My Uncle Carl passed away a couple of weeks ago - he was a rocket scientist. We in his family really didn't know a lot about his life in the last couple of decades because he was a quiet humble man and lived a bit more secluded than the rest of us. He worked for NASA at the Kennedy Space Center in Titusville, Florida, and he loved it. He worked on the space shuttle project for many years and was also very good at what he did, winning several awards and patents that we didn't know much about. Like I said, he was humble and didn't call to tell us about these, except for one - the Silver Snoopy award. This picture is him at his award ceremony when he won this award, and it was a very prestigious award, only given to maybe one person a year working for NASA. This one he was proud of.
Yesterday, Andy and I flew to Florida for his small, casual memorial. We took the red-eye from California so were both a bit bedraggled when we went straight from the airport to the church, stopping only at the rental car place to pick up the car and change. We looked none the worse for the wear, though, and when we arrived we were met by family members we hadn't seen for a long time.
The memorial was beautiful and, as you probably know from other recent writings, I love a good funeral. The spirit was strong in the room as family members remembered Carl and his eccentricities. As a child, he was a voracious reader, spending hours on his own at the expense of many other things, chores for one. I also learned from grandma that he would make the most intricate paper airplanes, and they would always fly. Teachers would complain that he wasn't paying attention in class and grandma knew it was because his head was in the sky with the airplanes. He was eccentric but also quite brilliant as those who knew him best figured out, quickly.
In the Air Force, during Vietnam, Carl wanted to be a pilot but a chronic sinus condition kept him from the cockpit. Instead, he painted the birds, teaching him more about how to care for their surface, which involved a lot more than painting. This eventually led him through school as a physicist and then to working at NASA on the space shuttle. One of his patents was for a particle detector for the outside of the shuttle, which they used to learn about what the shuttle brought back on its surface. Nothing left earth or came back without going through Carl's clean lab. And, while rheumatoid arthritis withered and deteriorated his body, his mind was always sharp and in the sky.
We had lovely music at the memorial as well, and a great display of pictures and awards that wouldn't even scratch the surface of the life of this man. Afterward, we visited with each other telling stories and remembering him fondly. Through the day the family kept making rocket scientist jokes in his honor - "it doesn't take a rocket scientist" and "well, she's not a rocket scientist." Personally, I remember one joke he always told about higher education (being a perpetual student, he had a particular awareness), saying a BS degree was just that - b.s. An MS degree was just More of the Same, and a PhD was just Piling it Higher and Deeper. He always had this same droll sense of humor that runs in my family (though I am sure it skipped me).
Shortly after the memorial is when the big event happened for me. Uncle Rick had secured a permit, and we were going to bury Uncle Carl's urn of ashes ourselves. I had never thought I would be able to actually help dig a grave and most of the family was surprised when I chimed in that I wanted to help dig. But what a great way to serve my uncle in some small way one last time - and I'd never had much of a chance to serve him during his life anyway, so I wasn't going to pass this up.
We met out at the local cemetery, after changing into more proper digging clothes, and at the foot of my mom's grave we broke the ground as Uncle Rick hopped onto the new shovel, acquired just for this occasion. Rick is the more down to earth, preferring to work with his hands, so he led the way on the digging. Of course, the other brothers, Larry and Steve would make some joke here about leaving it to him to take the lead, alluding to his more overbearing personality. The boys jab each other often about each other's quirks - always in fun, and I've never seen it go negative. I have a great family.
Anyway, after Rick had a few turns at moving dirt, he handed the shovel to me, reminding me not to break the sides down and to put the dirt in the depression at the foot of mom's grave. That way when we were done, the excess dirt would help to even out the ground right there. He's always thinking of these kinds of things. The hole he began was a perfect rectangle, and he cut the sod with the flat-edged shovel into four perfect rectangles and removed them carefully, stacking them to the side and not where the dirt was going to go. He does this as if it's common sense, but it was new to me.
I enjoyed my turn at digging and gave the shovel over to Uncle Larry who took a turn. I took over his camera to take pictures and we all stood around making jokes and laughing. What a wonderful way to spend an occasion that most would think dreary or morbid. Uncle Carl is a practical man, never caring what happened to his belongings after he died - he didn't even have a will. Being practical, we knew he wouldn't want us standing around crying and mourning his loss - what use would that be? Plus, we all understand that this is more of a happy occasion for him as he is now free of the arthritis that plagued his body and his life.
The stately wooden cubicle urn, holding Carl's ashes, was put into its vault, which Rick had painted green. Why, he asked us, did he paint it green? Well, because that was his "marking color" when he was a kid. Grandma marked their underwear, socks and even kitchen cups with their colors so no one would get them mixed up - and they could keep using the same cup all day. Carl was green, Larry was blue, Steve was red, and Rick was purple. Ok, now we know what colors the other vaults need to be painted!
Using a long string, Rick and Larry lowered the vault into the hole, and then we carefully placed the dirt back in - around the sides of the vault first and then on top. Larry did the job of packing down the dirt because, as Rick said, "he had the girth." Rick carefully put the four cut squares of sod back on top of the very neatly square hole, now filled with dirt, and packed it down one more time. The leftover dirt was spread evenly over mom's grave as planned.
Then Rick said a prayer to dedicate the gravesite, a special ordinance in our church meant to protect it and its sacred contents. It is now holy ground.
The rest of the day, we spent as a family at grandma's house - our favorite gathering place. It is here that we all feel peace and love together. We conversed, joked, poured through old photo albums, especially those found at Carl's house, and played with Jennie Mae, my cousin Alina's 7-month old. She helps to remind us all of the cycle that keeps going. One person leaves this earth, another comes - all part of God's great plan of happiness.
We love Carl and will miss him greatly, but we all know he will be there after this life and for now we can celebrate him, grow in our love for each other, and feel God's spirit closer than ever as the veil between this world and the next is thin. These are the times that make life so special and worth living.
