Markham, Ontario
Tuesday, July 20, 2010, 10:30AM
Hi Everyone,
Main Street here is attractive, big, busy and prosperous. Sparklingly diverse turn-of-the-century storefronts share bustling sidewalks with eager shoppers and flower draped vintage cast-iron light posts. It is vital and alive. As we turn into the driveway of 166 Main Street North the change of ambience is noticeable and expected. Elyssa and I are the first guests to arrive, a half hour early, met by a dark-suited attendant who directs us to the Tobias funeral. We enter the simple elegance that is the Dixon-Garland funeral home and are met by Kal's two sons, Kris and Kirk, who embrace us warmly and thank us for making the trip all the way from Michigan. We reply saying it is the least we could do after their incredible feats of on-the-road engineering to enable a highly immobile Kal to attend Susan's Memorial To Life in March. We stand with Kris and Kirk not knowing what to say beyond that which has already been spoken, sensing their firmness in hiding their personal pain and not wanting to reveal ours, breathing in the kinship of bereavement. Kris and Kirk usher us into the visitation room.
We are unprepared for the sight of Kal's open casket at the far end of the room. His gaunt profile is clearly visible and I instinctively avert my eyes. To our right are folding tables displaying carefully chosen items from Kal's many collections. There is his collection of several hundred bright but tasteful neckties, a small set of South Park Mr. Hankey dolls that he took great delight in showing off, and an incredibly delicate large turned beech burl bowl by an artist he greatly admired. To our left are easels holding posters of family snapshots and framed portraits of Kal arranged on the wall. Centered over an upholstered love-seat is this framed enlargement:
Elyssa and I are stunned. The picture is from Elyssa's wedding. A faint "ooh" passes both our lips. A flood of recognition rises swiftly up our anchored feet, passing directly through a rigid thorax before planting itself squarely in our frontal lobes. The result is immediate, a gush of tears, uncontrolled sobs, gasping for breadth, and knees dangerously close to collapse. We assist each other to the love-seat directly under the picture and continue to bawl uncontrollably. People begin entering the room, but if there is a proper place to unabashedly display one's grief then this must be it. I am inwardly pleased to be able to experience this depth of grief and despair in this place at this time. I am not a fan of the "stiff upper lip" approach to loss, but neither do I experience any satisfaction from being out of control. Here, now, I am divinely comforted in our mutual outpourings. After minutes that seem like hours we are all escorted to the chapel for Kal's service.
There is no reverend or leader to the service. There are no prayers. First Kris, Kal's oldest, talks about his his dad and reads from Shel Silverstein's "The Giving Tree." He compares his dad to the tree that gives everything to satisfy the needs of the boy that he loves. Then Kirk presents a multimedia powerpoint tribute to his dad in a style he attributes to his dad's considerable influence. Kal's corporate CFO of 18 years speaks next, and she recounts a tireless business warrior whom you could always trust to cover your back. Lastly, it's my turn and I draw from my pocket the following words as I approach the podium.
Hello. My name is Stan Sternberg. I was married to Kal's sister Susan for almost 18 years before she passed away five months ago. Although Susan and I lived in Michigan and Florida, we shared many memorable visits and adventures with Kal, Karen, Kris, Kirk and Wanda. I am honored to have become a part of the story of Kal's life. I know of Kal's earlier years only from the many tales that Susan shared with me, but I was privileged to become his beloved bro' and friend, and our deepening relationship was treasured by us both.
My voice is harsh and crackly from a bad cold as I fight to stifle a cough. I continue:
Kal was an ever-changing force of nature. He could be a powerful storm, his indomitable will forcing shifting change on the landscape of those who surrounded him. He could also be a sweet and gentle breeze, calming and smoothing roughness in the emotional terrain with characteristic tenderness and humor. And like the weather, he was constantly changing, at least in the years that I knew him. But he held one principle above all others and it imprinted his entire life, the love and respect he felt for his family. Despite sometimes anguished differences, he always returned to his fundamental truths, the unifying power of familial love and friendship.
Now I'm beginning to experience the impact my words are making. My voice begins to flow more naturally and emotional inflections work their way into my monotone:
The year before we were married, Susan was diagnosed with metastatic renal cell cancer. She dreaded telling her brother that the doctors did not expect her live out the year. Kal would have none of that. He exerted the full force of his incredible will towards Susan's ultimate complete healing. In the face of his sister's challenges, Kal rallied the troops and brought in the cavalry. Kal and Susan forged an indestructible link in the family chain, and it binds them now eternally.
How I was introduced to Kal says much about who he was. Kal and Karen visited Susan in the hospital after her nephrectomy. It was the first time I met them. After presenting Susan with thoughtful gifts, Kal announces that they stopped by a Chinese restaurant and bought some of Susan's favorite egg drop soup. Karen adds that they only had plastic spoons with takeout, so Kal had eased himself up to a dining table and ever so surreptitiously dropped a metal spoon down his pants. Kal now reaches down the front of his trousers, and with a wicked grin produces the glorious gleaming utensil. Everyone convulses in laughter. In that one brief action, Kal infuses the morbid reality of the hospital room with his own brand of sympathy through humor. It marks the start of our lifelong friendship.
