Saying Goodbye to Bob

In loving memory of Robert Schnuth

Yesterday evening, we held the memorial service for Aaron's Dad.

The funeral home put together the classy slideshow above using photos and musical selections we provided, and it was playing when we arrived before the visitation. It was much better than any sort of posterboard display we could have made from the same photos, and it was really a highlight of the visitation for all of Bob's loved ones.

So many people were touched by Bob; we hadn't realized. Aaron's family was there — aunts and uncles and cousins on both sides — but many of Bob's co-workers and bowling buddies were there, too, and so were friends of both Aaron and Matt. I met Schnuth relatives I'd never seen before, or hadn't seen since our wedding, and Aaron met friends of his Dad's whom he'd only heard about in bowling stories.

Cousin Nate and Aunt Dee were both more than happy to wrangle Connor so I could mingle and talk with family and friends without trying to pacify my overtired four-month-old. I did spend some time feeding Connor on the couch in the nursery (only my third venture into "public" breastfeeding, and my second in a dedicated nursery area). Aunt Dee volunteered to take care of Connor during the service itself, which was such a blessing — it meant I could be there more fully for Aaron.

Reverend Barbara Jean Pope opened the memorial service with prayer and with a treatment of John 14:2 ("In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you") in which she suggested that everyone's place might be different. Maybe, she said, Bob's place has a bowling alley and a comfy La-Z-Boy.

Afterward, she invited family and friends to share their memories of Bob.

Aaron's brother started things off with a eulogy, which came off surprisingly well, considering his combination of nerves and grief.

Aaron stood and spoke about how his Dad was always there for him, and told the story of how his Dad ran money down to him one afternoon when his car broke down, even though Bob hadn't been to bed yet after a night of work and a morning of bowling.

Uncle Pete spoke about how Bob was always very reserved, and mentioned that the black-and-white photo we had sitting on the table was the one that his sister Tina had shown him back in 1969 to prove how handsome her new boyfriend was.

I lamented the fact that I never really got to have a personal relationship with Bob, even though Aaron and I have been married for almost nine years, and dated for seven years before that. I mentioned how humble Bob was about his multiple perfect 300 games, and how he'd show up to holidays with a new jacket or ring and play it off. I told the story about when Bob came over to help us change a car battery, and we convinced him to play Wii Bowling with us. Where I finally choked and had to sit down was when I described how he lit up when he spent time with his grandson, and how I'm so saddened that they won't get to know each other, but that each of us will tell Connor all about his Granddad.

Cousin Nate also mentioned how quiet Bob was at family gatherings, always sitting and listening and taking everything in. He told a story about when he was in his early teens, opening Christmas presents with his new pocket knife, and Bob tried to warn him that he was doing it wrong by saying, "Ouch... ouch... OUCH!" He also pointed out that at least Bob hung on long enough to meet his grandson.

Pastor Barbara Jean closed with a benediction and The Lord's Prayer, then encouraged everyone to stay for a while and share memories and condolences with the family. Which everyone did. We made some new connections with Schnuth family members, traded addresses and emails, received a gift for Connor from Aaron's godparents, and agreed to keep in touch with friends we haven't seen in some time.

After everyone had left but Uncle Pete, Aunt Dee, and Cousin Joe, Aaron and his brother finalized the arrangements with the funeral home director, and we all went out to dinner at Loma Linda, a Mexican restaurant nearby. Poppa, Aaron's grandfather, used to love Loma's, and Pete realized he'd never actually been there. Plus, Aaron's brother used to work there as both a dishwasher and a cook, so it was appropriate. We had a delicious dinner, all six of us plus Connor, and the management picked up the bill (sans beverages) because they'd heard about Bob's passing, and wanted to offer their condolences. That was highly unexpected, but very classy.

It was a rough evening, and a late one, but we came out the other side with a greater sense of family and friendship, a new appreciation of those, and two new potted plants.

Walter Konstantin Bura, 1918-2010

[Taken 5 May 2002 | exposure unrecorded]

Walter Bura, 91, of Lakewood Ohio. Husband of the late Betsy (nee Hamlen); father of Peter, Elaine Eschbach and the late Christine Schnuth; grandfather of Megan, Alex, Natalie, Joseph Bura, Aaron, Matthew Schnuth, Nathan Eschbach; great grandfather of 2 passed away on August 2, 2010.

Twitter Update (#1065908504)

read more...

Betsy Hamlen Bura, 1923-2008

Aaron got the news this morning that his grandmother had passed away. I don't feel I got to know her half as well as I would have liked, despite all the trivia and stories I knew about her.

The first time I came to a family gathering with Aaron, long before we were even engaged, Grammie had made her Zucchini Chocolate Cake. I raved over it so much that she wrote out the recipe on one of her own recipe cards and gave it to me. I remember being very touched that she would share a recipe with me upon first meeting. Like family.

