white falls
small pieces of clean
little bits of innocence
descending
envelope me
cold sanctification
to undo the done
raw bright stars
to shine like newness
under a new sun

the art of a fall day
is like cold fingers
drawing life
in charcoal gray

this plain white page
is rough and edgy
drags the dry dust
to present this stage

a quiet empty place
before the play
or
perhaps
after

 

this choir never ends
a 7 billion member mix
of heavy harmony
and dubstep dissonance

this choir
this ever-growing group
yowling, growling tongues

so why
in these deafening days
do things seem
subtly more silent
than before?

I am exhausted.

Physically, emotionally, spiritually.

It is finished. We laid dad to rest today.

Up early in the morning on coffee and prayers…my own but mostly others. It was a simple service. I wrote the eulogy, the message and order of service this past week and it went according to plan.

The funeral home was wonderful. They thought of everything and our funeral director, a young woman, was very good. The chapel was nice and dad was well prepared. The drive down was fairly quiet. A caravan of family and friends converged from different locales for the same reason…because of the same person.

The days have been one of ache and numbness punctuated by an odd joy of being close to sisters and brothers, to mother and father. Today however, the day of the funeral, was one of duty. It was a day oddly bereft of deep emotion for me and filled with the blessed tasks at hand to keep me occupied and distracted.

To be able to bury my father; to do for him one small final service of laying him to rest; to preach the message out of Luke 15 and the parable of the prodigal son and to pray over him and those who loved him was healing for me.

I got to hold his hand one last time. He was cold but no more than one who has come in from a cool winter evening. Cold in a way that made you want to warm him. To get him a blanket and a cup of tea or hot chocolate.

The service was short. I have never liked long funerals and since this was my father and I led the service I was selfish. There was a family viewing, a public viewing and a half hour service followed by a brief grave side service. Music was played during the viewing from dad’s eclectic collection…for the service – Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman whose CDs were found mixed in with the music of Mariah Carey, Queen, Ozzy Osbourne, Roy Orbison and others who were not played at the service.

When the service was over, myself, my brothers and one of dad’s friends served as pall bearers and brought his casket to the hearse and from there piled into vehicles and headed to Mount Hamilton Cemetery where we once again carried his casket to the grave. It’s a nice location on the leeward side of slow gentle slope. There was a farm adjacent to the cemetery and all in all it was a pleasant location.

I am rambling. I am thankful for God and the prayers of many; I am thankful for friends and loved ones, that we are able to gather together before the world and declare for one-another. I am sad for every lost opportunity this death represents and sad that life will push me to place not much different than before Dad died…a place where I forget that the ones I love will not always be there to be called and visited; a place where the infinitely smaller things like money overwhelm the infinitely more important things like love.

For now though love is foremost on my mind and I am grateful because where there is love there is God.

Below is the text of the service and graveside ceremony.

Prayer

Lord, we are gathered here because of the life of one man – Peter James Cantelon, who passed away last week. Each of us has different reasons for being here; different needs and feelings and I pray that you would attend to each of us according to our needs. In Christ’s name I pray – Amen.

Peter James Cantelon – Eulogy

Peter James Cantelon, my father, was born and raised in Toronto on January 12 1943 to Isabel Cantelon. He never knew his father Lloyd Russell and was raised by Isabel and his stepfather Willard. Dad’s identical twin brother Mike resides in Florida. He has a brother Robert William, known as Bill, and sisters Susie, Sheila, Kathy and Debbie.

Dad was once married to Monica and had four children – Peter, Angel, Lori and Susan. He was later married to Mary Ann and had two more children – Kevin and Bill.

Dad loved horses, the track, bingo, cribbage and of course – the Leafs. I think he would be pleased that there’s a Bingo hall right next door and that his casket is blue. I am also certain he would be happy to have missed the Leafs getting crushed by Boston last Friday night. He also loved music…all of the music you heard earlier was from his own collection.

It is said by his friends that he spoke fondly of his children and often and perhaps he saw us as something right in his life.

Dad made a lot of choices in life, as do all of us. Many of those choices were bad – they hurt him and those around him. Many of those choices were the kind that we will never understand or comprehend. There can be no doubt that those choices had consequences for both him and those who were close to him but no man is defined solely by his poor choices for every man is a complicated mix of decision and circumstance.

Dad was 68 years old when he died. He was sick and broken but in the end he had friends and was loved. Any pain he was in is over now and we are here to lay him to rest.

