A Good New Fangled Irish Wake

Well, we made it home in one piece from the funeral of our dear old friend Rick, but only because Grandma did the driving (everyone had been up all night at the wake, I was the only one in any shape to drive 8 hours home!). The funeral crowd overspilled the ample sanctuary of Rick’s Mom’s Catholic church, SRO inside (including the entire foyer) and others standing outside. The priest was a bit taken aback, and rightly suspected a lot of these people had probably never darkened a church door in their lives. But he did fine anyway, and all our hearts were broken - we were there for Mom, no one was going to cause any trouble.

In the immediate family circle are O’Sheas and Coins and O’Cains and O’Rourkes and other names so blatantly Irish nobody could confuse the issue by the number of Rastas and Buddhists and Presbyterians and atheists (and God-Knows-Whats) in the crowd. Even though we did outnumber them. After the mass there was a photo collage presented in the fellowship hall, probably 600 people stayed to see it.

The trip to Jamaica and those tough-looking Rastas who literally carried Rick for miles into the mountains to see a holy man. The Tibetan monks and their beautiful sand mandala who were so delighted by their host’s soaring spirit. The notable artists and musicians who never passed through without spending time with Rick. The children he’d taught through the years, now grown with children of their own old enough to go to college. The beautiful red-haired boy, the courageous and determined young man, the cultural guru, the thin and frail middle-aged man who looked an awful lot like Jesus if that holy man’s eyes twinkled nearly as brightly as Rick’s.

We cried buckets of tears, but were reunited in our grief. We had too often lost touch over the decades. All past petty tiffs forgotten, love of Rick uniting us all once again as if we’d never grown apart. Then, later that evening, came the wake…

It was in the city near Rick’s house, hosted by a wonderful couple with one of those Irish names and an acre of yard. All of it put to use for this event, and all the neighbors forewarned. There were two groups of fiddlers and harpists, a stage at the other end of the yard stacked with equipment. A couple dozen notable rock and reggae musicians jammed all night off and on. A drum circle filled in the breaks. There were children lined up for the tree swing and trampoline, guarded (and herded) by teenage volunteer sitters. There were rows of tables filled with food, watermelons galore, coolers of pop and water and more beer than anybody could keep track of, magically replenishing kegs of Guinness, and a picnick table bar on the deck stocked with more kinds of wine than I could identify as well as literal cases of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey. Parking overflowed the vacant lot a few blocks away manned by volunteers with light sticks, a constant crowd of about 500 constantly shifted through the night. It was still going when we checked in, 8 hours after driving home through three states!

My friend Rick enjoyed the love of so very many people, each of whom claimed him as his/her BEST friend. He could make you feel that way even in a crowd. What we all received from him is important enough to last these generations for many generations more, and comes complete with the power to change the world. We are so blessed…

The greatest gift Rick gave to those of us who loved him is each other. Our charge now is to hang on to those ever-widening, ever-proliferating circles of love and friendship. My family’s all for it (though we won’t be moving back to the city). I think a lot of others are too.

Kiteriggers Memorial Site

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Filed under Family Gatherings, Musings, Dying, Customs, Relationships, Family Life, Feasts, Generational Learning |