Years went by, and she never made the Zucchini Chocolate Cake again. I didn't even get around to making it myself until last Christmas. It turned out fantastic, and everyone remembered how much they'd loved it. Grammie had some, too, and seemed to like it, but I'm pretty sure her Alzheimer's kept her from remembering where I'd gotten the recipe those ten years ago.

We'll all miss her.

Donald William Cook, 1953 - 2007

We just got the news this week that my Uncle Donnie died back in March. Apparently, his long-time friend had tried to reach Mom afterward, but didn't have her current contact info, and was fruitlessly searching for her in Ohio.

read more...

Dr. Timothy D. King, 1949-2007

Timothy D. King 57, of Bowling Green, Ohio died Friday (February 9, 2007) at Wood County Hospital. He was born July 3, 1949 in Cheverly, Maryland to Thomas & Annie (Kilburn) King. He was married to Patricia (Brown) on December 19, 1970; they were married for thirty years.

He is survived by his sons, David (Hillary) of Chicago and Brian of Denver; daughter, Ellen King of Bowling Green; former wife and close friend Patricia; brother, William (Patty) of Piedmont, Ca.; and special friend Carol Berman of Orchard Park, N.Y.

Mr. King was the Associate Director of Residence Life at B.G.S.U. He received his BA from Macalester College, Master's (1973) & PHD (1978) from the University of Minnesota. He was a leader with Cub Scout pack #358 and a member of the Maumee Valley Unitarian Universalist Congregation. He was an avid cook, a loving father and was known throughout the community for his generosity and witty humor.

(read the full obituary at Dunn Funeral Homes)

read more...

Charles Mickler, 1930-2005

I got a call at work this morning, from my Uncle Charlie's case worker in Tampa. It seems that my great-uncle passed away earlier this month.

Charlie had no wife or children, and was living in a nursing home with no family nearby. He had lived with his mother, my Granny, until her death in 1990. His younger sister, my Memaw, died over two years ago. Myself, my mother, my aunt and my cousin are his only living relatives.

Uncle Charlie sold his land years ago, and the profits have paid for his care since then. He hadn't banked on needing to pay a nursing home for his care; he'd planned to give his $40,000 (or thereabouts) to me instead. As a poor college student, I had been flabbergasted at the prospect of being in someone's will. Now, though, I understand the funds needed to support the elderly, and I certainly don't begrudge him his care.

As the only relative who has kept in contact with Charlie's legal guardians in Tampa, it is now my duty to call the Medical Examiner in Tampa and give them the authorization to cremate him. He had no funds left for a burial; and neither myself, nor my Mom, nor my aunt will be able to travel to Florida to make any sort of burial arrangements.

I'm sad that he's gone, but I'm more sad that he was alone, and now has so few to mourn him. I'm also slightly beside myself at the bizarre and slightly morbid call I'll need to make tomorrow morning.

Hunter S. Thompson, 1937-2005

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - Hunter S. Thompson, a renegade journalist whose "gonzo" style threw out any pretense at objectivity and established the hard-living writer as a counter-culture icon, fatally shot himself at his Colorado home on Sunday night, police said. He was 67.

Thompson's son, Juan, released a statement saying he had found his father dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head at the writer's Owl Creek farm near Aspen.

Thompson, famed for such adrenaline-packed narratives as "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," turned his drug and alcohol-fueled clashes with authority into a central theme of his work, challenging the quieter norms of established journalism in the process.

I'd never even heard of Hunter S. Thompson before that Fantasy Lit class that Amy and I took back in... '97? '98? Anyway, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was on our reading list when we first bought our books for the semester, although we weren't slated to actually read it until much later in the syllabus.

I remember Aaron coming into the dorm room Amy and I shared, and seeing my copy of Fear and Loathing sitting atop a stack of books—probably on the floor, rather than on my desk. I think his first exclamation was, "Have you read that?!" When we answered that it was on our reading list for later in the semester, he asked if he could borrow it. Sure, no problem. Enjoy. I figured it must be a pretty good book if Aaron was that excited about checking it out, even if it was required reading.

Boy, was I right.

I loved that Fantasy Lit class: we got to read a lot of books that one wouldn't generally consider "fantasy," including Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, some ill-received Robert Blake poetry, The Time Machine by H.G. Wells, and, of course, Fear and Loathing. And, since Amy and I were taking the class together, we got to have our own discussions about the books before the class discussions, which made things a little more interesting. Not that the class discussions weren't interesting in themselves, with the enlightened yet pleasantly cynical Brit, Iain, running the class.

Anyway, once we finally got to read Fear and Loathing, we understood why Aaron was so excited to read it himself. Thompson's state of mind, his imagery, and his surprisingly lucid thoughts on society in general really drew us in. I'd say that was one of my favorite books I read that semester.

Shortly thereafter, we heard that there was going to be a movie made from the book. We decided it would be worth seeing, even though there's no way they could possibly capture all the fantastic imagery and weird trips—and Johnny Depp was playing Hunter S. Thompson? Oh, boy.

Again, we were in for a surprise.