Sermon

Read Luke 15:1-3;11-32

Some people identify with the son who left home; some with the father who receives him back, some with the older brother and still others with a combination of them.

The story is of a son who leaves his family taking with him his inheritance. In those days asking for your inheritance before your father died is a little like saying “I wish you were dead but since you are not let me have my inheritance now”.

The father unquestioningly complies and the son leaves to spend his money on “reckless living” which is code for partying, gambling, drunkenness, prostitutes, and other forms of excess.

After years of this lifestyle, his money gone and his life a ruin the son decides to go home again. He is a Jewish man who while once wealthy had been reduced to the humiliating and unclean task of feeding pigs and envying them their food.

The man decides to go home not because he is sorry for what he has done to himself and his family but because he is starving, broke and hopes for at least a job as a servant. He has a plan to tell his father “I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.” But there is no sense of remorse, there is no sense of repentance…the sense of having recognized and turned from a life of brokenness and darkness in exchange for something better. In fact it seems certain that if the son’s money had been endless he never would have decided to go home at all.

So we see this son going home and we do not feel a great deal of sympathy perhaps. Maybe we are like the older son in this.

Now notice as the son approaches home…before the son can get close, the father sees him while he is “a long way off” and what does he do? It says he felt compassion. It says he ran and embraced and kissed him. A wealthy landowner in those days did not run. An old and distinguished man would not hike up his robes and tear off down the road because it looked ridiculous. This type of man waited as people came to him, as was due his station. Not this time. Not this man. Not this father…he runs to his son before he can offer his excuses and plead for a role of service.

The father clothes him in his best robe, he gives him a ring, a symbol of authority and wealth, he gives him shoes and kills the fattened calf – the calf that was likely being saved for sacrifice – and uses it for a huge celebration.

The elder brother, the obedient son, the one who always did what he was told and never shamed the family, the one who feels personally wronged by the younger son…he hears the sounds of celebration and comes to learn that his brother – the one who ran off with half the family wealth has come back only to be treated as if nothing has happened – is back…and big brother is angry. He is bitter and he is furious.

It isn’t fair. This jerk deserves nothing. He should be left to starve. He should be punished. He should reap what he has sown. His brother gets this awesome lamb to roast and his dad never even once gave him a scrawny bony little goat to roast with his friends. It is unjust and he will take no part in the celebration.

The father learns of his eldest son’s anger and explains – “Son you are always with me and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to celebrate and be glad for your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost and is found.”

Who are we in this story – are we the younger brother? The older brother? The father? How do we feel?

This story is about God and it is about us. It is about God’s character in response to us – his children – whether we are the older or we are the younger brother or sister.

This God sees his lost children a long way off and this God runs out to embrace them. This God does not wait for excuses before holding his child; clothing them and celebrating. That is the nature of this God.

Dad ran away a long time ago…he ran away from family, from life and from himself too…I do not know what awaits him now but I know this…

He is in the hands of this God. He is in the hands of a God who runs to his child while they are yet a long way off and rejoices at their return…not waiting for excuses. He is in this God’s hands now – and for that I am grateful. For in this God there is love, hope, life everlasting and forgiveness…may each of us find it.

Let us close our eyes, bow our heads and pray together with the words that Christ taught us by saying –

Our Father
who art in heaven
hallowed be thy name
Thy Kingdom come.
Thy Will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory
forever and ever
Amen

Graveside

We are here to lay to rest the body of Peter James Cantelon, each of us with different notions and feelings but all of us bound together here and connected by and through his life.

Nearly 400 years ago the English poet John Donne wrote the following poem as he lay in bed confronted by the reality of his own impending death.

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a small piece be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As much as if a nation were.
As well as if a manor of your own
Or of your friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

We are diminished by death because each of us is involved with one another but thankfully death is not the last word. Let us pray:

Lord you are the one who gave us these words “By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.” And by these words we know we are mortal. But you also spoke to us through your servant John who wrote: “Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,”for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

He said to me: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. Those who are victorious will inherit all this, and I will be their God and they will be my children.”

Lord we commend the soul of Peter James Cantelon into your hands knowing that he can be in no better. Have mercy on each of us and grant us your peace as we leave this place.