There is genuine laughter at Kal's hijinks. Clearly, many of the people seated before me knew Kal as I did. I continue in a more serious tone:
During the dizzying buildup of the dot com bubble, Kal, his son Kirk, myself and a few others founded an internet startup company to cash in on the apparent abundance of opportunity. Things did not go as planned. I found myself staring across the table at Kal and felt the full force of his convictions. It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I feared the loss of a brother and friend. But nothing like that occurred. Although the company succumbed, our relationship flourished. Through the distorting optics of strongly divergent views we held to our respectful positions without sacrificing our familial bond. In fact, the bond grew stronger as we recognized in each other our shared compassion in the face of heated competition. And I think those events caused me to come to understand Kal in a way that would have been impossible had we not walked that path together. Kal was tough and unyielding but sensitive and fair. He was sometimes quick to anger but also quick to forgive. He was a dominating business man but he achieved his momentum through his love and commitment to his family and friends. He could be opinionated and obstinate, but he could express his feeling with a humor and gentleness that softened his persona. Above all, Kal was a devoted father, husband, brother, partner and friend.
Kirk's eyes meet mine when I finish the paragraph. I'll remember and cherish his look forever. I read the next paragraph more quickly at an even pace as not to allow pauses where the rising tide of my emotion might come bursting through:
The last two years were extremely difficult. Dealing with Susan's recurrence of renal cell cancer, being diagnosed himself with the same disease, gradually losing his mobility and enduring endless pain, and then, the climactic loss of his dear sister, all took their toll. Although Kal was himself fighting for his own survival, he rallied his energy in unbounded expressions of comfort and consolation for Susan's family. Assisted by Kris, Kirk, Paula and Wanda, Kal endured a harrowing 10 hour motor-home trip to attend Susan's memorial. His presence and extemporaneous expression of love and respect dampened many eyes. In my numerous phone conversations with Kal after Susan's transcendence, Kal supported and comforted me in my grief. He never dwelled on his own issues, but focused intensely on my healing. He was caring and insightful, optimistic but realistic. Kal became a spiritual warrior, fighting the good fight to overcome the seemingly invincible adversary. He prevailed over his afflictions with the same spirit that he had previously prevailed over his competition. He fought to the very end with an unconquerable desire not just to live, but to live with purpose and dignity.
I'm in the home stretch. Good thing. My voice is starting to crack, I'm choking on words, I fight to keep it together to the end:
Today, in the pervasive mists of our heavenly abode, Kal, Karen and Susan embrace and shed the tears of joy that sanctify their reunion. They walk hand in hand through the afterlife of their dreams and chat and joke with unbounded love and enthusiasm. And Karen confides that she's discovered the Mall of the Magnificents, just a short stroll down the primrose path, crammed with incredible shops of priceless antiquities and restaurants to die for. Kal suggests they begin with a well earned scrumptious meal and a bottle of 1986 Chateau Margaux. And in perfect unison Karen and Susan gleefully announce, "Sounds like a plan, Kal. Sounds like a plan."
My voice cracks on the last line. I choke out the final words. The service has ended. Now, with five other pall-bearers, we are summoned to the back of the chapel, arranging ourselves in two rows along either side of the casket. "Lift with your knees" is cried out, and we all do, carrying Kal's smooth walnut casket out the rear door of the chapel and towards the hearse. And as we align ourselves to glide the casket into the hearse a most unholy fantasy intrudes upon my solemnity. The six pall-bearers arranged in two rows of three are shuffling themselves with Kal into a hearse roller-coaster that proceeds to climb its way steeply up the funeral home driveway and plummets down Main Street, Markham, twisting and rolling its way to the cemetery followed closely behind by the flagged procession of mourner's cars. The actual procession is far less thrilling but satisfyingly short.
The events at the cemetery are likewise brief. Concealed in my jacket pocket is a Tupperware container of Susan's ashes. It is my intention that they be buried with Kal, but I'm not sure exactly how to pull it off. I approach Wanda, Kal's friend and partner following Karen's passing, for needed guidance and assistance. She is honored and overcome with emotion for she loved Susan so very much. After the casket is lowered into the ground Wanda and I approach the grave. She removes the top of the container and deliberately pours the ashes over the casket. I look around and am met by nods of approval. Then Wanda does something very unexpected. She throws the empty Tupperware container into the grave. I gasp. That wasn't supposed to happen. I can't jump into the grave to retrieve it. Then my anxiety turns to amusement. Once again, the launch of Susan's ashes is associated with a big surprise. It's happened just about every time. It's Susan's playful way of announcing she still considers herself the guardian of her ashes. The more power to you Susan. May you and Kal cook up many more surprises for those of us who delight in such goings on. For it is through their humor that I can confirm that Kal and Susan have been reunited. Rock on my beloved Bro', rock on.
Wishing you and your loved ones the joys of profound peace and satisfaction in all your endeavors,
Stan
