I just returned from San Antonio, TX from the Vigil and the
Funeral Service for Richard Chisenhall. Many of you asked me to keep you in the
loop, and so I am. Both services were lovely. At the Episcopal Church where
Richard's husband attended, they brought the casket in the evening of the Vigil
and it lies in state there until the funeral the following day. They covered
the casket with a beautiful brocade white cloth with what appeared to be a
silver crucifix which was placed on top of the cover. The church was filled
both nights. Probably the most lovely thing I witnessed was during the service. After people had taken communion, they stopped by and embraced Richard's
husband, Keith, and spoke to him. That is one of the priceless things about
human beings. So many lead from their hearts, and their goodness pours out of
them at times like this--and they show up to pay their respects. I sat with
Keith, Richard's husband; Kay, Richard's husband's sister; Tim, Keith's best
friend, and I was there to represent Richard's family. All of you who knew and
loved him were also a part of Richard's family. I used to be amazed at how many funeral home visitations my
Dad went to in a single week's time. But I realized that he was doing that to
honor the life of that person that he had known and loved, and wanted to
"show up" even in death--his presence there a testament to the
affection he had for those who had passed. And in this political charade (2016 Presidential election) that
is transpiring before our very eyes, it was refreshing to see goodness, and
God-like qualities in abundance. It did this soul good to see and experience
that.
I remember years ago--at the last showing of the AIDS quilt
in Washington, DC, an extraordinarily moving exhibition--they had one tent
where people could wait in line to read a list of names of people who had
passed from AIDS. After they read whatever page they happened upon, they could
add a personal remembrance or two. The line that day was exceedingly long to
take the opportunity to read from that book of names. I noticed a 65-75 year
old woman dressed in her Sunday best. She actually looked as though she had
dressed for church that day, and maybe she had. Maybe on this particular
day--in that tent on that holy ground--this would be her "church." She sort of didn't fit in the type of people on line, and how they were
dressed. I had gone around a large section of the quilt, and returned to find
that it was almost her turn to read, so I waited to watch her and to listen to
her. She read her page, and then added something to the effect of "and my
beloved grandson, Timmy." In that moment, the pieces came together, and I
couldn't help but be moved. She was one of the MANY whose children's,
grandchildren's and brother's bodies had been shipped home in caskets in the
80s and early 90s. So many of them had had no idea their sons, grandsons,
siblings were gay, or, if they thought that they might be, no one in the family
had discussed it. And when their precious children's, grandchildren's, and
brother's bodies arrived home, they found themselves bereft. In most cases,
there had been few goodbyes said because the illness had been kept a secret
from the victims' families. Friends had coalesced to take care of those who
were ill--to become surrogate families. But after she mentioned her grandson, I
can imagine this lady read about the Quilt being shown in its entirety for the
last time in a long while, and found out that one of the activities at the
Quilt presentation was the chance to read a page of names of strangers who had
passed from AIDS. I imagine this little grandmother got up quietly on that
Sunday morning, dressed like she would for church, and--without anyone else
knowing, drove to Washington, DC, and--as a testament to her love for her
grandson--had vowed to get in that line full of strangers in an environment
she'd never imagined herself JUST to be able to utter her grandson's name. She
came to "show up" because of her love for her grandson, and she was
perfectly willing to show up for him in a sea full of strangers, but whose
hearts were probably in similar places. I thought her presence there was really
the essence of how glorious humanity can be--that when we have the chance to
show up for another person--for who they are, and all they've meant to us--we
do.
I'm glad Richard's in a place now where his body no longer
fails him. He had asked to be cremated and have his remains spread in a convent
in Idaho--where a beloved friend and priest, Father John's ashes had also been
spread. It was his friendship with Father John that had moved him to convert to
Catholicism. May Richard find eternal rest. He was mightily loved by his
partner of thirty years, Keith.
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