Amen

this hurricane death
looms
black mountain cliffs

this hurricane death
screams
a tearing breaking wind

this hurricane death
deceives
with a middling peace

this hurricane death
destroys
consumes with sharpened teeth

this hurricane death
abandons
while we are left

broken branches
stripped bare and laid low
grey bones in the road
for all to see
shallow echoes
of lost laughs
replaced with ache

some plants
are harder to uproot
than others

some roots
are too entangled
are too enmeshed
for simple separation

sawing leaves cut flesh
draw bitter blood
producing pain
defending against destiny

there is pulling
there is cutting
there is the prying of chain
there is the chopping of axe

and

sometimes there is fire
leaving
blackened ruined
empty space
where once was life

I left Winnipeg on the plane at 5:30 a.m. and hurtled through the dark toward Toronto. Toward my step-father.

The flight was quiet and no one spoke to me, which was a good thing. I spent the time reading and contemplating what was happening. Emotions are all over the place. I am going to bury my step-dad. I am going to see my sisters and brothers and this makes me happy but the circumstances push me into the dark.

Why does it take a death to bring people together?

The plane arrived at the airport at just before 9 a.m. and after I pick up my luggage I am met by my sisters Susan and Angel and my brother-in-law Keith. We drive to Hamilton. We drive to step-dad and spend the hour reconnecting. We do not get together enough. Geography and economics are barriers…but we are together now. My brother Kevin meets us and we go to dad’s.

Finding step-dad’s apartment was not difficult. The landlady lets us in and we take a moment. It is small. A 15×15 cinder block room with one window. It is squalor and I am sad. We all are. This is where he died. Unexpectedly. Alone.

Step-dad was a rabid Toronto Maple Leafs fan (there is no other kind). I am a Leafs fan because of him. He has various pieces of Leafs memorabilia scattered amidst his belongings – hats, little hockey sticks, pajama pants, etc. My brother Kevin has four tickets to the Leafs versus Boston game for tonight and we are going – Kevin, Billy, Eric and myself. We will go in memory of Step-dad and it won’t matter if they win or lose. Images of him swearing at every bad play and cheering every good one will be with us. It will be good.

Such a confusing mix of emotions. Step-dad made decisions in his life. He made some pretty bad ones that impacted a lot of people but it is obvious that the biggest impact made was on himself.

Love. Sadness. Regret. Anger. Frustration.

So many emotions.

I am glad to be here thanks to the goodwill and generosity of my uncle and his wife. What kind of a step-son would I be if couldn’t even bury my own step-father? In the end it is not so much about who step-dad was as much as it is about who I am; how I respond to him and who I am to become. These are the things each of us, his children, have to deal with.

There will be a funeral on Tuesday. I will lead the service and the graveside service. I will bury my step-dad with my siblings. We will see him laid to rest.

Between now and then there is much to do. Memories to dig up; a mining of joy and pain all blended together and inseparable now. There are fears to overcome and the long dark shadow of my step-father. He is always there. He has always been there. Maybe after the funeral it will feel different. I don’t know.

i spent a good part of the day praying yesterday for help. you know, just a general kind of all-encompassing “God help” kind of prayer. There’s so much happening a lightening of the load felt in order.

then literally 1 minute after an argument i should not have started i get a phone call that my dad died.

my dad. the only father i had.

not sure what to feel except for a deep black ache that won’t go away. it has been building for a while but to lose my dad, a dad i feel i never really had in some ways…somehow that just cements it all.

my dad died. he died alone.

he feared he would be alone in the end. i understand those fears. i have them.

i am 43 years old and i have never in my life had someone close to me die…until now. my sister died when i was three…my grandfather died when i was 19 but we were not close…weeping does not help. not weeping does not help. seeing people does not help. not seeing them does not help. nothing seems to help. all i want is to be alone…but i don’t.

Peter James Cantelon died. my dad. my name. i feel less somehow.

to know he was somewhere breathing. to know he was somewhere heart beating…it was enough somehow. it was an existential comfort. but he’s gone. no more heart beat. no more breathing. no more dad.

i remember dad.

i remember hot peppers in front of  the Leafs games. i remember sunburned freckled shoulders. i remember ‘i love you’. i remember how the sound of my fork scraping past my teeth would drive him nuts. i remember his cribbage. i remember his tears. i remember his voice. i remember him holding Kevin. i remember him holding baby Billy all smiles. i remember his holding Susan’s hand. i remember him calling to Angel.

my dad is dead.

i cannot bring him back. i have no more time to call. no more time to say i love you. no time to hold him again. no time to yell and scream at him…to forgive him.

i have words and a rocky heart. i have words and an empty cup. i have words…i have no dad.

this day
is fresh
like new laundered linen
blue
as still morning sea
it is crisp
as a starched shirt
ready to wear
this day is a day
a day to put on
and
become…