A lot has happened since late September, including two trips to Denver, two trips to Stillwater, and one trip to DC. The cats hate us, but that’s to be expected. I’ve been meaning to write in detail about the last few months, but couldn’t find the words. So here’s a hodgepodge of miscellaneous events that have touched my heart these past few months.
Craig’s Denver service
Craig's service in Denver was absolutely beautiful, and hard to get through. We selected an old Spanish-style church with high ceilings and beautiful stain-glass windows for the service. Craig would have loved it, not simply for the history but for the fact that once a month, the church opens its doors to the homeless. The night before Craig’s service, families were welcomed into the church for a meal and warm place to sleep. By 7:30 a.m., families were still trickling out of the Great Hall. Craig would have enjoyed sharing the space with so many in need.
As for the service, I can still remember the pink glow that overwhelmed the Great Hall as the morning sun leaked through the stain-glass to bounce off rose-colored walls. Around eighty of Craig’s closest friends joined us to say goodbye. Aunt Joan and her family flew in from Kalamazoo, Michigan a few days earlier to be with us for the service. It was nice to have family close as we tried to come to terms with Craig’s death. We hired a cellist to play some of our favorite Bach pieces during the service, including Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1, which I used to play back in the day. I remember the crescendo of the piece reverberating off the stucco walls. Though the cello was no harmonica, Craig would have appreciated the emotion put into the piece.
We asked a pastor from a nearby Presbyterian church to preside over the ceremony. The pastor did a nice job of letting the moment guide his words. Rather than overwhelm the service with scripture, he focused on Craig and who he was as a person, as represented by the diverse group of people that attended his service. Dad, Diane, Erin, Emily, and I said a few words before opening the service to others to speak. Craig’s best friend, Writer, shared a few words about Craig, the loyal friend. Craig was always one to put others first, and would do his best to attend to his friends, particularly in times of need. Our mother’s best friend, Rhinda, spoke just after Writer, to shed light on who Craig was as a kid. She mentioned how even at the age of five, Craig enjoyed holding court and would lecture his fellow Cub Scouts on the art of playing Spiderman, or Luke Skywalker, as it were. Few at the service knew Craig as a child. For her to share her memories of Craig allowed others to have a more complete understanding of the person they knew and loved, and the person we were saying goodbye to.
I remember looking into the crowd towards the end of the service and seeing a mass of friendly faces. That I knew most of the people there was a testament to how close and supportive Craig’s friends and colleagues had been (and continue to be) throughout the experience. I’m honored to have had the chance to know so many during our seven months in Denver, and look forward to continuing our new friendships. We ended the day with a reception at Woody and Georgia’s home, where food was provided by several of Craig’s former colleagues and friends.
Craig’s Stillwater service
After spending a few days closing down Craig’s affairs and packing his apartment, we left Craig's things in Denver in order to travel back to Stillwater for the third and final service. Oldies piped through the radio as Diane and I drove down I-35 towards Stillwater. As if guided by Mom herself, we heard some of her favorites like Franky Vali’s “My Eyes Adored You and Roger Miller’s “Dang Me.” Shortly after, we heard Cream’s “White Room” and Ray Charles’ “Hit the Road Jack” which was the song Craig sang back in May with his acapella group. As I listened to Ray Charles belt out one of the refrain’s, I could see Craig standing on stage, with his TPN leaning against the wall, belting out a solo while twelve others sang backup. Though his voice sounded strong then, I knew how much energy it took for him to perform. As I watched Craig sing, I remember thinking “That’s my brother.” When he finished, he took his seat next to me and asked if he sounded okay. With tears in my eyes, I told him, “you were amazing,” and he was.
As Diane and I took the turn into Stillwater, I remember feeling like we had left something behind. For the first time, I felt Stillwater was incomplete, like it had lost some of its brightness. As we drove by popular buildings and favorite walking spots, I couldn’t help but remember how just three months before, we were playing taxi driver to Emily and Craig as he showed Emily his favorite locations. The memory of his voice as he described Stillwater High School, or our elementary school, or his life at OSU, was still so clear.
