She's a widow now. Sitting in the pew in front of me, her hands are visibly shaking. For the most part the room is empty. The doors are still closed, but her mother and and a few friends surround her.
She's wearing black canvas shoes, a tee-shirt over the long sleeves. Not crying, just shaking. Then she's up, pacing, more people trying to be useful. Her mother, red hair and attempted restraint, keeps talking about the inadequate amounts of water.
The MC intercedes, separates the family from the friends. I stay put. She moves.
There will be more, a man who might well have been his best friend will be very eloquent. He was quite the story-teller earlier. It's not just for show though. Jack was one of the good guys.
Her shaking up front, and just the few sentences. They loved each other. He made her a better person. Dense/meaning/intimacy. They were well past the stage when one mind emulates the other internally, the other is present even when absent. She must still feel him, be surprised every half second by the repeated epiphany of his absence.
One of our first meetings she and he told a story - before he was successful with his guitar he worked in a friend's coffee shop. Man in a suit wants coffee, hazelnut cream, and sweet. So he gets a black coffee. "Hey," he says, "can you put some cream and sugar in it?"
"Cream and sugar are on the table in that corner, it's self-serve," Jack tells him.
"Can you do it for me anyway?"
"Look," he tells the suit, "there's a guy who comes in here on Thursday. Every Thursday morning, he wants a cup with cream, sugar, and a bagel. He only has one hand though. So you know what he does? He takes his bagel, and he walks it over to that table and puts butter on it, one handed. Then he walks his bagel to his chair. Then he comes back, gets his coffee, and walks that to the table. He mixes his cream, his sugar, and then walks that to his chair too. All with just the one hand. You've got two perfectly good hands. Get your own cream and sugar."
So he loses that job. She finished the story for him: "I think it was next Friday, his friend told him: Look - Jack. I'm sorry, but I have to let you go. You're a great guy, and to be honest I think you were right about that guy. But here's the thing. I have to run this coffee shop. So look, I'll help out however I can. Just... don't go into customer service, okay? You really just can't be in customer service."
Later I will share this story with my boss and a couple of co-workers, and we will all be amused and impressed.
...
I'm not one for the crowd. I don't do tears, though there are waves of them as people listen to the stories and consider who is actually gone. Apparently I am moved though, because I for a moment I imagine seeing someone who is not there, and this is disturbing. More than a few claim to imagine seeing him when they his similarly bearded friends. Screw it, humans are weak and this day isn't about me.
...
There was another story from our encounters that stuck with me.
The two of them were stopped by police over a traffic violation. Police aren't pleased with her driving, and they're on the side of the road. Separated for questioning. Jack is yelling at them. Just about gets himself in a fight with three police. Just about gets a night in jail, but she calms him down apparently. She and I and D will be laughing about this before the funeral. "Not very strategic. But he sure loved you."
...
Could have been worse. Laurie could have gone first. She, at least, will probably pull through.