As I listened to the soloist at Kenny Fare’s funeral service perform “Amazing Grace,” I thought to myself: there are songs I am incapable of singing (short of effecting a complete mental dissociation from time and place) because hitting certain notes within their scores choke me up, indelibly associated in my memory with tragic events. Songs on that list include anything they played in church immediately after 9/11, especially “God Bless America”; and definitely “Amazing Grace,” which is certainly a staple of Christian funeral services. I thought of the songs they sung for Auntie Menchie. I thought of “Ave Maria” and how I don’t believe I can listen to it without remembering her, or Grandma. I thought, rather cynically I admit, why have those songs sung if it just ruins your ability to listen to them.
As I listened to the stories of how Kenny Fare impacted so many people’s lives, I couldn’t help but be saddened by how early he was taken away. I remembered my cousin Krystine, who tragically left us at a much earlier age. I remembered classmates who passed away, Elizabeth and Dan and Deneen. I remembered something my brother said to me, about how he wouldn’t know what to do if I were to pass away suddenly, that echoed this same situation with Kenny and his older brother Don. I remembered Mom’s heart attack in a foreign country eleven years ago and remembered that each day since then with her in my life is a gift not to be squandered: it could easily have turned out much differently. I remembered Dad’s own heart problems; though I was much younger at the time, I remembered that the conclusion is the same.
As the service leader asked those in attendance to stand to recite the Lord’s Prayer, I searched my brain to remember the version that includes “for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever.” (Catholic practice is to include the doxology separately, worded as “for the kingdom, the power, and the glory are Yours, now and forever.”) No matter, though; a significant fraction of the audience didn’t say it. Clearly Catholics.
No, this post isn’t a remembrance of Kenny Fare. I didn’t know him well enough. Though, I knew him enough to be able to laugh in appreciation at the shared recounting of his personableness–his loud and boisterous, but friendly, personality, and to be able to sympathize with the deep loss his family feels right now. As his wife, Judy, said tonight: “it isn’t fair.” But if I understand correctly what he was about–then this is a reminder to never take any of our time together, with loved ones (family and friends), for granted. When the time comes for each of us–and we are all of us mortal–it would be foolish to expect no tears of sadness, but there should be no regret; there must be a celebration of the life that passed. No one wants to remember how someone died, but rather how they lived.
Hopefully we all can remember that.
