Last supper, last song

As I recall, it was raining that evening. The soggy Portland rain that keeps the bottoms of your pants wet for months. Oregonians tend not to carry umbrellas or wear appropriate rain gear so we can often be seen, as we probably were that evening, running from the car to the restaurant lobby covering our heads with our hands. There were maybe four other tables being served that evening, so we had the full attention of both our waiter and the entertainment for the evening, a very happy man with a guitar. We sat in a large booth. Mom and dad were next to me, and our dear friends, Don and Bobby across from us. I wasn't thrilled about the restaurant choice, German. The thought of heavy german sausage and bread sitting in my gut wasn't nearly as appealing as heavy mexican burritos sitting in my gut! But a free meal is a free meal right? Right. I don't remember what I ordered, or what anyone else ordered, because the meals were overshadowed by the lively soul satisfying conversations and the laughter. Towards the end of the evening, the guitarist came to our table and asked for any requests. Dad, seemingly bolder than usual, requested John Denver's 'Take me home (country road)'. We all started singing together loudly, and I'm sure the other four tables wondered how much beer we had consumed that night (none by the way), but we were oblivious to the onlookers and just kept singing. It seems almost sitcom-y looking back at it now. Mom and dad drove me home that Sunday night, over to the shelter where I was interning. We continued our singing in the car across the Willamette River and down the I 84, this time accompanied by the Carpenters. Dad pulled into my driveway, walked me to my door and gave me a hug. We exchanged 'I love you's' and 'see you next weekend's' before I closed and locked my front door. Three nights later I was awakened by very loud knocking on that very same door and collapsed into the arms of my grandparents in that very same entryway as they told me he was gone.

Three days after that, at an unusually large, yet still intimate gravesite service, Don shared a photo that had been taken of the five of us that evening at Gustav's. He talked about the irony he found in dad choosing a song called 'take me home' with opening lyrics "Almost heaven".

That last supper and song with dad is a cherished memory and gift from God.