Though being back in Stillwater with Craig as a memory was hard to get used to, Saturday’s ceremony was surprisingly lighthearted. Craig’s friend Steve flew in Thursday night, while Emily and her friend Lorel flew in Friday evening. To have them in Stillwater -- three people who perhaps knew the situation better than anybody -- allowed us to relax a bit and laugh. My best friend from college and her husband drove in from Tulsa to join other familiar faces for the service. I remember laughing more that Saturday morning than we had in quite some time. And it felt right. Craig would have laughed at the “play it again, Sam” feel to having three services in as many months. He would have laughed at some elements of the sermon, or how his service competed with OSU Game Day. And he would have loved seeing his sisters, his girlfriend, and his best friend genuinely enjoying each other’s company. Craig wanted the end of his life to be a celebration. For me, Saturday was that celebration.
After spending the morning reminiscing with family friends and colleagues on years gone by, we parted to enjoy what was to be one of the last warm days in Stillwater. As I sat next to Boomer Lake, talking with old friends, I couldn’t help but feel that Craig was still with us. He was simply swimming at the YMCA and would join us for a run around the OSU cross-country track just as soon as he was finished. (Still, I can see his face as I travel through Stillwater. Craig’s at the gym with me, or walking through the Wal-Mart aisles, helping me find nightgowns for Mom. He’s grabbing a coffee with Steve, or meeting up with old professors on campus. That he’s gone seems surreal.)
That Monday, Dad, Diane, Erin and I gathered at Sunset Memorial Gardens for Craig’s internment next to Mom. We brought one white bouquet of flowers left over from Craig’s service to lie at the head of his marker. We each had colored flowers collected from the other bouquets to place with Craig’s urn. As we each took turns pouring the earth that would form Craig’s final resting place, I remember reflecting on our individual strength, and how, after a year of hope, pain, and acceptance, the four of us were standing together, bravely taking turns to help fill Craig’s grave. I remember glancing at Mom’s marker and her dates, and wondered if strangers walking by would notice the similarities between her marker, and his. And as I stood watching the grounds team finish pouring the remaining earth, and packing it in with their large work boots and hands, I thought how fitting that Mom and Craig’s earth and grass would be settling in together.
After a few moments standing at their graves, I turned to walk towards the gravel road where we had parked our cars. For some reason, I had the urge to leave, to get some distance from death. From my perch on the gravel, I could see an oil rig slowly turning as cars passed along the highway. Within minutes, Erin joined me. As we stood shuffling our feet against the gravel, I remember mentioning how quiet it was. Erin just whispered back, “yeah.” I said that it was hard to believe; she nodded her head. I then added that I hope Dad would be okay. She asked, “will we?” to which I replied, I hope so. After a few minutes, Dad joined us and the three of us watched from our place on the gravel driveway as Diane poured Craig's ashes on his grave. I remember thinking how beautiful the flowers looked as they marked Craig’s place next to Mom.
Denver again
After spending a few days in Stillwater, Erin, Diane and I drove back through Kansas towards Denver to finish packing Craig’s apartment. Along the way, we were blessed by one of the prettiest sunsets that I’ve seen in awhile. The moon seemed to take over as the sun sunk past the horizon. The moon hovered low like a piñata dangling on a string. We arrived in Denver just after ten. After dropping the cats off at Emily’s, the three of us drove the familiar route to Craig’s apartment. As we entered his front hall, we were overwhelmed by Craig’s familiar aroma. The scent brought us back to happier times, when Craig filled our days tooting around on his harmonica, or waxing on about Nietzsche. I’ll always remember that moment entering his vacant apartment, of meeting a familiar smell knowing that, in time, the scent -- like the person -- would fade away. That night, the three of us slept in his apartment, and though we were together, I felt profoundly alone.
The following day, Diane, Erin and I prepared to pack Craig’s life. We thought initially that the task would take only a day, but as we went through drawers of random nick-knacks, we realized that the project would take much longer. His apartment was filled with remnants of his life in Stillwater, Michigan, and Denver. Frazzled and exhausted, we agreed to box his things and transport them to Stillwater as is, leaving the “unpacking” for a later date.
