Jerry, I Hardly Met You

The adults in my house have come to the conclusion that 2013 has too many deaths in it already. Our housemate has done 6 funerals in the last month or so, my wife grieves and notices all the catastrophes of late and so far this year I have seen too much death too close to friends.

Today is no different. This evening I drove to Ansonia to support my friend Char at the funeral of her father, “Jerry” Curtiss. The pastor — Rev. Douglas Clark –did a nice job, remembering Jerry as storyteller, then he did the thing that makes psychological sense to me at these things — he left open space for people to say and do what they needed to.

The people who spoke weren’t your standard fare for such things. A woman spoke about Jerry as the kind of guy who took care of his own
parents. His son-in-law spoke about him as a good father-in-law who took in strays. Then a nephew (I think) spoke about him as a fisherman and friend.
The shock of the funeral (to me, anyway) came when a boy –probably 7 years old or so — stood up to speak. He saId a few quiet words about missing his grandpa and sat down with tears in his eyes.

Later, Jerry’s daughter, Sioux, also spoke and the service ended and we were all invited back to the home of family, but the magic had already been done. This man whom I has probably met 3 or 4 times had given me an insight from beyond the grave.

THAT is what I want to speak about. Years ago, when her first-born child was born, my friend Evelyn said the experience was emotionally “like Roots’ picture — holding the baby up to the sky and seeing the connection to every mother that ever been” in her family. Both of my “in-care” people — Char and Carrol Cyr — have been Christian Educators. The new staff person at South Church, Jane Rowe, is involved with the “intergenerational faith formation” movement in the Connecticut Conference with the other two. And Jerry, whom I barely knew exemplified all of them in one felt swoop.

Here’s the point: the Jews have it right. Whether or not there’s an afterlife, we transcend time with our lives. Jerry impacted four generations with one life, even if he never made it to heaven. He reached backwards in time, impacting his parents’ generation. He reached through his own time and his daughters’ and son’s generation. He touched the next generation after that, impacting the memories of his grandchildren. Whatever experiences he imparted to his grandchildren will be felt as well, by a fifth generation. Not bad for a man who, in theory, only lived onelife and now lives in eternity.

Each of us has that chance to transcend time through our one life, and probably do. The question, of course, is in what way?. Does our life reach across the generations with love, as he apparently did, or do we reach across generations with hatred? Do we care?

For those of us that are lucky enough to have children, the answer — for good or bad– is obvious. But even those who don’t literally give birth, give birth anyway if they are involved in education or mentoring or sharing or leading youth. this is how we transcend time and live forever, often even without knowing it. If God rewards us with an actual afterlife, that’s a special gift, but one we have proved we can handle if we cared enough to share our values in this life.

Jerry pulled it off. Maybe we can, too.

Peace,

John

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4 thoughts on “Jerry, I Hardly Met You

  1. Char Curtiss Corbett says:

    Thank you John for this deeply moving reflection about my father. It is all the more poignant and true when you learn that the “woman” who spoke about my Dad was his aunt; the “nephew” was his college-aged grandson, Brian; and the young boy with tears and sweet words was my dad’s 11-year old autistic great-grandson, Matthew, who demonstrated all the love & courage that his great-grandfather regularly told him he had. My sister and brother spoke, as did my brother-in-law, who, like you, spoke of my father’s natural ability to reach out to everyone he met, particularly those who were unjustly marginalized by societal standards. My father taught all of us to be the best we were called to be and to use our gifts and talents to bring out the best in others. The world has no idea what they have lost in his passing – a kind, loving, compassionate fisherman of people and of the sea. Although you say you hardly knew him – you do. We all do. We only need to look as far as who God has called us each to be. That’s how we pull off sharing our values and caring across the generations and human-made social barriers. And my dad most certainly made it the Heaven of his believing. I have no doubt about that. Thank you, again, John. And…I love you, Dad.

    • revlmftblog1 says:

      Char: yours is the comment I care most about receiving in this case , so thank you for so beautifully responding. Thank you for filling in the gaps re: people. They do, in fact, make the story more poignant. I am blessed to know him through you and yes– through God’s spirit.

      Peace,

      John

  2. Sioux says:

    Too moved for words but wanted to thank you, John for bringing me a little closer to dad this morning.

    Blessings, Sioux

    • revlmftblog1 says:

      Sioux:

      You are welcome. I’ve heard good things from colleagues about you. Again, your dad lives on.

      Peace,

      John

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