by Don P. Bick
The thought brought a chuckle to my lips as I turned and slowly made my way back down the old driveway to my car sitting alongside the highway. Yes, perhaps somebody, someday, is going to be very happy with what I found in the ashes!
Stitches
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The funeral was in two days. It was to be at 2:00 in the afternoon. That would give my youngest daughter, Trisha, time to fly in from Denver and spend a little time with us. She told me she needed to be here for the service and would be heartbroken if she wasn’t able to attend. Her flight was set for tomorrow evening and we were all looking forward to seeing her. She has been away from home for a long time due to her recent marriage and soon after having a baby girl. Then when the baby was old enough to travel, she landed the job of her dreams and didn’t have any vacation time coming for several months. We flew to Denver three times in the past two years to see them since they couldn’t come out here.
We weren’t expecting a very large turnout at the cemetery so decided to have the funeral and ceremony all at the gravesite. We were offered the use of the chapel on the grounds but didn’t really believe it was necessary. I hardly thought he would be considered a Christian and my family wasn’t familiar with other ways of doing things. So we passed on the offer and everyone agreed that saying a few words around the coffin was the best way to see him off.
And he was old when he died so it wasn’t like he had been taken during his prime. He had lived a long healthy life by anyone’s standards. But apparently, in the end his heart just stopped. Fortunately, no one was at home but me. I found him lying on the sofa in the downstairs family room and was able to make arrangements to have him removed prior to my wife and oldest daughter getting home. It appeared as though he had passed most peacefully, perhaps in his sleep.
I picked up Trisha at the airport at 6:30 in the evening. Her flight was right on time, even though the weather in Denver hadn’t been the best. When we greeted each other I could tell she had been crying because her eyes were red and puffy. She had always been the most sentimental in the family and quite emotional over the slightest little thing. We were late enough after retrieving her bag to miss most of the after work rush hour and arrived home without difficulty. As soon as Trisha hugged her mother the tears began to flow again, bringing her mother to tears at the same time. My older daughter hugged her next but she was the strong one and I noted that her eyes were as just as dry as could be.
We passed an enjoyable evening that night, although every once in a while Trisha would ask if we remembered a particular story amid a fresh set of tears. More than one story was humorous and we would laugh as the tale was told, fondly remembering the time.
The day of the funeral dawned bright and clear. There was a little crispness in the air during the early morning hours but later that afternoon it promised to be a perfect spring day. Trisha was quiet all morning and when we all began to get ready she let go another round of tears. She is such an emotional girl.
We arrived at the cemetery at 1:45. The weather was beautiful and the air a perfect temperature. I commented that it couldn’t be a better day for the sendoff of a loved one. Trisha nodded in silent contemplation as we neared the gravesite.
Standing around the coffin seemed a little strange and odd to me but this is what the rest of the family wanted. Trisha had asked if she could say a few words and in effect conduct the family ceremony. And so she took her place at the head of the grave.
“Today we are saying goodbye to a dear friend. I would like to take this time to relate a story you all know well, but it is my favorite and best memory of him,” she began, with the occasional sniffle mixed in. “We were camping up at Yellowstone. I was 12 years old and decided to go for a walk by myself up the nearby path that snaked through the woods to the rocky hill we used to climb every time we camped there. I was about a hundred yards away from camp when I heard a rustle in the brush alongside the path. It was so loud it startled me and I screamed, undoubtedly much louder than the situation warranted. You all know how emotional I am,” she smiled sadly.
“All of a sudden a large raccoon charged out onto the path and made straight for me. He looked huge and I was scared to death. I remember screaming again but before I finished my best friend came charging up the path and in the blink of an eye attacked the creature. They fought viciously for several minutes, until finally the raccoon turned and fled back into the brush, and surrounding woods. Rex was hurt. His whole right side had been racked open by the sharp claws of the raccoon. We had to leave our camp and take him to the vet, where he received 37 stitches. Remember how ugly the wound was? The doctor had shaved the hair off and it was all red and swollen for days. Dad, you started calling him ‘Stitches’ and soon the name stuck. He was pretty young then but I often wondered if we confused him by changing his name. I never liked the name ‘Rex’ anyway. That was 12 years ago. So, today I want everyone to know what a hero Stitches was to me all my life. I wish I could have been with him more, especially at the end. But I know he knows I love him. I also know he will be well taken care of wherever dogs go when they pass. You will be missed, my friend,” Trisha finished, bringing tears to everyone’s eyes, including mine, at the memories of our family dog.
After the ceremony we all climbed back into the car. Trisha seemed satisfied with the service and everything the pet cemetery had done to put her best friend to rest. She had stopped crying. When we got home we had a great barbecue and drank lots of good cold beer to finish off the day.
Poverty
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Some people think I am a saint, but trust me, I am not. Life has been especially good to me financially, so every so often I feel the need to help those less fortunate than myself, to give back a little for all the success I have had over the years. For whatever their reasons there are many good souls living out on the streets. It is difficult to turn your back on them when you have the wherewithal to help, even if it is only in a small way, at least it is for me. So, now and again, I take it upon myself to go out for the day and do what I can for some of those living the tough life of homelessness. Most of us will never know the difficult requirements of surviving on the streets in the heart of a particularly crime ridden area of Los Angeles.
There is one highly concentrated area of poverty downtown, where the devastating economy has been particularly hurtful. It is hardly the safest place in the world for me to visit, but it is where I choose to spend a few days each year. I try to do this mostly in the winter when weather conditions are the roughest and most difficult to endure, not just during the holidays when there are others out and about helping, as well. When the holidays have passed and it is cold out I feel these are the best days to get in my truck and visit some of the homeless. I think that is when they especially need someone’s help.
In between visits, whenever I have a little extra time, I stop in second hand or thrift stores and purchase blankets, coats and other heavy clothing. I also make a couple of runs to Wal-Mart and the like to buy several cases of soup, the kind where you only need to add hot water, along with some cheap blue plastic tarps. I would also pick up several dozen donuts the night before I planned to go out from a bakery near my house. They began selling those to me for half price when they learned where I was taking them.
I have four large coffee makers. Two I use to make strong black coffee before my trip and the other two I simply use for hot water to add to the instant soup I have with me. Long ago I bought an older pickup and had it outfitted with an inverter for power to keep the coffee and water hot. I have also built various racks and shelves inside my pickup bed canopy for the clothing and other things I take out. I am organized and well prepared to help where I can. Along with all of these items I carry lots of first aid supplies, even took a couple of first aid courses at the local fire department a few years ago, So I am able to deal with providing some basic medical care when I run across situations that require it, which I invariably do every time I go out.
The weatherm
an on the news says this coming Tuesday there will be cold front moving through the city and along with near freezing temperatures there is supposed to be heavy rain. You could hardly tell that from today’s weather. It is Sunday and although not particularly warm the sun is shining and it doesn’t feel too bad out if you stand in the direct sunshine. I have rearranged my schedule for Tuesday and will be out early in the morning doing my little part in helping others.
My alarm goes off at 3:00 am Tuesday morning and sure enough I can hear rain falling outside. It was fairly heavy rain too. The kind we sometimes get here in Los Angeles; large cold drops of water that doesn’t take long to back up the drainage system in the city. And with even the slightest breeze, which we also get here a lot, it can chill you right to the bone.
Everything was already packed and ready. I was out the door by 3:30. It wasn’t a very long drive to where I wanted to spend the morning, barely 30 minutes from my house in Beverly Hills, especially this early. There were still a couple of hours before the daily work commute began in earnest.
I arrived in the run down section of this poverty stricken area a couple of
