John died thirteen days ago on a Wednesday from Leukemia, a
disease he had been battling for the last ten years. He was fifty-five years
old with a wife, a son and a daughter. I didn’t know John, but I had prepared
music which his family selected as “some of his favorites” for me to sing at
his funeral the following Monday. I spent some of the morning rehearsing the
unfamiliar music and as I sat occupied in the front pew - reviewing the lyrics
in my head, humming to myself to warm up my vocal folds, and glancing at the
bulletin to see when my turn would be – it was only slowly, with sporadic
awareness, that I noticed where I was, that this was not merely another gig or
performance.
