The Parting Glass

It has probably been a very long time since St. Peters last saw that many people on its wooden benches and in its cold alleys. It couldn’t welcome one more living soul. The priest looks both concerned and overwhelmed. Despite the pouring rain, people are stacking up on the stairs outside. Their umbrellas, the only thing you can see from inside, provide a really nice change of color from what everybody is wearing. Black suits here, black dresses there, which complete a myriad of black blazers and shirts. I wonder who has decided that you’re supposed, and very much prompted to, wear black at funerals. I guess human beings truly enjoy rubbing salt in their wounds. Seriously, grey is the ballsiest color among the audience, except for Julia, who looks stunning in her blue navy dress, the kids, and myself. Ciara is wearing the yellow dress we gave her on her 14th birthday, for the first time, and without making a scene. I still don’t get why she hates dresses so much; it suits her perfectly. She definitely takes after her mother’s looks. Connor looks like a very, and I do insist on that word, improved version of myself at the same age; I must confess I do see my melancholic and mischievous green eyes when I see him in his purple suit. I love these little redheads so much. I, for one, am wearing my favorite outfit, a white shirt with a huge pink and blue cow drawn on the right side, a pair of white linen pants and, of course, my blue boots. As a family, we have never cared much for what people think about us, and we are not starting today.

 Julia has always hated these boots. I bought them on one of our first trips together. We had been dating for a few months, and I was under the impression that I would score points by buying something only a few men would dare to wear. I will never forget her laughter when I got out of the store wearing them, as proud as the 26 years old moron I was then could be. I felt so humiliated and wounded in my pride that I took the boots off and threw them in the middle of the road. Much to my surprise, even thinking about it now, she didn’t leave, choosing instead to hurry to the road, barely avoiding being ran over by an SUV, to pick them up, and to bring them back to me, laughing even harder at my bare feet on the bitumen. She confessed to me a few years later that it was at that moment she knew we were in this for the long haul. Over the years, she made a habit of always laughing at my weird outfits. In the sake of honesty, I must confess this is the only worthy reason I can see for purchasing most of them. Today, she didn’t laugh. God, I love my wife's laughter so much. Shit, should you actually think of God in these terms in a church? Fuck, you shouldn’t say shit either, even in thoughts. Sorry, old man, talking without swearing has never been my forte. Besides, I’m still not a hundred per cent sure whether or not I believe in you, so, just in case, let this one slide ok? And I promise I’ll make an effort for the next hour or so.

Seeing all these faces, some familiar, some unknown, gathered in the same place, is impressive. Funerals, even more than weddings, are the only milestone in one’s life, so to speak, when everybody gathers, no questions asked. There are people here Julia and I haven’t seen in years, and I can’t help but wonder why. This makes me sad for a minute, and I can feel that I am not the only one here feeling this way. Thinking about it, I can see how, with a little effort, we could have made something happen earlier, for someone’s birthday, for a birth, an anniversary… Suddenly, the priest gets to the stand, or whatever the hell that thing is called - fuck, I did it again – and the church instantly gets silent. 

I wonder if he has bad breath; priests often do, because of “a poor oral hygiene and a lack of desire to seduce”, as Julia once explained to me. I don’t know where she got that, but when Julia says something, I choose to believe her. Not sur if I believe in God, but I sure as hell believe in my wife. And the last 25 years have proved me right. The priest makes sure his mic is working by tapping on it, which drives me crazy: stomping on it would have the same effect. We get the confirmation it is working just fine when he loudly coughs into it:

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to honor the life and memory of a great man, a husband, a father, a friend, and a talented musician who God has decided to call back to him. Your presence here, in force, attests that, despite being an only child, Keith found many brothers and sisters during his time on earth. We can find comfort in knowing he is now reunited, at last, with his parents, Desmond and Maureen, also gone too soon, in God’s household. Keith had clearly specified what he wanted for his ceremony: to be remembered by his loved ones, to listen to some nice music, and that no tears should be shed. We shall respect his last will. Please join me in praying the Lord to welcome his son Keith O’Leary into his household.”

Nice and short. We’re off to a good start. Solemn moments have always made me uncomfortable. I can’t help but stare at Julia and the kids. Julia and Ciara are praying, their heads down and their hands joined. Connor is watching over them; I guess the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. The priest starts to cough into his mic again.

“Pete, would you like to come and share what you've written to honor Keith?” Pete, looking wearier than ever, gets up from his bench and walks towards the altar, at a pace that would make a turtle jealous. I hate solemn moments. With a shaky voice, he begins to read the crumpled piece of paper he holds in his hands:

“I know you didn’t want us to wear black bud’, but standing in front of my closet this morning, I didn’t know what else to wear. Don’t worry though, in a moment of clarity, I managed to put on red socks.”

As he indeed proudly shows his bright-red socks to a somewhat startled audience, my wife’s laughter makes itself heard, then followed by others. Well done, Pete. You never disappoint.

