User blog:TurtleShroom/Grandpa's at Rest

The funeral was completed on this day. We had a short service, we played a pre-recorded CD of my sister's pure, beautiful, angelic voice to "Amazing Grace, My Chains are Gone", and then we rode in the procession down to the cemetary, where we said our final dues.

...-but enough about that. I have chosen, in this blog, to document what fun and great experiences we had amidst the times of sorrow that loomed over us all.


 * I got more and longer hugs today than I do even when I embrace my church's elders on Sunday morning.


 * I had an epic conversation with a man that's apparently my cousin and a close-friend of my paternal grandfather. He adores me (and vice-versa) and not only tolerated, but thoroughly enjoyed my endless rants. He, in turn, told me all sorts of things back, and I was able to have a two-way conversation that I normally have trouble orchestrating. We had a blast!


 * I was closer to my family than ever before, and we were all together there, united, and sharing our love of Charles Kenneth Jones.


 * I looked so darn sexy in my special suit (as did the rest of the men in my family), which I got to wear most of the day.

Oh, and have I got a good story to tell. We all had a ball in the procession. For the first time we were at the funeral, we all smiled, laughed, and talked as we would on a good day. It was a good break and truly lifted everyone's spirits, and it's something I simply MUST repeat to you, my friends.

Okay. So, my paternal grandfather's (bless him) casket was loaded onto the hearse. My uncle (mother's brother), my surviving maternal grandfather, and my maternal grandmother loaded into a minivan to begin the procession. We were given a police escourt with two cops on these sweet scooter-motorcycle combos. From the hearse, we were two or three cars back.

Custom demands that, on a two-way road of any kind, travellers in the opposite direction are supposed to stop until a procession passes. Most people didn't have a problem with that, so we got to snicker a bit at imagining how they were going to be tardy to their precious appointments. Some didn't, and they literally got a fist full of cop as they stuck their arms out at the cars, getting into their lane to force them to pay their respects to the dead. It was hilarious, it truly was, and I was happy for the first time all day.

Meanwhile, my late grandfather and the rest of us in the procession got to RUN REDLIGHTS (seriously) and make normally illegal lane changes as the cops led us going forty (in a seventy zone) on the I-75 interstate highway, which is also normally not allowed, but hearses are slow.

As if my paternal grandfather's witty sense of humor was influencing the highway, there were a few city-slickers that thought they could go just far enough to cut the hearse off in front on the far-left sector of the interstate. Normally, that's the "fast lane", where cars are permitted to go at the absolite maximum speed limit. This was the same area that our procession was putting along on, and the guy and his pickup truck were a little ticked at being held like that.

So, this guy in a white truck thinks he can get the best of the funeral directors and of us, so he speeds up a bit and starts his way from the far right of the highway to the left, hoping to get right out in front of the hearse. He didn't seem to have much respect for the fact that a dead man was in there.

This is when it gets funny. The truck man starts to do it, when we suddenly hear the roar of the policeman's motorcycle. He zooms up to the front- the second one still guiding the hearse -and rushes into the edge of the pickup's lane, his arm extended. The truck driver gets the message and abandons his efforts.... for only a minute.

Soon, as the officer veers away a bit, there came Mister Truck again. He had the guts to do it AGAIN, and the cop was ready. He drives right up to the guy as he tries to begin left, but he has to stop before he hits the policeman's motocycle. To make sure this doesn't happen again, this cop speeds up slightly and cuts in front of the pickup driver.

For most of the procession's duration, that cop was busy swerving left and right across two to four lanes, endlessly, in an S-like pattern that was hypnotic to view. He went back and forth, back and forth, deftly and with haste, preventing anyone from passing or changing lanes. It was awesome to watch, and quite funny, too.

Then, something that beat all happened to further enhance this. We were already smiling and merrily engaged in banter on the cop's swerving, and we kept pointing at someone who tried to sneak by, only to be stopped by that same policeman. Every one of us could tell that the officer was enjoying doing this as much as we were, as my maternal grandfather commented that police don't have to enforce the respecftful-stopping custom as much on the highway... even though this particular officer was nailing it and making all of our days.