That Friday, we joined Craig’s friends at Wash Park to dedicate an oak tree and memorial brick in Craig’s honor. Craig loved Wash Park and would spend hours sitting under its many oak trees reading or people watching. It wasn’t uncommon for his friends to bump into Craig as he lounged on the grass, enjoying Denver's sun. I could picture him leaning against one the lakeside trees, watching us as we gathered around to plant a tree and bring new life to Wash Park in his honor. Craig’s friends Writer and Kristen arranged the celebration, and provided the group with tags for us to tie messages to the tree’s young branches. As we each took turns looping our messages to the leaves, I was struck by all the warmth and support that had gathered there. Even after death, Craig’s essence brought people together. It was comforting to see his friends, and as I said that day, I look forward to watching our new friendships grow along with the oak tree.
After spending a few moments admiring the newest member of Wash Park’s fall foliage, we gathered at a nearby restaurant for dinner. It seemed so natural to be eating with his friends, as if, through Craig, we had known them much longer than the few months that had brought us together. I could picture Craig sitting with us, casually sharing stories of life growing up with us or on Match.com dates gone awry.
The next day, his friends joined us at Craig’s apartment to help finish packing and move his things to Diane’s new apartment. In essence, they helped Diane welcome in her new life while closing down Craig’s. Within a few hours, we had packed and moved his apartment. It was touching to see his friends turn out to help “Craig’s little sisters.” He would have been proud.
The next day, Erin and I drove to Golden to join Steph, Steve, Taylor and Della, for a stroll along the river. We ate lunch downtown, just a few blocks from a bar where Craig used to play. It was nice to get a sense of his life beyond Denver. I could picture him walking, amps in tow, towards the bar. He always looked so out of place and he was known to work on law briefs in between sets.
That Monday, we finished cleaning Craig’s apartment. After five years living in 3104, Craig’s apartment was finally bare. I remember standing at the window with Erin, and reminiscing of the time the four of us salsa danced in his front room. Erin and Craig were partners, while Diane and I had to duke it out for the ladies’ spot in our couples dance. I can still remember the music: the Gypsy Kings. I’ll always miss the view; the sunrises and sunsets; and the hovering moon. I’ll miss watching the Rockies games for free and, of course, Lauren, Stacey, and Manuel.
That night, Emily joined us for dinner with Kim and her sister. We had a nice time talking about our fallen loved ones, and how to find joy in the little things again. Later that night, Erin and I met Emily for tea at her local hole in the wall coffee shop. We talked about how we need to invest time in the things we truly love, as well as take time for ourselves. We reflected on Craig’s life and how well he seemed to prioritize his life. He made time for the things he truly loved: friends, harmonica, swimming, and reading. He persevered through the awkward start up phase with the harmonica to become an extremely gifted musician. When he knew he had evening obligations and would be unable to swim, he would carve out time during his lunch break to go to the gym. He pushed through the hiccups that turn so many of us away. And even in the end, he didn’t let cancer slow him down. How could we possibly let the little things get in our way? We agreed that it’s worth fighting through the struggles for the things we truly love.
The next night, Erin, Diane and I treated ourselves to sushi. Craig and Erin shared one thing in common: they were never adept at using chopsticks. I remember sitting with a mouth full of hot egg roll, struggling to swallow as Erin struggled to eat a sushi roll. Hopeless. We hadn’t laughed that hard in months. The next morning, we drove Craig’s things home to Stillwater.
It’s been a long road, and I haven’t begun to process all that has transpired. In many ways, I’m still in shock from the trauma of last few months. I think of Mom and Craig every day; some days I laugh, and some days I cry. I miss them with every moment. Though difficult, the events of the last few weeks have been cathartic and much needed. They’ve been tender and supportive; random and hysterical. We’ve experienced the best of humanity, and have witnessed the outputs of love and support that truly represent what it is to be a friend. And we’ve watched it grow long after death. We’ve laughed at ourselves, at the situation, and at each other. We continue to take one day at a time, catching up with ourselves along the way.
– J
A few weeks before Craig passed away, I stumbled upon a random quote book buried deep in his bookshelf. Amongst the quotes from Woody Allen, Gandhi, and others, one quote stood out for its irreverence. I find the humor fitting for where we are in the process:.
The good Lord never gives you more than you can handle unless, of course, you die of something. -- Anonymous
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