It turned out to be a great movie, using cinematic tricks and CG and fantastic acting to portray the book as near-perfect as a book-to-movie translation could possibly be. Years later, Aaron now owns the Criterion Edition of the DVD, in addition to having downloaded several of Thompson's Spoken Word shows.

So, Hunter S. Thompson, I salute you. I wish you would have told us why you felt the need to finally give in to your self-destruction, though—maybe left us one last note in your classic gonzo style, telling us why you thought you had to escape this fucked-up place.

This sucks.

Christopher Reeve 1952-2004

"Hollywood needs to do more. Let's continue to take risks. Let's tackle the issues. In many ways our film community can do it better than anyone else. There is no challenge, artistic or otherwise, that we can't meet."

—Christopher Reeve

John Lee Walters, 1932-2003

Well, I don't particularly feel like blogging right now... but I don't feel like doing anything else, either, except maybe zoning out completely or soaking in the tub or something.

I had today off of work, so it was serendipitous that Amy's grandpa's funeral was scheduled for today. Like I told her, I wasn't about to stay at home, kicked back and saying, "Hey, Amy's miserable right now..." No. She's my best friend, and he was a great, funny, witty, selfless guy, and I just have too much respect for the both of them not to drive two hours to attend his funeral service. Plus, I knew Amy would need some support — not just because of her grandpa's sudden passing, but because her mother was coming to the funeral.

Now, normally, having your mother at your grandfather's funeral wouldn't be a problem. But when you have a mother like Amy's mother, it becomes an issue. I could go on about how she's a self-centered pathological liar,
but I'll just put it this way: Amy's grandpa specifically had a clause in his will stating that his daughter (Amy's mother) was intentionally omitted from the will. While I can appreciate her wanting to mourn her somewhat-estranged father, despite what she's said about him in the past, I don't feel that stirring up trouble is appropriate. Especially since he'd said he didn't want her to even know when he ever died, so she wouldn't be at the funeral and wouldn't cause a stink.

And, here's the kicker: At a family funeral in the past (I don't recall for whom), Amy's mother took pictures. As for myself, I find it interesting that death is the one part of life that we as a society don't feel comfortable documenting in photos, and I'm intrigued by those who go against the mores of society. But Grandpa was frankly disgusted by the picture-taking, and specifically stated in the funeral arrangements (made back in 1986 — how's that for planning ahead?) that he wanted no photographs taken at his funeral. So what does Amy's mother do? Brings a damn disposable camera with a flash and takes a freakin' photo shoot. All her kids there in the funeral home. Him in his casket in the funeral home. The pallbearers bringing the casket to the interment site. The list goes on. That steamed Amy's grandma sooo much. It felt like one final 'fuck you' to Grandpa's wishes.

But, anyway. After the interment, Amy invited me to follow them to their house and relax for a while before heading back home. I got to meet their dogs, and her Grandma bought us all KFC, and everybody got to rant about Amy's mother for a while. :-)

I still feel like I need some quality Amy-and-Diana time to discuss some philosophical issues, like how she felt as an atheist reading Psalm 69 at the service. Personally, I have known for some time now that I am no longer a Christian (and I feel I can admit that freely here on this website, knowing the few of you who are my audience). I don't know what I do believe, precisely, especially with the passing of my own grandmother, but I know I don't believe in the Judeo-Christian form of God. To avoid alienating my readership entirely, I won't go into detail about how I feel about Christianity, but suffice to say that listening to a funeral service makes me uncomfortable.

Well, then. My train of thought has come to a screeching halt, so maybe it's time I found something else to do. I'm hungry but I don't want to eat, tired but I don't want to sleep, bored but don't want to read or watch TV.

Poor Amy. She's got so much to deal with... but that's a story for another day. Just... poor Amy.

later...
I know what else I was going to say. At both of the open-casket viewings I've been to in the past couple of months (not my Memaw's; that one was closed-casket), I have been really creeped out by seeing a dead person lying there. I've been creeped out (and, yes, "creeped out" goes beyond "disturbed") by all the open viewings I've been to, from Brother Cothran from church back when I was 12 or 13 up until Grandpa today.
Thankfully, there was a stretch through high school and again from my early college years until Memaw's death that I hadn't been to a viewing or a funeral. Anyway, I can appreciate "needing closure" and all that... but at both of the open-casket viewings I've been to recently, I went up to "pay my respects," reflected on how almost-lifelike the body looked, and then my sense of humor took over and I said to myself, "Yep, it's a dead guy," and moved on. Maybe it's a defense mechanism, triggered by my being disturbed at seeing a deceased body. I don't know. Probably.

At any rate, I'm glad Memaw's viewing wasn't open-casket, because she looked nothing like herself by the time she died. And I got exactly the reaction I'd been hoping for by displaying a photo of her in her late 40's or early 50's by the casket: before the service, I heard the woman sitting behind us say, "She was so beautiful..."

When I die, assuming I'm not cremated... don't look at me, please. I'm sure that, wherever I am, it'll creep me out.