EuroCrash's memorial service was yesterday. (Technically, it was day before yesterday, as it's now after midnight here, but it's still Friday in my world so there.) It was brief, and there was no eulogy, and no casket. It was held in a Presbyterian church, presumably the one his family belongs to.
I had forgotten how proselytizing ceremonies can be in certain faiths. I do realize that practitioners of a faith can take comfort in its doctrines, particularly in times of extreme sorrow, and so I tried not to feel too irritated at what felt like a barrage of propaganda to me, the outsider, sitting in a row with my mostly Jewish all-geek friends.
Well, the minister did have a few more personal things to say about EuroCrash, things that made us smile in remembrance. The pastor did kindly leave out the parts concerning porn and beer; I am sure the family was appreciative.
I did cry, and yet again I forgot to bring tissues. I must remember, funeral=bring tissues. I always blow it on that one. I especially cried for his mother and aunt. They seemed devestated.
They had a collage on an easel outside the chapel. I noticed that they didn't have much in the way of post-pubescent photography of him, and it weirded me out a little bit to think that we probably have a larger number of recent photos of him than his family does. Nevesis promised to make a copy of the video from Halloween for them.
After the ceremony, the family invited everyone home to have a bite to eat and raise a glass. We did go, and after some initial awkwardness, certain members of the family and familial friends, particularly the geek-inclined, got chummy with us and it felt alright. Napalm even ran into some faculty he'd known from school.
Mark told one of the family, I think it was EC's grandfather, how EC had loved Ice House Draft, although he'd always called it Mike's House. There was a story to that. Once they'd gone out, and were in some lame-ass bar, and the bartender asked what they'd like, and EC said Ice House. Only the bartender kept saying, "What? Mike's House? What the hell is that?" It went round and round like that, over and over. It turned out they didn't have any, just some house brew and Pabst Blue Ribbon.
So Ice House has been Mike's House ever since.
I wrote an entry for the Daveworld Journal about a specific memory associated with him. I will miss the little fucker. Like I said, he was growing on me.
