Last Sunday, we held (at our house) a memorial service for my father-in-law Michael Bylo. At his request, he was cremated and we did not go the traditional funeral home route.
My wife decided to have the service at our house because he spent his last days here and died here but also because he was a frequent visitor here sitting in his usual spots at the house; it seemed to be a lot more personal than to hold the service at a hall or at a restaurant.
We were expecting close to seventy (70) people so space was a consideration. We put up a large tent over the driveway with tables and chairs and also had a porta-john outside to ease the burden on the inside bathrooms but alas, all for naught since the chilly weather kept everybody inside; it was cozy to say the least.
We invited a Baptist minister even though my father-in-law was a Catholic, mainly because my wife liked his easy style and he was not overly religious as priests tend to be. He read some familiar Psalms and recounted the world that Mike Bylo lived through starting with the end of WWI in 1918, being in the Navy during WWII, and working for Ford for 30 years and retiring for more years than he actually worked. After a few more prayers the grandkids (all in their 30s) took to the floor.
My daughter Tanya read a poem by Kahlil Gibran from his book The Prophet (1923):
Foe what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
My niece (Kim) talked about how talking with her grandfather always made her feel better especially when he answered the phone with…my you’re looking good!
My son Zak’s piece was longer and more emotional:
TELL ME THE STORY AGAIN…
Catching baseballs hit over the wall into the street behind Tiger (Navin) Field during practice and turning them in to get into the games (for free).
Swimming in the Detroit River and getting whipped by the Coast Guard for crossing the line between Detroit and Windsor (Canada
Selling newspapers all the way down Michigan Avenue when he was just a little kid.
Going to the library with his sisters, who were all smarter than he was.
Carousing with his best friend Bob Simon at the piano bar.
Running away from home…
When I was younger, I didn’t quite understand why he needed to tell the same stories over and over again. It was something I figured I had learned about “old people” and was just one of those amusing little things you deal with.
Funny thing is, the older I got, I found myself doing the same thing; just ask Kimberly. And I realize now that I do it more for myself than for the other person. A lot of times it’s simply more comforting to relive past experiences, even if they were somewhat traumatic, than to deal with the stress of talking about what happened today and what’s going to happen tomorrow and the next year and so on…
At a certain point along the way, I discovered that the comfort he felt telling me the stories was shared by my comfort in hearing them. I cherished the moment each one started, as if they were on a mental conveyer belt. They had the same pacing, the same build up and the same genuine excitement in reliving the past every time. His experiences started to become my experiences vicariously and it was exiting for me to relive HIS past.
I often worried that the stories of my life’s history, to which my children and grandchildren would one day be privy, would pale in comparison to those experienced so vividly upon listening to Poppa. But as hard as it is for me to believe now, I know that my life is rich in its own way and all the more so because I knew him…and all his stories.
He chocked up at the end and my wife didn’t even attempt to talk.
After the talks came a song and quiet reflection. The song was from a group of songs compiled by our great friends from North Carolina Carolina
Children in attendance were quiet and paid close attention to the service. Some grew quite emotional and asked their parents to explain their feelings and where did the person they saw at many family occasions go.
After the service, people gathered in groups to talk and reminisce and eat a fantastically catered spread of finger foods and deserts; the bar was on the deck where the alcohol kept everyone there warm enough.
Many people commented that they have never been to such an affair or such an alternative to the normal funeral routine and they liked it better. Maybe we started a trend but I know we prefer this for ourselves when the time comes.
Many talked about how they were dissatisfied with normal funeral services as not being personal enough with the priest not knowing the deceased but the only one talking about the deceased. Hey, maybe this will change how people say goodbye to their loved ones even thought it would be detrimental to funeral homes and churches.
We stayed up late talking about what just occurred and agreed that it was indeed a good send-off and that Mike Bylo would have appreciated the effort and all the people that came to say good-bye.
The next day, as also per his request, we, in-laws and niece, headed out to Rotunda Drive near the original Ford Rouge Plant where Ford maintains its baseball diamonds. It is here that my father-in-law as a Ford white –collar worker played on the Ford team(s) and later helped coach other Ford teams including his favorite female team. According to him, these were some of his happiest moments; he wanted his ashes spread around second base and we did so.
It was a windy, grey day as we placed a sunflower on each base including the pitcher’s mound (he pitched). Linda read a sentiment sent to us by our great friends George and Kate from Monterrey , California
“Many cultures believe that when a body is cremated, the soul’s inner spirit is then free to journey to their chosen place or their birth place.
I am sure that your dad will be coaching many more teams on that ball field”.
After that, we drove to Chilies for lunch.
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