I am grateful to Ed and Carol Gulley, we each put up with the creative craziness of the other.
Ed loved being photographed, any time, any day, anywhere. Carol never likes being photographed, but she grits her teeth and puts up with it, because she has to take photos herself now for her blog, the Bejosh Farm Journal and also perhaps because she knew it was what her farmer wanted.
We’ll see how accommodating she is now that he is gone.
Visiting them in the late winter, I said I wanted to do an “American Gothic” kind of picture with them, pitchforks and all, and Carol got a pitchfork and Ed grabbed one of his iron flowers. It was vintage Gulleys.
Carol always went along, but you can see a kind of tightness in her face in the photos, whereas Ed always looked as if he just fell off of Mt. Rushmore. Carol is reluctant celebrity, Ed was a born ham.
The photo reminds me that we each stretched ourselves sometimes on behalf of the other, an important quality in a friendship. I had pretty much decided I wasn’t going to Ed’s funeral this Saturday, something was pulling me away from it.
I’ve written a lot about Ed and his sickness and death was draining for me, although so much less so for me than for Carol and for his children and grand-children. I just didn’t want to go, perhaps I was just filled up with images of Ed lying in that bed, dying more and more, day by day. I’m not sure.
I also didn’t feel as if I was needed there. Hundreds of people loved Ed, and many of them will be at the funeral. Most knew him longer than I did, and what could I really add to what they knew and felt?
I have a habit of thinking I am not really needed anywhere, an old habit that often ends up being a prophecy that comes true. Carol and the members of her family let me know that they understood if I couldn’t come, no pressure, but they let me know that I was needed and that it did matter.
Carol had asked me earlier if I wished to read something, and I said no.
Then (Ed and I were friends for a reason, my ego began to itch, I love being in front of an audience just as much as he did) and I thought of something I would actually like to read at Ed’s funeral service.
Podiums are my friend.
So there it is, I am going. If Ed is flying with the angels, then it was only natural for my better angels to check in with me, and say, yo, I think they would really like it if you came. So go.
Nuff said. And I can read from my own writing, nothing shabby about that.
I’m glad, Jon. I would NEVER have suggested that you go. (I’ve been following you long enough to know better.) But my inner-self was saying that I hoped you would go.
Jon,
We were so pleased to meet you and Maria yesterday and we are also pleased that you have decided to join everyone on Sunday. Everyone handles grief in their own way but I truly believe that there is strength in numbers. You and your wife meant so much to Ed and we are sorry for your loss as well. I think this gathering to bid our final farewell to Ed will be healing for all of us.
SO glad to hear you are going to attend Ed’s funeral. He would have wanted you to. I believe he will see everyone there and be glad. Read your beautiful eulogy Jon. Ed will be smiling down, no doubt.
I knew you’d change your mind, Jon. Your love for Ed, Carol and public speaking *wink* would win you over. If I may be so bold, that’s what I like about you and that’s what friendship is all about. ?
You’re a good man, Jon Katz. Whatever you decide is the right decision.
Susie
Jon I don’t think I have written to you after so long reading your writing. My dream is to become a writer, however, not very certain I could relate reality as well as you do. Your POV about the Farmer has made me cry more than once. Oh how I would love to spend time with him, as well as his entire family. I guess that is what your words have done. I have not cried for many years. Thank you, and God Bless.
Jon, I think reading some of your eloquent words will be a fitting tribute to Ed, but also a great comfort for the Gulley family. You have accompanied them very intimately on this journey, as Carol calls it, and it makes sense to be with them til the end.
Jon, i’m glad you listened to your angels You may diminish the value of your attendance at Ed’s funeral as being of little importance but I believe in truth (from what I have read here for a long time) you were/are as important in Ed’s life, as he was in yours. You will bring fitting tribute to a very loved and important person…… you will bring much appreciated love and respect to the tribute to his big life.
Susan M
I don’t go to funerals much either, Jon. A wake, maybe, at least one like we had for my Dad, but funerals, umm, no. It’s just not how I want to honor my friends. I head to a small grove of first-growth cedar trees nearby to reflect, cry, smile with the memories I have…
Everyone has their way of dealing with death and we should not judge each other’s rituals. (I don’t mean to imply that anyone writing here has done so.)
I’m glad that you chose what felt best to you in honoring your friend. May Ed and his family be at peace.
I loved my grandmother to the to the depth and breadth and height my soul could reach. In the whole world she alone seemed to love me and find me worthy. When she died I was so broken by the loss I found a way to skip the funeral. I should have gone for myself. The ones we miss deny us a kind of healing.