Living Memorial Services

Back almost a half-century ago (!) when I started teaching at The San Francisco School, there were two administrators— Terry and Lynne. They were the Head and Assistant Head, but we just called them Terry and Lynne. Staff and “admin” (a name we never used) were all seated together at the parent-made peanut-shaped table during the Staff Meetings, dreaming forward the school as we wished it to be. 

 

After ten years or so of this communal bliss, we hired a Development Director and as times changed, the team in the office kept growing geometrically while the student population increased arithmetically. By 2007, I heard the first pronoun “they” to refer to the enlarging admin and by the time I left in 2020, there were some 25 people working in the office!

 

But that’s a theme for another post. I fell down that rabbit hole because I wanted to introduce Lynne, who retired a few years before me and moved up to Washington State to be with her kids and grandkids. At 84 years old, she is having severe physical issues and apparently has just been diagnosed with Alzheimers. Brutal. Our alum staff, so many of whom keep in touch with her, started a little phone call/ letter writing campaign to gather around her in her hour of need. Apparently those calling have had trouble getting through, so I decided to write a letter and e-mail it to her husband John to read out loud. 

 

It's a bit strange to share it here, as it is mostly personal reflections alluding to people and incidents the reader knows nothing about. But I offer it as a model of a kind of living eulogy, the kind of things we might say while a person is still living rather than waiting for the Memorial Service. I remember being so struck by the scene in Tom Sawyer where he is mistakenly reported to be dead and gets to peek in at his own funeral. Even when I was young, it struck me that it would be good if we all could have “pre-funerals,” loved ones gathered around sharing their appreciations and memories while we’re still alive to hear them. Good idea, yes? 

 

Here’s the letter (FYI, Nina and Lisa are Lynne and John’s daughters); 

 

Dearest Lynne.

 

Halloween is coming. Somewhere in the i-Cloud where I can’t get to it is a photo of you and I dressed as Greek statues. One of thousand memories of all those years we shared together at The San Francisco School. There was skinny dipping at the Feather Falls camping trip, Nina running out of my music class my first year of teaching and you dragging her back, that hard Stern Grove Board Staff meeting with all the problems with Jeanne Mahoney out on the table, alongside Roy Swanson saying how he and Dan and Nutmeg used to sit outside sometimes and say, “I think we’re in heaven.” 

 

All the years of you at the front desk reminding kids to walk, all the stories you shared about running to the ocean early each morning with Marcia Anderson, about your French class, about your horseback riding and always some stories of your dogs. Sweet memories of you sharing your early life with John somewhere in Scandinavia and then later North Beach and one edgy story about you running with John in Kansas visiting family over Christmas and how you solved the problem of a part of him getting frozen. You connecting us with Donna Pineo (thank you for that!), teaching piano to Lisa and seeing her in a play (I think) at Lick Wilmerding. A staff Christmas party where we sat on a couch and you sang a song to me called “Popsicle Toes.”

 

Always so much to enjoy and also to admire about you— your iron discipline with running and horseback riding, that lifelong learning with your French classes and then your rise from Assistant Administrator to South Class Assistant to Montessori-trained head teacher. Appreciating you anew through the eyes of Sofia, who named you as one of her favorite teachers. 

 

So many changes we weathered together, from an administration that was simply Terry and Lynne to the rise of 25 office people with that new guy in charge who didn’t like to eat Patty’s food in the kitchen and was determined to bring me down. But finally, he’s gone now and the new head is lovely and there are some 6 alums (including Talia in her 14^th year!) carrying the old school character forward, alongside Dolores, Vahlee, Erika, James and Sofia. I’ve been in and out since retirement subbing for James and Sofia and soon will sub a week while Sofia teaches in Salzburg. The 5-year-olds I taught in my last year are now in 4^th grade, so I still know about half the kids in the school and some 75% of the teachers. All those ceremonies I helped start and sustain are still intact and though part of South class got walled off and we lost our second music room that’s now admin and the kitchen is now off-limits to staff, mostly things feel recognizable, both physically and community-wise. 

 

Meanwhile, our shared past life echoes on in the 34^th year of the Men’s Group, with Terry, Jim Thurston and I, Brian McCaffery, Barry Dekovic, Chris Cunningham, Bernie Weiner and recently joined Calhoun (Janet’s husband). Solveig has organized a monthly walk with Laura, Patty, Jane, Corrine, Vivian, Steve Rubin, Miriam, Mia, Rose, Andrea, Karen and I and after her knee operation, perhaps Maggie can join us now. Laura, who also suffered from the new admin, often quotes you when she asked how you could hold up amidst all these disturbing changes and you said something like: “I’m just grateful for all the years I had.” 

 

And so am I and so am I grateful that you were such an important part of it. And so sad to hear all that you are suffering now, as the lion’s paw of mortality has unsheathed its claws. So hard to witness (and feel myself!) the way Time ravishes the body and diminishes the mind of people once so alive and vibrant. Nothing to say but "Aaaaargh!!! Meanwhile, all I can offer is this tiny crumb of comfort that you matter to so many, that we stand around you in a circle of great love and that as you say, “we’re all so grateful for the years we had.” It was a most marvelous time.

 

Love always,

 

Doug