The Committal

“If you can't be a good example, then you'll just have to serve as a horrible warning.”Catherine Aird

I saw this statement on a plaque, which I did not buy, in a shop of my birthplace, Stoughton, Wisconsin. I laughed when I saw it, and realized there are aspects of probably everyone’s life, if accentuated, that could serve as a “horrible warning”. Hopefully, when we die, people will remember the good things we did; not the “stuff” that creates the horrible warning.

There are enough “horrible warnings” in every family that will keep you titillated when you hear the stories (and I heard some from my aunts and uncles that certainly raised my eyebrows, once or twice). This is the opposite, or flip side, to that kind of story. If you like, need, or desire a good feeling at the end of the day, read on.

When my wife Julie and I attended the committal of my father’s ashes to be buried in Stoughton, Wisconsin, next to the ashes of my mother who died only four months earlier, I was with my three brothers. We all gave “testimony” about Dad and the significance of his life.

My brother Jim (named after our father James Lloyd Paulson) said most aptly, that his parents had been married for nine months more than his own life of sixty-two years. My brother’s conception happened as a honeymoon event of my parents wedding togetherness. My brother was born on February 28, 1948 and my parents were married on June 7, 1947, and if you count the months until Jim’s birth it equals eight (nine months for a pregnancy).

My mother always said, “That we were married on June 7 (the beginning of the month), and Jim was born on February 28 (the end of the month, and that he was due in March) therefore he was a ‘honeymoon’ baby”. We accept that point, and “who really cares”, as they say. He was conceived in love and raised in love, and that is all that counts. Jim said, “…and now they (Mom and Dad) are together again”, referring to the final resting of Dad’s remains next to Mom’s ashes. As my wife often says, “This was their (his, her) story”.

All the brothers, James, John, Peter and Philip, spoke the words at the graveside service. Many spoke of the significance of Dad’s faith and the importance of the legacy he brought to many as a United Methodist minister. Dad loved God and Christ, his wife Vina, his boys, family, continual reading of books, knowledge, discourse and discussion of ideas, the ocean (any body of water), the sand, his new cars, movies, and laughter. It was uplifted, in many accounts, that Dad (and Mom) had faith in God and Christ, and that it was important to persons having a vibrant existence in this life, to know that there was a true hope in an eternal life after this earthly time was ended.

But there is a legacy that continues, for us that go on in this life, which must be uplifted which is hugely important. That is the love between the remaining brothers. Dad and Mom loved us of each equally. Yes, we are typical of any psychological discussion about “birth order” in that our oldest brother was to be the most responsible, the middle children “scrambled for attention”, and the youngest seemed to have more privilege, etc.

However, we have transcended the norm, severed the grip from the obvious, and are freed to continue a relationship together which has been forged by love. This love of brothers began by caring for each other since we were children. Jim was our “protector”. He would mete out “justice” to anyone who would be lording over another younger brother with a vengeance.

John and I were the best buddies because we were so close in age. John was always more athletic; better at everything (from rolling newspapers, to wrestling, strength endurance, etc.). We challenged each other, but he was always gracious and magnanimous in my defeat.

Phil was the endurance expert. He became the epitome of athletics. He would not yield to any pain inflicted to him by an older brother by ever yelling, “Uncle” (a word you would utter to let the other person know that you had surrendered to their will). Phil was strong; we all came to respect that.

And through it all, when we do disagree on something, we have argued, bartered, screamed at each other (that is the way of the Paulson family; we are a loud bunch), and then when we finish an argument, it is OVER. Whenever we have an argument it is over an issue; it is never directed at each other personally. We have learned to be respectful of each other as a great person of worth, talent, and independence. At the end of it all we are still brothers. We respect each other. We know each other’s strength. And above all we love each other.

We don't argue much. When we encounter each other, we hug. We are huggers, and we learned that from our Grandfather Carsten Paulson. When we were teenaged boys, and reluctant to show affection at family gatherings, our grandfather would shake our hand, and then pull you close to give you a hug, and say, "Come here!", and squeeze you in an embrace as if to say undoubtedly, "I love you so much!"

But, we learned to love each other, that is EVERY brother, from our parents. What a legacy! Thank you, Dad and Mom. The committal service is over, but you will live on visibly with your sons, the brothers. We will try our best to live up to what you taught us, and do our best, by example, to pass it on to others.