—1—
Well, this week we traveled to Minnesota for my dad's funeral. We flew out of an airport we've never used before (because last-minute airfare for 7 people is no joke), and commented on a sign we saw outside saying it had been voted #1 aiport in America by someone.
We had to agree that the airport was nice, with a clean parking garage that was even decorated for Valentine's Day. When we got inside, however, there was an unmistakable light sewage door in the terminal.
On the escalator, I leaned over and whispered to the 9-year-old: "This doesn't smell like the #1 airport in America.''
"Maybe it's #2," he whispered back.
—2—
The flight attendant, smiling and handing our boys their in-flight snacks, gushed "Is this a special vacation?"
"We're... going to Minnesota," the 9-year-old answered uncertainly. I think even he knew this was about to get real awkward, real fast.
"Oh, how nice!" She squealed. "Are you doing anything exciting?"
The 9-year-old thought again and said "We're..." (this is where Phillip and I were watching through our fingers thinking about how uncomfortable this nice lady was about to become) "...going to our grandparents."
"Well, isn't that nice!" she said, and rolled on to the next row. Phillip and I breathed a huge sigh of relief at this unexpected display of social awareness.
Well done, sir. Well done.
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—3—
Once we actually got to Minnesota, it was nice.
Meeting with the funeral director and the pastor gave me something positive to do with dad's death, when previously the other alternatives were to feel sad about it on my own or try to do other life stuff when I couldn't focus on anything.
Even when we weren't doing funeral-related things, it was nice to just chill and watch the Olympics with other people who understood that things were really weird right now, but we're all just doing our best to adjust together.
On Thursday there was a visitation at the funeral home, and even though I was dreading it (being an introvert, three hours of forced socializing with people I don't know very well is not on my bucket list) it turned out to be nice. I actually liked meeting people from different parts of dad's life who I'd heard him talk about but never met.
The memorial service on Friday was hard, especially when other people around me started losing their composure, but it was okay.
—4—
My 21-year-old spent her time at home sketching a picture of my dad for my stepmom, and since she's an artist I'm sure that helped her process her feelings in her own language.
My languages are writing — so putting together my dad's obituary felt therapeutic — and little kids — so when my 5-year-old step-nephew crawled on my lap and fell asleep after the service, it filled me up.
—5—
On the way back to my mom's after the service, I got pulled over. I didn't realize we went through a town on the highway and the speed limit went down, and I blew past a police officer at 65MPH in a 45MPH zone.
To make matters worse, I hadn't brought my wallet with my license. The officer was confused about how we were from out of state if we were driving a vehicle with Minnesota plates, but he listened with suspicion to our explanation that I'd borrowed it from my aunt and uncle to attend a family funeral.
"I'm going to go look up your license," he said, after taking my personal information. "Please get the insurance ready for when I come back."
The only insurance card we could find in the glove compartment expired 6 years ago. This is way too much weird stuff, I thought. At best, I'm getting a fat ticket. At worst, I'm going to be seeing this guy later in court.
Unbelievably, the officer told us, "Well, your license checks out and I've got no reason to believe your aunt and uncle don't have insurance. I never give a warning for going 20 miles over the speed limit, but you guys are from out of town and don't know the roads and from your clothes it looks like you were just at a funeral, so just pay attention on the way home."
And he let us off with a warning. MINNESOTA NICE IS REAL.
—6—
The other thing I have to say about our week here is: thank goodness for kids at a funeral. They were all playing in the foyer after the service and reminding us not to be too sad, because life is still good. A world without kids is just not a place I would want to live at all.
Speaking of kids, I met my stepbrother's wife and kids for the first time. The kids, ages 2, 4, and 6, were the nicest, most mild-mannered kids I've ever seen in my life, probably because their parents were the nicest and most mild-mannered parents I've ever seen in my life.
When we went to a dinner buffet, the 6-year-old was explaining to me that she didn't want to put more food on her plate than she could eat, because she didn't want to waste food. When I told her that she was pretty wise for a 6-year-old, she shrugged and said "My daddy teached me."
My 14-year-old is offended that I keep bringing up how well-behaved they were, but come on. I personally witnessed them break eye contact with a riveting episode of Paw Patrol and voluntarily get up the first time a parent called for them. I've never seen anything like it.
—7—
My stepmom put a ton of effort into collecting pictures and memorabilia to display at the visitation and the service, one of which was my dad's baby book from 1954.
This page made me laugh out loud, because all of the "notable" moments my grandma wrote down were my dad falling out of and off of things. And then, on Aug 8, "Got lost in cornfield" (my dad grew up on a farm.)
I admit to feeling inadequate about my stepbrother's gentle parenting approach and his perfect kids, but this is the stock I'm descended from. And I'm weirdly proud of it.
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