#12 Funeral Candle

Episode 12 of the That Other Flock series

If you haven’t experienced the other episodes in the That Other Flock series, you can find them in the Index. Our characters are connecting the dots episode to episode more than originally planned so you’ll wanna know what’s happened before. Thank you for reading!

We held his funeral at 9:00 on Thursday night. That was when Betty could have everyone there because of crazy work schedules and life. And it wasn’t really a funeral, it was a memorial service since we didn’t have a body or anything. Betty somehow convinced the church not only to let us have his service that late at night, but they let us do it in the church kitchen and not charge us anything. I mean, there were only 6 of us anyway, so we didn’t need a lot room or any kind of technical help. She promised that we’d clean up after ourselves and that no one would throw pastries.

Betty had organized everything. We were all there. Well, those of us who were still alive. Plus Jared, the fill-in worship leader who the church had assigned to open the building and keep us from stealing anything. He was not happy about missing whatever he did on Thursday nights. But he’d opened the building, turned on lights, and then hovered in the background quietly, except for the occasional sigh of impatience.

On the table in the middle of the kitchen she’d put a half-dozen strawberry filled Duncan Donuts. Somehow, Betty had noticed that he preferred them if there was a choice. How she notices details like that amazes me.

As end-of-life services go, it was pathetic. The crowd was 6. Plus the irritated worship leader in a basement church kitchen in a huge swanky empty church. Betty had printed and framed a photo of him she found somewhere. Based on the way the washed out look, it was a mug shot or an ID photo. He didn’t look happy or alive in the photo, plus the printer needed ink. Somehow, the lines and smears on the bad photo fit our situation.

When I’d gotten the text about his death, Betty told me I had to say some words. We would have a memorial, no discussion. She said it’d be good for me and for everyone else for me to speak. As she put it, I had to get over myself and think about everyone else in our group.

Toby brought a birthday candle. One of those big ones, you’ve seen them, an 8 inch blue numeral 1. He put it in the middle of the donuts. I have no idea why he thought that was a good idea. But he lit the candle and there it illuminated the donuts and our sad little gang.

Toby also brought a small funeral wreath. He said, I should throw it to mark the end of the service. I can’t decide if he’s a nutball or a genius.

Also on the table was a bottle of Captain Morgan, which Eve supplied, a box of his books, and his GPS ankle bracelet.

Turns out Tommy had listed Betty as his next of kin. Tommy died in some sort of scuffle in the kitchen of his halfway house last Sunday night. The details were vague, but he’d slipped or fallen or been pushed and he hit his head on the corner of a counter. He landed just right or just wrong. They said he was dead before he hit the floor. I don’t know. It sounded fishy to me but you know, who’s gonna dig into a death like his. The authorities would be relieved to not have to deal with him anymore. He’s a problem they’d prefer to bury quickly, literally.

Eve poured a splash of Captain Morgan into the small paper coffee cups the church provided. We toasted, “To Tommy.” Everyone took a sip to start the service. Jared, our minder, passed on the rum. I decided Tommy would forgive me for drinking at his funeral. I couldn’t manage sober and another funeral.

Everyone looked at me and I began by taking a big swig from the bottle and tried to pass it to Eve. She waved me off. I guess she wasn’t drinking because of her pregnancy.

Toby was spinning the little funeral wreath in his hand. He said, “I’m ready when it’s time for the wreath throwing.”

How do you not smile about that?

I began. “Tommy’s full name was Thomas Wilson Beecher. He was our friend.” I got this out and had to clear my throat. Memories of my wife’s death, her funeral, and Tommy’s goodness flooded in. “We don’t know much about Tommy, but we know he cared about us. We know he missed his father. We know he didn’t have contact with his family. We don’t know if he had any friends but us. We don’t know why he wore the ankle bracelet, nor do we care. We don’t know what crimes he committed, that’s not our concern. We don’t know anything about him except what we experienced in this room, around this table, eating donuts with him. But what we experienced here with him changed us all for the better.”

Betty was crying. Softly, beautifully, sobbing. She wiped her eyes with a red bandana Brian passed to her. He needed it, too. But he was letting the tears run down his face. He made no move to wipe them away. He was standing, all 5 foot 2, head up, feet braced like he was facing gale force winds. If one can cry with pride, Brian was showing what it looked like.

Toby, who I’ve called Jelly all this time, was blubbering. Brian looked like he didn’t even know the tears were falling. Toby’s sadness swallowed him. Toby’s a big guy and he was grieving with every ounce of his being.

Eve and Leon stood next to each other. She’d looped her arm through his. They were leaning into each other, their heads nearly touching.

I sniffled and continued. “I admired Tommy because of his intellectual rigor. He was brilliant and had used his time in prison to expand his mind and learn what was most important. He believed in the God of Abraham even if he didn’t really think the story of Issac and the sacrifice was what preachers say it is.” I reached into the box and pulled out his worn, used, underlined NIV Study Bible. I flipped through several pages…all were underlined, highlighted, and noted. He’d filled it with his marks and thoughts. I continued, “I think he was alone, but not lonely. It seems he’d reached peace with the schizophrenia that plagued him and probably caused his problems with the authorities. He’d separated those demonic voices of insanity from the voices of sanity and divinity. I suspect there was violence in his past. His eyes were haunted. But here, he was peaceful and tranquil unless you were intellectually dishonest…and then he’d come at you.”

