“I Miss My Friend”, Sunshine, and Train Whistles

A year ago, I was preparing to say “Goodbye” to the love of my life.  I was steeling myself for what was surely going to be a difficult day as we held his service.  It wasn’t supposed to be this way.  

I wasn’t supposed to be widowed at fifty.  Abby wasn’t supposed to be an orphan.  We weren’t supposed to do everything we’ve done this past year without Grubby.  But I digress.  It is this way, simply because it is.  Some things are the way they are just because, and this is one of those things. 

There is so little I remember about that first Thursday in March last year.  I remember trying on pants until I found a pair that fit right.  Yes, I wore pants to my husband’s memorial service.  I am sure there were those who sat in silent judgement over my choice of attire, but I don’t care. 

I remember putting his Corporal rank on my jacket lapel, and I really did not care what anyone thought of that.  I would never have worn his rank when he was alive, and I never did.  Even when I got pulled over by one of Pittsylvania County’s finest several years ago for speeding in my Fiat, I didn’t use him or his rank to get me out of the ticket that was surely coming.  Fortunately for me, the deputy that pulled me over was a rookie and recognized me.  Although I told him to write the ticket, he said, “Oh no, Mrs. Grubbs, I could never write a supervisor’s wife a ticket!”  I even offered to teach him how!  Again, I digress though.

I remember the line of patrol cars escorting us as we proceeded from our home to the Carrington Pavilion, the only place big enough to hold a service for such a big personality.  I remember passing a local fire department and seeing two of their apparatus fall in behind us.  I remember that each intersection that was blocked, our procession grew longer as the emergency vehicles that were blocking the intersection fell in once we were through.  I remember feeling that this was all so surreal as I rode in my brother’s car, that this wasn’t supposed to be this way.

I remember arriving at the pavilion and seeing my husband’s best friend all gussied up in his dress uniform come to walk Abby and me down to the front row, through the lines of deputies.  I remember them saluting me, and me saying to Matt, “Do you know how hard it is for me not to salute them back?”  I vaguely remember hearing “Amazing Grace.” 

I remember being seated front and center on my rent-a-casket.  Although I knew Grubby wasn’t in there, it was still another reality check, as if I needed more. 

I remember the Sheriff speaking a few words.  I remember the music, all chosen because it was personal to us.  I did not choose traditional music, and I am sure there were some who weren’t happy with that, but I did not care. 

I remember the clear sky overhead.  It seemed unfair that it should be such a beautiful day, but I guess Grubby needed to give me some warmth and sunshine. 

I remember the train whistle as it blew while the Sheriff was telling everyone in the Pavilion that Grubby – my husband, the man who had never done a load of laundry to my knowledge – had attended laundry school in the Navy!  That whistle was surely Grubby, up to his old tricks again. 

I remember, “I miss my friend.”  Everyone in that crowd that day was thinking it, and one voiced it.  It was perfect. 

I remember the “Last Call,” voiced by a friend who had worked with Grubby, and who had taught me in the academy when I went through Basic Dispatcher School. 

I remember the Captain’s face as he handed me the folded flag. 

I remember the Captain’s face with tears streaming down it as the “Last Call” was read – the Captain my husband thought hated him.

I remember there were a lot of people who stopped to pay their respects to me as they filed out of the Pavilion that day, but I really had to pee, so I don’t remember who they all were.  I met some new people and saw some old friends, but mostly it remains a blur. 

I remember seeing Cinnamon, Grubby’s patrol car, all dressed up with flag and roses, clean and shiny in the sun.  I remember standing at the driver’s side window as I did so many times before, this time asking him to keep me safe, to help me get through this. 

I remember the love.  There was so much love for a life lived so fully, so honorably, and taken too soon.  I wonder if Grubby felt it.  I can only hope that he did.  I only wish they’d shown it more when he was alive. 

I didn’t do this by the book.  I didn’t do it in a church because that wasn’t who we were.  I didn’t have a lot of good, old-time preaching because I wanted this to be about my husband.  I know there were those who were disappointed, and maybe even angry, that I didn’t do things their way, that I chose to cremate rather than put him in a box in the ground (now, he gets to be in a box on my bedside table!).  I know there were those who were disappointed in the music I chose.  I didn’t care.  I still don’t care.  The only thing I cared about was that I honored my husband the best way I knew how, and I believe that we did that. 

I’ve never thanked the Sheriff’s Office for all that they did to make that day possible.  I haven’t thanked them for the love they showed to Grubby.  I haven’t written one Thank You note to anyone.  I don’t know how.  Just know that someday, I will.  Until then, thank you. 

Reading over this, there is actually a lot that I do remember.  I didn’t realize just how much until I sat down to write this.  Most of all though, I remember, “I miss my friend.”