St. John’s Church of Frederick
8 Main Street
Frederick, Maryland
Reception at the Donnelly family home
733 Oak Tree Lane
Frederick, Maryland
We hope you are able to join us for this special event,
The Donnelly family, et al.
Sybil, we’ll be very glad to see you again, even though it’s sorry circumstances. Would you be willing to say a few words at the service? You are so good with words, and you were so special to Guy. It doesn’t have to be lengthy—just a little something. With love, Liz
(cont. January 9, 2013, previous pages remaining UNSENT)
They’ve scheduled the funeral for Guy at last, and it’ll be on February 16, so that’s finalized. Liz has asked me to deliver some kind of homily, which has me in a bit of a panic. I ought to simply refuse, but then the woman’s husband has just died, so you like to say yes to anything she asks.
The thing is that I have been called upon to speak at a funeral only one other time in my life, and it went poorly. A terrible result. My mother died with cancer when I was eighteen. I wish you could have known her. She was beautiful, kind, patient. She had these two odd duck adopted children and she treated us as if we were the king and queen! She was always sort of laughing, or smiling, or making light. Anyway, she had cancer on again off again through her life, and it killed her eventually, and when it did my father went to pieces. Honestly, it was like my mother was the makeup of his skeletal system, she died and the bones POOF disappeared, and the rest of him, the meat, the organs, the skin, slopped to a pile. He was this way for about a year until he remarried (new bones, new skeleton). Anyway, when Mother died someone had to deliver remarks and I took one look at my father and knew he wouldn’t be able to do it, and my brother was young (only ten years old) and he’d gone mute. Felix didn’t speak a word from when she died until he was twelve or so (let me tell you, that was an entire situation in and of itself), so I was the one for the eulogy. I wrote something to read, had it all down, just your standard things about how she’d been a good mother, and referencing her kindness in adopting children, etc., and her volunteerism in the community. I got up to the front of the church and I’d been feeling fairly awful that week between her death and the service, just a dull nausea, the way my body was inhabiting the grief, and I stood there, went hot, and vomited. Mortifying.
That said, I do feel it would afford me the opportunity toanswer certain questions that have been asked of me over the years. Explanations for why I would give up the law practice to follow Guy to the courts. Not that the man’s funeral should be my platform, but it would be good to have an audience—I’ve never had the opportunity to talk about how wonderful it was. I do miss it. Anyway, the more I think about it, the more I think it might be a good opportunity to say my piece and close the door. We’ll see.
My sight seems to be holding.
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: Jan 18, 2013 10:26 AM
SUBJECT: Memorial service
Dear James, Were you invited to the funeral? They’re finally getting around to it six months later, and by invitation! As if it’s the royal wedding. He must be ashes by now, doubt they’ve kept the old shell on ice for half a year. It’s uncouth. It bothers me, it honestly does. Makes me think I need to have a conversation with my own children. Anyway, it gets worse. Liz asked me to speak at the service, SPEAK dear God the horrors never cease, as if getting there wasn’t enough a task, so do let me know if you’ll attend (if you were invited). If you were not invited, perhaps you could come along as my plus one? I’d rather not drive out to Frederick alone is what I’m getting at, James, and Bruce is taking his children skiing in Colorado. It would be good if you would pick me up.
Do get back to me.
Warm regards,
Sybil
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: Jan 18, 2013 11:11 AM
SUBJECT: RE: Memorial service
Sybil,
What’s ironic is that I hadn’t seen Bruce in a while, but we ran into each other last week at a cocktail party at which time he mentioned the ski trip. I did receive an invitation. They couldn’t open up the service to the public or announce it in the papers. Think of all the furious people who would take the chance to throw a bucket of pig’s blood all over the casket (or urn). I’ll be happy to pick you up. Marly won’t want to spend a Saturday at a funeral in the country anyway. Although maybe you should take the opportunity to bring an eligible man as your date. What about that guy on your street with the white brick house and the rosebushes? Didn’t his wife die a few years ago? God, now this is starting to cross a line.
Of course you have to speak. There’s no Butch without Sundance. You’re the only man for the job.
I’m changing topics. It’s good of you to continue writing letters to Harry. He takes it seriously, in a good way. I worry about him, especially now that his sisters aren’t home much. The girls seemed to soothe him. Once he finds his way as an adult I won’t worry as much, I guess.
