Joe was 69 and had been treated for Stage 4 prostate cancer for four years. Ten years ago he had a prostatectomy, but active nodes were still noted. Once upon a time 69 would seem like a long life. Not these days.
My wife's family is a large one, consisting of aunts, uncles and cousins that extend through several generations. Joey was perhaps my wife's 3rd cousin. His mother and my wife's mother were first cousins, their mothers being sisters. so I think I got that right.
The family tree would start in Ireland, and quickly spread to many branches, principally settled in Ireland, the Boston area and Freehold, New Jersey. With my wife and her family, New York figured in there as well.
Families of four and five, with families of four and five quickly populate the world with relatives to some degree. Cousin Clubs, weddings (and now funerals) create quite a gathering.
My own family is small, despite my father having three brothers, and my mother having only one brother who had only one child. My mother's side is nestled in Illinois, my father's in parts of New York, New Jersey and San Diego, but with no family adhesion. If my family were stuck in an elevator my guess is no one would talk to anyone. Being in a elevator together would be the closest they'd get.
My first exposure to my wife's extended family occurred sometime in the mid-'70s when she and I attended a wedding in Freehold. The morning after the wedding we went to an aunt's house (really a cousin) to say goodbye.
As we approached the large corner house on Jerseyville Avenue on a quiet Sunday morning the noise from the house kept increasing. Not enough to disturb the neighbors to call the police, but there were clearly people stirring. And some were literally stirring. Stirring another one.
My wife's quick assessment told me, "they haven't been to bed yet." And they hadn't. Several people were paddling around the kitchen, some still in portions of Saturday's clothes, some in sleepwear, but all bleary-eyes and still drinking. The kitchen looked like a bar at closing before everything is put away. There was a lot of cleanup left to do.
And there was Joey, sitting under the phone and blowing a bugle or a trumped into the phone at someone the family woke up. They spent the night singing Irish songs, drinking, and calling people up in Ireland and talking their ears off. They were somehow making tapes of the conversations and playing them back to the people they called. No idea when they started this, but given the time difference, they were likely sure to have woken folks up across the pond. Why should they sleep?
My wife's Aunt Emma, Joey's mom, appeared fresh as a daisy. My wife knew Aunt Emma was a bit more sensible and went to bed when you might be expected to go to bed on a Saturday night after a wedding—late, but not the next day.
Joe was just plain popular and a decent fellow. He was a Sequoia-tree of a man, just like his fireman father. Joe was by vocation an accountant, but by avocation was "the old fashioned handyman" a business of one who could do anything constructive for anyone.
Attendance at Tuesday's wake and mass the following day filled the funeral home and the church. There was always a line waiting to pay their respects. Joe was an avid golfer, and a few golf caps were in the casket. There were many floral arrangements from golfing clubs, and one arrangement from his sister Lorraine. brother-in-law and niece that mimicked a golf ball, and an flag stick. The flag had the number 21 on it. There was even a persimmon-headed driver in amongst the flowers.
Twenty-one? Turns out that was his high school basketball number. His coach from high school brought Joe's jersey to the wake and draped it in the casket. Why or how he still had the jersey was not disclosed. I asked the family if the coach took it down from the rafters, that perhaps Joe was so good they retired his number. Not the case. The coach just had it. That was typical of the gathering. Everyone had a memory of Joe.
The procession from the funeral home to the church in Lynn was a long one. There were easily 50-60 vehicles. There was police presence at major intersections to keep the flow continuous.
A catholic funeral mass can be a family affair, and this was no exception. Reading and offering of the gifts were all conducted my family. The centerpiece to this was the niece Mary, Lorraine's daughter, who is a professional trained singer and music teacher. She sand all the hymns and songs.
Joe's daughter Collen gave a lovely eulogy and got through it without caving in to emotion. It was a masterful presentation of love.
Just prior to that, the priest, literally described as a friend in the program, father Paul Kilroy, gave the homily, that was a recollection of his knowing the family since his and their formative years at St. Clement's in Somerville. He knew Joey's mother Emma, a strong-willed woman when it came to religion (she befriended Ethel Kennedy at the Centerville church on Cape Cod) and who made sure Joey could be interrupted from his schoolyard basketball when Father Kilroy called because he was short an alter boy. A call to the household bullpen took care of that.
Father Kilroy admitted it was hard to fully call this a celebration of life when someone dies, but there is a celebration to be free from the pain of dying.
Knowing the family means a lot in situations like this, and Father Kilroy was quite acquainted with the Cantys. At Joe's absolute insistence, he married Joe' daughter Colleen in the same church.
The homily wove in a phrase I didn't know was biblical, but one I always loved: "'I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."
The phrase always reminded me of Robert Louis Stevenson's poem 'Requiem,' part of which serves as his epitaph:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
As Catholic burial masses go, it was quite standard in content. But the fact that the niece Mary did the singing added to the love. And when toward the end she got to the Celtic Farewell, well, if there were bagpipes playing the moist eyes would have burst. I never knew the melody to 'Danny Boy' had other lyrics. And they rang loud and clear.
As with any mass, the priest greets the congregants in the vestibule at the end. On the way out I told Father Kilroy that I wasn't Catholic, but I'd take an Irish-Catholic burial any day. I told him his homily was beautiful. I commented he should be in marketing promoting the church. He said they can always use new members.
Wakefiled, just north of Boston, a 25 minute commuter train away, has the Currier and Ives charm of Bedford Falls in 'A Wonderful Life.' The main street has a grassy median, and the Christmas decorations were still up.
The procession to the cemetery passed through a few communities, Lynnfield, where Joey and his wife Susan lived, Lynn and Peabody. At times it was hilly, and on a few occasions I couldn't help notice there were HUGE boulders on properties. They looked like something left over from when the glaciers melted, and they probably were.
The cemetery in Peabody is unique, at least to me. Puritan Lawn Memorial Park allows no headstone. It it wasn't for a hearse going through the entrance and numerous sprays of Christmas wreaths on the footstones, you wouldn't know you were in a cemetery.
Gravesite services are always short, and this was no exception. Other Canty family members are buried there as well. My wife had been there before for an uncle's funeral. It was my first time. The lake, trees, and birds certainly give the place a place of rest setting.
And with no surprise, food and drink were offered at a party room at the Gannon Golf Course in Lynn. Gannon is a public course run by the city of Lynn, and where I'm sure many rounds were played by Joe and his golf buddies. Joes' wife Susan is also an avid golfer.
Midway through the affair Joe's nephew Matthew gave a short toast to Joe. And never to be upstaged, Joe's sister Lorraine gave the assembled what might be considered an Irish blessing. She claimed to have found the words when looking for something as they were gathering mementos for the funeral.
As you go slide down the banister of life, may all the splinters be facing the right way.
Amen.
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