I bring Kleenexes to class on this day. I open
the box and set it on the small stage in Wells Theatre where I teach all my
classes. I drag the podium to the middle, and wait for the arrival of the
students. Overall, when the day is over, 88 students will grace this stage.
Eighty-eight students will stand before me and give a short speech. Not much.
Two minutes, maybe three. Three minutes of a small bit of laughter or three
minutes of tears. Today we give eulogies.
I keep eulogies in my speech curriculum because
we all will give them, if we have not already. During the lecture time on
eulogies, my classes are quiet. Some have already given them; others have not. Most
have not given it much thought. Why would they? They are nineteen years old!
My first eulogy was for my grandmother. It was a
great honor to tell her stories. I remember my Uncle Dean sitting in the front
row in his black suit with a red silk handkerchief in the top pocket. Before I
spoke, he said to me, “If I pull the red silk out of my pocket that means I
would like to speak so please invite me up to the podium. If not, just go ahead
and sit down.” As I spoke, I watched him carefully, and then the red silk
appeared, and I could introduce him.
The next eulogy was for my dad. My mom insisted I
do it for him, and I wanted to, but it was very difficult. I ended that eulogy
by singing “Edelweiss” which was our favorite song. The song is what brought on
the tears of love.
I encourage my students to eulogize anything from
alarm clocks to grandparents and so on. I laughingly tell them one of my
favorite eulogies was when Sam Miller gave mine a few years ago. I give them
examples and the protocol, and I tell them to dress the part. The rest is up to them. They show up in all
manners of clothing for the appropriate location for their eulogy: backyards,
boats, mountaintops, churches, theatres, Ancient Greece, back alleys of New
York.
One by one, they take the stage. Burying the
family dog is a popular subject on this day. These are serious and one young man
leaves the podium crying while we sit in silence waiting for him to return. The
eulogy of Frosty the snowman leaves us all in smiles. However, there are so
many others: parents, grandparents, sleep, bank accounts, Justin Bieber (yes,
really), Robin Williams. These students of mine are respectful of each one of
their peers. They clap, they cry, they sit silent. They are forgiving.
After a full day of these speeches, I pack up my
backpack and my Kleenexes and bike home on this beautiful late September day.
Eulogies spin in my head. At this moment in my life eulogies are stronger than
ever before. I know more are coming, and they seem to be accelerated.
I park in my yard and look around. My kayak is
waiting by the fence…I guess I could eulogize summer thinking about that. Where
did it go? Where did my youth go? My children’s youth? Now the grandchildren.
As I sit on the bench in my backyard, I think of the speech of one young man.
His story was of his grandmother, and how her death changed the family gatherings.
He was eulogizing both the loss of her and of the family.
I sit here thinking about something that always
nags in my own head. Where do those stories go when someone dies or when a
relationship breaks down, and everything changes.
Everything.
I must find a poem so I head on in to my studio,
turn on the lights, and find the book I am looking for easily. But first, I
must ceremoniously build a late night campfire before I read the words of
wisdom. One match strike and the fire burns. The embers toss into the dark air
as regally as tossing jewels into the night sky. I open up my book of poems by
Gerard Manley Hopkins. I easily find the one I am looking for because the page
actually falls out. “Spring and Fall to a young child…Margaret, are you
grieving over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves like the things of man…”
I finish reading the poem to myself.
I close the book, and let the lost stories fall
into my dreams.
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