It was a touching service, and well attended. Mitch had many friends. There were also honors accorded him by the Air Force, in which he served his country for over 20 years, and the Sherriff‘s Department, where he held several posts over the years since his retirement from the Air Force. His sons, Robert and Steven, shared their feelings in words, with the rest of us, telling of a wonderful father and example of the kind of men they should grow to become.
I was about four years old, when my parents brought Mitch home from the hospital. According to my Mom, I was a bit concerned that things had gotten mixed up, because I'd definitely put in an order for a little sister. To further confound my thinking, I don't remember having ever before seen a baby, unless you count things like TV appearances and nativity scenes, and I was appalled at how much trouble they were. Nonetheless, Mom and Dad said we couldn't get a refund, so we were stuck with him.
For the longest time, I couldn't figure out what to do with him. Oh, he was good for a laugh, when he did something like pulling on the tablecloth, so that all the stuff on the table came tumbling down on top of him, and when he started to actually walk he would have looked like a drunken sailor - except that, at that age, I didn't know what a drunken sailor was. I did find that he was handy as a target for the parent's ire, when I could divert attention from myself by blaming him for whatever happened. It wasn't as bad as it sounds: since he wasn't held to the same standards as his older brother - "who should know better" - he wasn't punished as quickly or as severely for infractions of unfamiliar rules. That tactic, however, met with only limited success, and the down side was that he quickly learned how to use it as well.
As he became more mobile - that is, when he didn't fall down quite so often - he took to following me around. He never bought into the idea that an age difference of four years should make a difference in what we were allowed to do. It wasn't always that he wanted to do what I was doing, but he was often just curious about it. That was inconvenient at times, but mostly it was OK. I actually got to like my little brother - a lot - and for long periods of my life he was my constant, and often only, companion.
We were in constant competition for the resources and attention available from our family, and we both did and said things to and about each other that we later came to regret, but we were brothers, bound by blood. As we grew up and other companions came into our lives, we necessarily grew apart, somewhat. By the time he joined the Air Force, we had little left in common, beyond that bond of blood. That bond was enough, however, that when Mitch was at liberty and alone, he would call - from wherever he was stationed, whether at a training camp, or almost anywhere in the world - usually at midnight or 1:00 AM when I had to work the next day. It was during that time that he developed a special bond with my Honey, because she would chatter at him for as long as he wanted, when I was just too tired to sit and listen to him breathe into the handset.
Time passed, and his assignments took him further away, and more often, and we didn't hear from him as much. When we did see him he'd become every inch a man. He married Mary, and brought her and Robert into the family. Mary gave him Steven as well. Mitch was very proud of his family.
We shared our quota of family sadness when, one by one, each of the grandparents, and then our father, passed from this earth. Mitch couldn't attend many of those funerals, but I know that he wanted to do so.
When I saw him, the first time following the announcement of his cancer, I was shocked, at how closely he resembled my father during the last days of his life. I knew that Mom intended to get out here to see Mitch as soon as possible, but I worried that she might have flashbacks to Dad's final days, because of Mitch's appearance. At that time, he had informed us that he didn't expect to live more than another 6 months.
Now we come to this. As the oldest of my generation, I expected to have made my exit before any of my siblings did. Even though I knew it was coming, having to attend his funeral seemed only to be a surreal possibility. The reality of it came crashing down around us Wednesday, and the agony of our loss continues even now.
How do you sum up the life of a man? He was a beloved son and brother. A dutiful and patriotic soldier. A respected and well-liked law officer. A loving husband and father. A good friend. Can there be any higher or more important accomplishments in a man's lifetime? I don't think so. Now he is receiving his reward for the kind of life that he lived.
Funerals are for the living, intended to let us take away that which we need, and to say farewell to the dear departed. We have to distinguish what we need from what we want. Like everyone, I want a lot of things. One thing I want a lot, is to have my brother back, alive, hale and hardy. I can't have that. What I need is something else again. I need for him to have left us knowing that I love him and will never forget him. I need to believe that I'll see him in heaven, when I make that final journey for myself . I need for those he left behind to take and give comfort and solace in one another, to love one another, to be strong, and to live life as well as they can, until their own time comes.
Like the chorus in the old Rolling Stones song:
"You can't always get what you want. You can try sometimes, but you'll find, you get what you need."God won't always give us what we want. Sometimes it’s not the best thing for us. Sometimes it just doesn't fit his plan. He will give us what we need, and I believe that I have what I need.
Mariner
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