Another Week: Number 67

This week was a six-day tunnel that opened into sunshine and pulsing on Saturday afternoon for Amy’s memorial gathering.

For several weeks now, I have been sorting through digital photos, scanning photo prints, assembling music playlists, choosing images to echo lyrics, timing transitions to the music’s beat, and getting moved to tears several times an hour.

In between, I also eat and whatnot.

Sunday was Easter, so I ate some of the ham from the Easter CARE Package my sister Karen assembled for me. I nuked it on a bun with cheese and mustard.

Tuesday was Election Day. I was voter number three at 7:10 a.m. and wondered how signing with my finger on a little screen could possibly be useful to election officials. Are they going to crosscheck my digital smudge against whatever pen-on-paper signature they have on file? It will not be a match.

Wednesday I got my hair cut by Jackie at Magic Scissors Beauty Studio. Jackie loved Amy and would be attending the memorial, so instead of talking about that, I babbled about Elvis’s visit to Nixon and Mark Knopfler’s charity single.

Finally, around 10:30 on Thursday morning, I completed my slide show. It contains 608 photos spanning 14 songs over 60 minutes. (The original goal was three hours, but that would have been madness.) Thursday evening, I screened my creation for Karen, my mom, and my sister Maria and her husband Wayne, in from Columbus, Ohio for the memorial.

On Friday, I got three window screens re-screened at Kortendick Ace Hardware. The whole experience was like a can-do hardware store customer service dream, and I thought about my late father, who was Ace Hardware’s merchandiser of the year back in the day.

Suddenly, it was Saturday. I drove to Kenosha and met Karen at Church & Market at 10 a.m. Wayne came along to help her. We set up a nametag station, and a guest book. They sliced a cake she brought from Costco, and some plates of Crumbl cookies and kringle. I plugged my nifty media player into the restaurant’s video port and verified that my slide show did play on the room’s five overhead screens.

Then I sat alone for an hour while Karen and Wayne left to fetch my mom. Streetcars passed in the sunshine outside. Andy and his Church & Market staff set up the tables and warmers for the buffet we’d be having — veggie skewers, steak skewers, Cajun pasta, bruschetta, pretzels, chicken wings, pulled-pork sliders, salad, etc.

My brother-in-law Kevin showed up around noon, exactly as planned. He brought a microphone and an excellent little amp he uses as a local musician. My sister and my niece were with him.

Pretty soon, some of Amy’s sisters arrived, and then some more, and some cousins, and some friends — and sure enough, it was one o’clock and the room started filling up. I put on a half hour of music without images and started greeting people.

I had been seeing these people in photos for the past few weeks, and now here they were in person, expressing their condolences. I thanked them, hugged them, and marveled, spending maybe 30 seconds with each — far too brief, but what can you do?

At around 1:30, I started the slide show, and by now the place was fairly rocking. I could make out the music, but voices were buzzing over it and people were laughing, pointing at the screens, asking about this photo or that one.

Oh, that one? That was in Paris.

The food seemed to be a hit. The room was a bit crowded and slightly warm. It was perfect. Amy would have loved it.

Then, around 2:30, the slides were finished and my sister Karen walked to the microphone in front of the windows. People gathered in and closed the doors to shut out the bar noise in the next room.

Karen talked about how she met Amy in junior high and soon brought her home, where I met Amy. Our friend Kelly spoke. Amy’s cousins Bonnie and Betty Jo spoke. Our friend Wendy spoke. Our friend Ellen shared some verse. Three of Amy’s friends from her Circle of Hope breast cancer support group spoke.

Then Brian Dean came to the microphone. Brian’s mom Chris is another survivor, and over the years, Amy attended many of Brian’s high school musical performances and Carthage College recitals. Chris had mentioned that Brian wanted to honor Amy with a song, but that’s all I knew ahead of time.

Brian told everyone how he could always hear Amy’s enthusiastic, two-fingered whistle whenever she attended his shows. Then he launched into a beautiful and moving a cappella rendition of Israel Kamakawiwoʻole’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”/“What a Wonderful World” medley.

People smiled, people cried, and people told me later how they had chills. I did not get a chance to talk with Brian at all, so I don’t know whether he understood how much Amy loved Hawaii, but he made a perfect choice and gave a flawless performance.

I said a few things and thanked people for coming, then put some more of Amy’s favorite tunes on the sound system.

Pretty soon it was past four. People left, the staff started cleaning up, and eventually, I drove home alone, changed into sweats, and fell asleep on the couch when I attempted to watch basketball.

Later Saturday night, I woke up and realized that I had not taken a single photo of any of it.

I walked zero miles this week.