I’m heading to the Grace Cathedral church in a couple hours for a funeral service for the mother of one of a good friend.  I’ve known her mother since I was in junior high and have stayed with her throughout my life, travelling to race my bike.

I have to say I’m not big going to funerals.  I guess I should say I’m not big on going to funerals in the US.  I’ve only been to one service out of the country.

A couple of the guys that were on my original cycling team have been hit by automobiles and killed while riding their bikes.  First Jim May, then just a couple years ago, Cal Melick.  I went to both of their services.  I didn’t like it.  I don’t like seeing my other friends sad.  Who would?

When I was riding for Specialized, I was hanging over in Europe, mainly racing on the road, when I got a call from Kris Burchard, who was in charge of the marketing department of Specialized.  She said that my team mate, Jason McRoy, had been killed while riding his motorcycle.

She asked if I could fly over to England and go to the funeral service with her.  I wasn’t big on it, knowing my dislike of funerals, but I felt an obligation, so I flew there.  It turned out to be a great life experience.

Jason’s dad planned a super service.  Rock music in the church.  Lot of drinking and Jason stories after, at a pub.  It was more what I think a wake would be like.  I haven’t been to a wake. But even though the people were very sad about Jason’s loss, they bonded deeper and celebrated Jason’s life.  It was a very surprising experience for me.

This is different.  I’ve known this family since I was really young.  My friend was my girlfriend in junior high, then high school and into college.  I’ve had a ton of great experiences with her brother and sister.  Really a whole family. There are lots of sad people here.  Including myself.

Anyway, I guess funerals are for a purpose.  Bonding of the living I think is as important as saying goodbye to the dead.  At least that is what I’m going with now.

Jason.

Mt. Oread Cycling Team. Jim is knelling, 2nd from the left. Cal if directly behind him.

I have written heard a lot about chasing life memories.  I think that is what most people are doing.  They might not realize that is their desire or destiny, but that is what I think is going on. And each person has their own memories that is only theirs.

You don’t necessary have control of these memories or then you get them.  They can be monumental things, huge accomplishments, or can be a simple as laying on your back, watching a flock of geese fly over.  They are very personal.

I thought of this yesterday, when my friend Jacob Dickinson, was speaking at his mother’s funeral.  He told a very eloquent story about a memory of being young, on a beach at Puget Sound, in Seattle, with his mother, collecting ocean worn glass.   His story explained the experience of his mother explaining to him how the glass transformed from a sharp, dangerous object to something of beauty.  He said that experience changed his views of object, thus people, throughout his life.  It was a very truthful and touching prose.

I have tons of life memories, as each of us do.  Like I said, many of my life memories I didn’t dictate.  They just came.  At many different times, many unexpected.  I have life memories from the last 3 months, after fracturing my skull.  None that would mean much to someone else, but many that are important to me.

After the funeral yesterday, at Grace Cathedral, I went down to the basement, to a small chapel, where the is a columbarium. My dad’s ashes are there.  I’m not exactly sure why that is.  It isn’t one of my life memories.  But, he is there, at least part of him is.

I haven’t been there for a couple years.  I felt a little sad about that for some reason.  I’m really not of the belief that my dad is there.

I was thinking that if there is the slightest chance, like even 1 out of 1,000,000 chance that someone’s soul stays near where their bodies, or ashes, are, then I need to jailbreak him.  I wouldn’t want to be left there and think it is a very lonely place.  Not where you want to spend “eternity”.

I didn’t break him out, but I did reminisce a bit of my life memories with my father.  It was good and a nice way to transition from a funeral back to something closer to normal life.  I think I just had another life unexpected life memory.  That is how they come.

My dad’s plack.

Inside Grace Cathedral.

My father used to play the organ some.