite a while since my sons joined me for a getaway. The era of family vacations is long behind us, and their burgeoning commitments to jobs, university, and girlfriends severely curtail opportunities for the three of us to hit the road collectively. There have been a couple of trips with one son or the other, but traveling with both of them has become a rarity.
But when they expressed the wish to attend Uncle John's funeral, off we went. Our travel had to be shoehorned in to fit their class schedules, so we ended up arriving in Los Angeles late Thursday night and leaving early Monday morning. Naturally, our inflexibility on flight dates and times made the airfare that much more pricey.
Flying my off spring and myself to John’s memorial service was not how I wanted to spend my money, but there seemed no better use for it than allowing us to be with others who loved him. John and I had been planning my coming in late February so that he, his wife, and I could reprise the trip to wine country we took a couple of years ago. But with his sudden death, our plans changed.
It was profoundly good to have my children there. I can't recall the last time both boys were in my company for four days straight. Despite the sorrowful nature of our visit, they were relaxed and affable, sharing a great deal of laughter with their California relatives and with friends who have known them since they were little-littles.
I was struck by how self-sufficient they have become. Neither son required prompting to get through the ordeal of security screening, nor did they wander off on our way through the terminal before departure. They interacted confidently with gate agents, flight attendants, and strangers on our flights.
They participated in the funeral Mass, each taking one of the Scripture readings. They sat with the immediate family and shed tears. And the many times my sorrow broke through, they were quick to offer consolation with a hand on my shoulder or a broad, manly hug.
Watching my sons during the after-service reception at a restaurant near my brother's home, I was struck by how they have become grown-up human beings. They socialized easily with the people who came to support our family; at the end of the party, without prompting, they helped gather and tote the photo collages and other family possessions back to our vehicle for transport to my brother's home.
Seeing them take on the role of helpers and witnessing the easy familiarity they shared over the four days, it looks like their mother and I have much to be grateful for: our boys are becoming fine young men with big hearts.
How very good we could be together sharing one of life’s tougher experiences. I am reasonably sure that when the time comes, they'll be able to do this without me.
Pat Grimes, a former South Bay resident, writes from Ypsilanti, Mich. He can be reached at pgwriter@inbox.com
