In a New York funeral state of mind

I've been to funerals in many parts of the country, but nothing is quite like a funeral in the New York metropolitan area. For one thing, the cemeteries always seem to be far from the funeral homes, making for extra-long funeral processions. And where else do you see a hearse with EZPass?

Today I drove 40 miles as part of a funeral procession in New Jersey. As we left the funeral home with our high beams and hazard lights on, motorists honked, cursed, and cut into the procession without apology. When I flashed my "FUNERAL" placard in an attempt to calm people down, I thought I was sending the message "be patient, we are part of a funeral" but the other drivers seemed to be receiving the message "cut me off and it will be your funeral." And they reacted accordingly.

As we drove down the Garden State Parkway, a young woman pulled out from the entrance ramp and I slowed to let her in. She noticed my funeral placard and pulled over to the side of the road to let the procession pass. Must have been from out of state.

The hour-long procession gave me plenty of time to reflect on Jerry's passing and the heart-wrenching speeches delivered by his three sons at the funeral.

A recurring theme as Jerry was eulogized was the emphasis he placed on helping others, as evidenced both by his own actions and by teaching his sons to do the same. Somewhere around exit 142, it dawned on me that this family tradition of helpfulness is how I was introduced to Jerry and two of his sons before I ever actually met them.

Jerry's eldest son Mark and I were asked to help with a mutual friend's wedding. We worked together long-distance and grew to be friends before ever meeting in person. Later, when I was relocating to a new town, I was put in touch with Jerry's middle son, Sandy, who already lived in the town. Sandy and I exchanged email messages and he provided candid and helpful insights that were instrumental when I decided where to live. I chose the right neighborhood for my needs and was grateful to Sandy for taking the time to help a "stranger." Many years passed before I met Sandy face-to-face. And finally, before ever meeting Jerry and his dear wife Bunny, I spent a week in their home while they were out of town. No one who knows them will be surprised that their "open door policy" extended to people they didn't even know.

Another characteristic that was mentioned every time (and I mean every time) someone spoke about Jerry was his sense of humor and his repertoire of jokes. (You know the ones, the jokes that are told by your father or grandfather over and over until you can barely stand it.)

The first time Jerry told me one of his standards, he had barely started to set up the joke when I couldn't help but smile. He smiled back, realizing that I already knew the joke.  We delivered the punchline in unison and both started to laugh, enjoying the shared knowledge. He wasn't angry or disappointed that I "ruined" the joke. Instead, he was tickled that I knew the same jokes from my father and my zeyda (grandfather.) Jerry had an effortless way of connecting with others and putting them at ease, and that trait is readily apparent in his three sons as well.

All of Jerry's virtues that were extolled, all of the values he held dear, have all been passed on to his sons. As I stood at the grave and watched those three heartbroken men shovel dirt onto their father's coffin, I could barely stand the intense sadness permeating every person in attendance. But I knew that while they were burying Jerry's body, they were perpetuating his soul. Jerry's humor and kindness and generosity will surely live on. And we will all be the welcome recipients.