Get this: some guy in a marked, plain white van, probably a plumber judging by his weight (and he was HUGE), decides to trick the policemen by trying to pass the hearse early. He pulls into the lane directly next to ours and accelerates, with his end goal right ahead, seeking to make a direct cut where no one else could.

He's all focused on the road, busy concocting his scheme, and begins to make his move. That is when we were all stunned to see that same cop, who had by now allowed the previous troublemakers to depart on the exit, make his move.

In a burst of speed, he darts in the tiny space- no thicker than his motorcycle and a half -between our minivan and the plumber! He literally knocks on the van, and as he approached the open driver's window, he shakes his fist at the plumber and outstretches his arm, forcing the now wide-eyed jerk to the far right lanes, where he remained even when we were almost to the cemetary! Everyone in our van burst into chortling at the clever move by the cop. If only I recorded it, it was a laugh riot! We laughed and kept on at it the rest of the ride. It can't be said any other way except in that the plumber got OWNED! OWNED! PWNED! DECIMATED! It was so awesome, and mere text can't explain how awesome and how funny it was. The guy even glared at us, much to our glee!


 * I was able to embrace and comfort my grieving paternal grandmother and ease my father's sadness.


 * I had the honor of helping carry my paternal grandfather's casket to the hearse and to the grave site.

Now, for the end. The cemetary (which was right next to Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, you could literally hear the planes) and the service went wonderfully. Even the roaring airplanes' noise was not present at just the right moments as we proceeded with the funeral. There was a stiff breeze and the humidity was little to none. It was the absolute perfect day for what we came out to do, and it went FLAWLESSLY.

I was chosen to place my pallbearer flower on my paternal grandfather's casket. I placed it near the head and, though I was Mumblinb because of sadness, I managed to say "it's a nose". This cheered up the crowd (because my grandfather had quite the schnoz) and was a fitting end.

The best thing for me, though, in addition to the honors I was given, and the time I spent with my loved ones and my closest of kin, was what my parents told me.

I have always longed for them to do it, and they did, but only if I asked their opinion. Both my mother and my father approached me and told me, without invocation or request, how proud they were of me, and how well I behaved. Nothing could have been better for my spirits than that... -and then the funeral director came to me. He held out what seemed to be a crank of sorts, gleaming in the sunlight and (as I later learned) was made of bronze that shined like chrome or silver. Telling me to take it, the Director explained its purpose and the immense honor to have it. I was truly honored to accept it.

In a way, I had fun at the funeral. I was with family, I participated, and I gave comfort to those in need. I cried a bit, but not too much (having done so around when I wrote the first Grandpa-related post and other times as he was ailing), and I was given both the gift of the Crank and an even better one: my parents told me they were so proud of me.

I restored the hope, in them and myself, that I can overcome the trials of fierce argumenting with my authority figures. I had taken my night medicine at dawn, which usually causes horrible problems, and yet, I behaved better there than at any time in months.

The passing of Grandpa will hit us for months to come. We will no longer see him whooping our butts at a card game, nor shall we enjoy his jokes, his trash-talk, or his company. Never again shall we eat a Thanksgiving feast with him, Christmas will be devoid of his brand of joy, and the seat at the head of the table in card games has been forever vacated. The card games of Uno, Stratego, and Oh Heck will never be the same without him, as the absence of the family's greatest card shark will enable those who survived him to actually win for once ( :P ). Nose jokes will be shifted entirely on me, as I bare a nose as big as his.

Charles Kenneth Jones leaves a wife of forty eight years, two grandchildren, and the rest of our family here in this mortal plane. Now enjoying the Beatific Vision, (religion alert/Lawd Moment) I know he in a better place, seeing God and Jesus Christ of Nazareth, who he will be with for all eternity.

Now, there is no better way to wrap it up than this simple message.



With that, I end my CPFW-period of mourning.

Good night.

 -- † TurtleShroom™! Jesus Loves You and Died for You!! †    :)  :)  May Charles Kenneth Jones rest in peace.      †        †       Currently in mourning. For those who believe in such things, please pray for me.   02:16, September 29, 2010 (UTC)  