The Last Picture Show

I start having to do something at the chapel that I wasn't really expecting I'd have to do.

I have to talk with complete strangers.

Those of you that know me probably won't believe this but I am an introvert. Anybody that thinks I'm an extrovert...sorry...you fell for the act.

And I have lots of strangers talking to me now.

Probably a dozen union guys come up and say the same thing. "Best funeral ever. Sorry your dad died. He was a good guy."

It's just another dozen awkward moments for me. It makes me laugh that so many people said it was the best funeral ever. As if this one was better than any other funeral. Or that another funeral sucked more than my dad's.

There's no such thing as the best funeral ever. They all suck.

Another set of strangers approach me. It looks like a husband and wife, both in their 50's. He's in a dark suit and kind of looks like a tv sports guy. She's wearing a white suit and BIG sunglasses. She's been crying and her lips are quivering.

"VW, you don't know us. We are the Urribees."

I've heard that name before. Where did I hear it? I should know these people, shouldn't I?

Like a Jeopardy player that comes up with the correct question before time runs out, I realize who the Uribee's are.

The day before my dad died, he had acted as a representative for my grandmother at the funeral of their 28-year-old son.

Mr. Urribees speaks while Mrs. Urribees tries to hold it together.

"We were so thankful that your father came to our son's funeral last week and when we heard that he had died the next day, we wanted to meet you boys and pay our respects."

It's then that I realize that no matter how bad this week has been, there is always someone in worse shape than you.

The loss of a parent is brutal enough. I thought I could imagine what that pain might be like and I was wrong. It was worse than anything I could imagine.

The loss of a child. I won't even kid myself to think what that could possibly be like. It probably feels as though someone has ripped out your soul.

I can't believe that the Urribees are here.

And then I do something I never thought I'd do today. I comfort someone about their own loss. I give Mrs. Urribees a hug and thank her for thinking about us.

Mr. Urribees hands me a large Manila envelope.

"VW, there were a lot of cameras at our services. One of our friends happened to take this."

I open up the envelope. It's a picture of my dad in his black Hawaiian shirt.

"We thought you boys would probably want this. I'm guessing it was the last picture ever taken of your dad."

I hadn't planned on this happening today but it looks like I really did see my dad one last time.

VW