There Will Be a Tomorrow

North Carolina, 2017. I call this "The Neighborhood Sad Clown"

Just like that, it was over.

My mother was laid to rest today. There were many words said, many tears shed, and many memories shared.

Sean heard about how tall he was and I heard how much I look like my father.

There were people who I haven't seen in years. A former coworker of my dad's who disappeared from our lives circa 1990 was there and reminded me how I mentioned him in my dad's eulogy. I was stunned.

I'm grateful for every face that showed up and every heart that was thinking of us even if they couldn't be there. I get it. I really do.

I appreciate all of it. I soaked it all up.

I spoke at the funeral. As I've done here, I tried to sum up her life with love and laughter. I didn't make any attempt to push for tears.

For me, I've shed just a few. I think I'm still in shock.

I nearly snapped at the cemetery. We put roses on her grave. I stepped up second -- after my sister -- placing a rose and planting a kiss on my hand before touching the wooden casket. I then stepped aside and did the same to my father's side of their grave and moved away.

It was at that point that I thought it would all flow. Somehow a voice inside yelled out: "Hey! Knock it off. People are going to think you're just doing this for show. It's all a ploy for sympathy."

I rallied, buoyed by having to sturdy myself for others who needed to let it out. It's my shoulder they needed.

There were a few times I thought I might break during the eulogy, yet somehow I steadied myself.

I mean, for the love of everything, what was going on? I was telling stories of life, of the house, of the "dead horses" my mother knew how to turn into glue and of her pilfering of hotel supplies. I tried to reach people (and actually stopped myself from talking about the best newspaper editor when I mentioned Darien, CT in a story, but the mere mention of that was a shout out to said editor). I did little prep. I remembered the few things I wanted to say. I wanted people to just relax.

But, again, there was a voice: "Pull it together!"

I buckled when I saw Harold and Kris and his wife Lori and my niece Meaghan and my nephew Michael and my cousin Jon and my buddy Scott and the wonderful visit from Tim.

Tim and I are these strange brothers. We get it. Then we don't. Then we do. Then there's Waffle House.

I struggled in a few people's arms and thought Susan might be the one to send me cascading. Yet, somehow she timed everything just right to keep me from reaching that breaking point.

I suppose it will happen.

Somewhere, Esther Rolle smiles. Damn, Damn, Damn.

Back at the house, while fighting rain and humidity, we turned far more lighthearted in our approach, as one should after all is in the rearview mirror. The dirt and earth remains moved and will soon grow back.

Time, of course, moves on.

There's still more work to do. A car to return, a cellphone to turn off. Other things that slightly eradicate a life in a matter of speaking.

But I also loved it all. I loved seeing great nephew Carson, whether crying or smiling away. I loved seeing Logan (too hard to explain how he's related) asking if there were toys in the house. The kids brought vitality and innocence. I loved seeing cousins who don't get together enough, I loved talking with my mother's lone surviving sibling and having her tell me about how she kicked my mother in the throat once in Peekskill because my mother was a kicker.

"You didn't dare kick the BABY!," Aunt Nina said. "Boy was my father mad!"

She told me memories of their house in New Jersey as well.

For a day, it didn't matter. It shouldn't matter. The group hug was there and needed. The house was alive and there was much laughter.

Just as Nancy and Don would want it.

And I've rarely been prouder of Sean who stepped up as a pallbearer and as my shadow, making small talk with people he's never seen (and will probably never see again). He's been a true champ.

I've also been told that people either a) read the blog if the cover picture attracts them, b) don't read if it it's about sports or some random sports person and c) I write like I talk. I'm almost embarrassed when people say they read this but also thrilled and that last note makes me especially happy. It's always how I want people to read this.

And a big thank you to Susan for this. I was deeply moved by her words on Facebook tonight.

This long distance dedication today goes out to Rob Adams. (Being the biggest radio fan I know, he appreciates the reference.) He has shown boundless grace, courage and strength - not only this week, in the face of the heartbreaking loss of the great lady that was his mom- but in the years of dedicated and selfless care for her.  

Today, he continued that strength through a difficult day that included him giving a funny, loving and heartwarming eulogy. I always say I could never do what he does on air - but I was never more in awe of what he was able to do than today in spite of all he was coping with inside. We battle, talk, share commonality and laugh about music - this one is on both of of our favorite lists. Casey, can you play Harmony by Elton John for Rob in Mahopac?

She's the absolute epitome of everyone who has called, written, texted, hugged, supported us through this time. Nobody has shown more loyalty and her presence today was so welcomed.

I'm so glad Sean, my niece Laura and my great niece Emma are still here tonight. Yet I know -- just as it did in 1989 -- we have to dry our eyes, expect more moments of emotion, and turn towards the next sunrise.

My niece Stephanie put this amazing video together, featuring a who lot of pictures of my mother and the life she built. I'm happy to share it. (Linked here if the embed doesn't work)