“Indeed, I didn’t want to let you down twice today. I spent the last couple days trying to write something consistent, but none of my words seemed to be enough. As a fucking songwriter - sorry Father - you’d think I would have eventually come up with something decent, but it was too soon, too hard…” I can hear his voice trembling more and more with every word. “I won’t cry. Just know, wherever you are bud’, that we will take care of your family, of our family. I swear to you that they will never be alone or in need of anything.” He clears his throat and tries to put on a smile, which is looking more like the Joker's creepy grin. “Your life was always about music, so I figured who better than Freddy Mercury could express what we are feeling right now. You pulled a hell of a fight bud' – sorry, Father – you're allowed to rest now, though you're probably already jamming with Morrison, Joplin, and Hendrix; I know you will always have our back. We already miss you bud’.” As Pete is regaining his seat, being very close to break his “no tear” promise, the first notes of No One But You start resounding in the church. I wonder if anybody has ever rocked some Queen in here before Pete decided to. I secretly hope not. Holy shit, I had forgotten how much I love this song. Before the second chorus, the holy silence in the audience breaks when people start sniffing, asking for tissues, and blowing their noses. And who can blame them? Still staring at my wife and kids, stoic, I see that Ciara is silently uttering every word to the song. Good girl, she has been taught well. A complete silence returns as soon as the song fades out. The priest then proceeds to do what I assume to be a bunch of Catholic rituals, sings two songs, both of them entirely out of key. I wish they would teach them about music at priest school, or whatever the hell it’s called, because having to endure that is truly the final straw on a day that wasn’t particularly enjoyable to begin with. 

I can see that Connor is starting to fidget on his bench; he has never been known for being the most patient little guy, another common trait of ours. We used to blackmail him with candy so that he would stay put, which was not our proudest moment as parents, but it most certainly saved us on many occasions. We decided to stop when he started losing his baby teeth last year. Julia soon notices the fidgeting, although she is still looking at the altar; I watch her as she reaches for her purse, pulls out a pack of Sour Skittles, and puts a few in his tiny hand. How can she always be so prepared for everything? Our beacon in the storm. This woman is changing the world, and I'm not sure she even knows it. I hope she at least knows how much she changed mine.

The priest is finally done with what can only be known as the slaughter of several musical cultures; he asks Graham to come. Some familiar notes come to my ears, drawing a smile on my wife's face; my eyes won't leave her for a second now.

" When Keith told me he had one last favor to ask, never in a million years, would have I guessed this to be it. No one can deny this guy's talent for surprises, even in such circumstances. When Keith, Pete and I founded GIK Records together, I soon found out I had just gone into business with the textbook definition of a control freak. I had already discovered the musical genius you're hearing now. Let me now honor my best pal's favor, by reading his words to you."

Graham needs a moment to piece it together, Julia and the kids are now hanging to his every word. They're going to feel guilty for crying. I want to tell them that it's okay, that this no tear rule was complete bullshit to begin with, that they can do anything they want, they can burst into tears, into song for all i care, if it only takes some of their pain away. And it fucking kills me that I can't, well, I guess it doesn't kill me, but still. 

"I know some of you might be surprised that I've chosen one of my own tunes for this, but as my Dad used to say, "you are your own best advocate". Jules, my little redheads, our family is the best symphony ever written. I leave you feeling like the luckiest guy to have ever set foot on earth. My only regret is the moments I won't share with you. Well, not directly anyway I guess. Otherwise, what needed to be said already was in more private circumstances, from how to cancel the cable subscription to how much you gave meaning to all my days and nights. Graham, Pete, my brothers in arms, in melodies and in Gin, our friendship and work together were my second best accomplishment, and I know you'll keep being the brilliant successful morons you were always meant to be. To all my friends, thank you for the unconditional support you brought and keep bringing to our family, the laughters and tears we shared, I'm taking with me. Last but not least, to the people I don't know, fellow music lovers, who felt at some point touched by my music, be sure that I always tried to pour my heart and soul into it, and that I'm forever grateful for you to have enabled me to make a living out of my passion beyond passion. As I'm taking my final bow, let me remind you that Adieu is in no way a definite goodbye. It means "To God", it's our next meeting location. But take your time, I'm in no rush at all".

The music ends. Perfect timing. Graham succeeded where I wouldn't have: he kept his no tear promise. Julia is now hugging the hell out of the kids, tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. I'm now certain they know I'm not far, and I won't ever be.

"Keith didn't keep a lot from his Irish heritage, but he always told me this song would be his closing number. Julia, Pete, shall we?"

My better half pulls out a bottle of Hendrick's Gin and four shooters out of her bag, and meets the boys around the casket. She gently pours Gin in the glasses, like she's performing some kind of instituted ritual, they each take one, leaving mine in front of this picture that I don't really like, and finally cheer. I've always preferred the sound of glasses tinkling to the sound of sobs. As the voices of the High Kings now resonate in the church, a sudden sense of calm and warmth overwhelms me. I can feel that it’s time to take my next journey, even though I’m still uncertain of the destination. I glance one last time at my family,  knowing deep down they're gonna be okay, as I enter the light.

Of all the money that e'er I had

I've spent it in good company

And all the harm that e'er I've done

Alas it was to none but me

And all I've done for want of wit

To memory now I can't recall

So fill to me the parting glass

Good night and joy be with you all

Of all the comrades that e'er I had

They are sorry for my going away

And all the sweethearts that e'er I had

They would wish me one more day to stay

But since it falls unto my lot

That I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and I'll softly call

Good night and joy be with you all