On choices that don't really matter, and those who have passed on.

I like to keep my posts short (The Trip posts not-withstanding), and limited to a single topic. But then I run into times like right now, when I have a good six things I want to write about. I'm going to stick with the one that's most prominent in my mind, because I think it's the most important.

I attended Dr. Rabin's funeral this morning. It was a moving tribute, and in the spirit of the man himself was a short and bitter-sweet graveside service. He was a wonderful man, and it didn't start to sink in that he was really gone until they started lowering the casket into the ground. His younger son, Scott, and his brother gave amazing eulogies. I have nothing but respect for them, because if I had been in either of their positions I couldn't have gotten out more than maybe a dozen words before I just collapsed.

This is the third funeral service I've attended in my life, the first two being for my grandmothers, and I'm sad to say that Dr. Rabin was the closest to me of the three. Please, I mean absolutely nothing negative about my grandmothers - they were both amazing women whom I dearly miss, but they lived in Georgia and I grew up in central PA. I knew them as distant relatives and, while I'm sad for not getting to know them as well as some of my friends know their grandparents, I think they live on in their children - my parents - and so I feel I know them, and their actual passing is sort of a distant concept to me.

Dr. Rabin, on the other hand, is much closer to home. One of my earliest clear and vivid memories was going over to his house, and playing with the new mouse he had just gotten for his computer. I must have been six or sever, and I remember telling my dad how much better my art would be if we had a mouse, and he just kind of laughed, because at the time computer mice were rare and pricey propositions. I also found out today that Dr. Rabin was my dad's oldest friend. At the service today, I learned that when my brother Zach was born, not quite 37 years ago, Dr. Rabin was the first visitor my parents had to greet their new son. I was never close to his two his two sons, but i've always considered scott and daniel among my oldest friends. He was always there for me, to provide guidance, support, and firm direction. I didn't always appreciate it, but I always respected him. I will miss him a lot.

Even prior to his passing, I have been thinking about him a lot. My dad was in the hospital this past spring, and for a brief time I will admit to thinking he wouldn't make it. But the odd thing was, when I pictured my dad's funeral, Dr. Rabin was the stoic presense that such events need. I knew I would be a sobbing mess, barely holding some semblence of it together for my mom, but I always pictured Sandy (Dr. Rabin's wife) there actually taking care of my mom while Dr. Rabin made sure I was ok. Of course, I also have very strong opinions on gender roles (although i'm not sure how, considering I was raised unitarian). I've only cried once in the past 15 years. I didn't cry for either of my grandmothers (btw, both of my grandfathers died before I was born). I just cried for my cat, Tommy. I might've cried for Oedie, too, but that doesn't stand out as much as the unrelenting sobs when we put Tommy to sleep. I get choked up a lot. If i could tear down the walls people tell me i've put up, i'd cry like a hysterical hormonal woman about twice a week. I almost cried during the finale to grey's anatomy last year - first when they put the dog to sleep (it was right after tommy died) and then when danny died. but there were no actual tears - just choking up. it's not some macho-manly "boys don't cry" thing. Well, i take that back - it is a deeply ingrained macho-many "boys don't cry" thing. Like i said, i was raised unitarian, and take that liberalism very seriously. but i also have society-produced ideas of gender roles. which leads to wierd moments like this morning... i was fine up until they started lowering the casket. then i felt tears coming. i was surrounded by sobbing people (a whole other level of wierdness to me - people i've met repeatedly before in the context of happy parties were there today just sobbing uncontrollably or, with some of the men, clearly looking like me - wanting to sob uncontrollably but feeling a need to comfort their women) and i felt the tears coming, and some subconscious bit of my brain said "no! you can do the ritual, you can deal with it, but you won't cry!" and even now, typing this, i feel the tears dryly seeping out through my fingers.
maybe this is where art comes from - bizarre and inexpicable confines unknowingly placed on us by society that force themselves out in different ways.

I don't know, but in Dr. Rabin's memory I will continue my life trying to be as contrary as possible - not to be a jackass, but to make sure they're thinking. Because not thinking would be the greatest sin of all.