Everyone looked over at Jared remembering the confrontation over the Jeremiah blessing. Jared looked down at his overpriced sneakers and was still.

“Because what we know of him happened here with us. Will you share a memory of Tommy? Anything’s appropriate, I think.”

I looked around. I caught Betty’s eye. She nodded, drew a deep breath and said, “I remember when we first started coming down here. Tommy was anxious or nervous. Remember how he used to introduce himself just out of anxiety or whatever? He’d interrupt himself with ‘My name is Tommy.’”

There were nods and smiles around.

She continued, “It was beautiful how that all but disappeared. He never said why but, I think he felt comfortable here with you…with us.” She paused, thinking. “Yeah, that was good. I loved that. It felt like maybe he’d found his people and we were his people.” After a moment, she beamed and said, “My name is Betty.”

Toby drew a wet shuttering breath and said, “My name is Toby. Tommy scared me most of the time. That ankle bracelet, the halfway house, the schizophrenia, prison…it’s scary. But a few weeks ago he thanked me for something I’d said. Can’t remember what it was, but he said that he’d appreciated it. He called me thoughtful. I don’t think anyone’s ever said that about me. It was nice.” He cleared his throat and waved that he was done.

After a moment, Leon said, “I didn’t have much contact with him…”

Toby interrupted, “You have to introduce yourself.”

Leon laughed and said, “Ok, my name is Leon. When he told us about his father dying, I was feeling my losses more than his. That brought up all sorts of feelings I keep buried. It made me think about how that could happen to my son. My son could hear about my death, but our situations were different. My son wouldn’t care. Tommy missed his father. But his father didn’t want contact with him, because of the crimes, prison, whatever. That day, we were leaving and going up the stairs and I said something to him, maybe ‘I’m sorry’ or something. He stopped and turned to me, right there on the stairs. You remember how intense he could be. He stepped in close and said, ‘Your kids are missing out, even if they don’t realize it.’ Or something like that, anyway, that felt good somehow. Like he really saw me and understood or something.” After a minute, he said, “I still hang onto that.”

Leon nudged Eve. She pulled her arm from his and said, “My name is Eve. Tommy was mad, scary mad at me for the undercover recordings and all of that.” She shook her head. “Whew, he was mad. But then he cooled off. He texted me some quote from some philosopher, don’t remember who. Anyway, I texted him that I was really sorry. I hadn’t thought about how bad what I’d done was. You know, I didn’t know you guys. He texted me back and said that he understood and then he said, ‘forgiven.’ That was all.” She stood there, fighting emotion. After a moment, she said, “Yea, forgiven. Not what I expected from him.”

Brian wasn’t crying anymore but there were still tear tracks on his black cheeks. He said. “My name is Brian. When I told you about my cocaine problem, my slip.” He squared his shoulders. “No. When used coke and sinned. Tommy waited for me after we were done that day. He caught me waiting for the bus. You know how he’d ride the church van. The one that loads right out front? Well, he found me way over by the bus stop across first ave, way over there.” Brian rummaged around in the box on the table and came up with a blue Bic pen. “Didn’t know he was behind me until he poked me in the ribs with a pen.” He made a stabbing motion with the Bic. “3 quick jabs. It hurt. Scared the crap out of me. When I turned around, he said, ‘In prison, you’d be dead. You’re not smart enough or big enough or mean enough to survive there. Put that shit behind you.’ And then he walked away. He scared me straight. Weird but true.”

They were all looking at me. I took a breath and said, “My name is Charlie. I don’t have a story about Tommy except that I watched him with you. He was always paying attention and listening so carefully. At first I thought it was prison, you know, that he was used to watching his back, but I don’t think so. I think he was evaluating and weighing what we were saying. Listening. He was present here. I admire that. I respect him…respected him for that. I wish I’d told him.”

I picked up Tommy’s study Bible. As I turned to a passage, I said, “In services like this, there’s usually a Bible reading. This passage reminds me of him. It’s from Romans 8.” I found the verse in his Bible, the pages heavily underlined, with arrows and notes. For some reason, God granted my silent prayer to make my voice work and push down my emotions. I could read the scripture with a mostly clear voice. “‘For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’” Then I saw a note in the margin, tiny precise letters, probably written with Bic pen. “He’s written, ‘only me, I’m the only one who can separate me from God. Don’t screw it up.’” I looked up at them and couldn’t keep the grin off my face. I said, “He’s right. And he didn’t screw it up.”

I knew what came next.

Toby handed me the wreath with a wink and before Jared could react, I nailed our fill-in worship leader with it in a perfect frisbee toss. Caught him right in the gut with the wreath. He sputtered. We laughed. Betty drew us in close. We had our arms around each other.

Leon said, “Dear God, thank you for sharing Tommy with us. We needed him. Amen.”

And then Toby blew out that silly birthday candle.

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Find the next episode here: Episode 13: “F-ing Shiny People”