Turn The Page
The service for RQ's dad was, in a word, awe-inspiring. And his buddies did make some noise riding through the streets of Union City.
The police escort drove them through town as their Harleys played a final song for Jimmy, a symphony of metal and oil, on their engines for their friend.
It was one of the greatest things I've ever heard.
RQ finally broke down. She needed to.
And so did I. I could sleep for a month right now.
Nearly 400 people came through the doors of the funeral home, from little old church ladies to people in their leathers.
And his legacy was in tact.
Her mother rode his motorcycle with Jimmy's best friend one last time at the end of the services.
And we saluted him. We honored him. We are so grateful he is no longer in pain, and we loved him and will continue to do so.
As he was cremated, his Sturgis Harley sat in the front of the chapel representing him, draped with his leathers. His bike adorned his helmet (ever been to a funeral where you see a motorcycle helmet that says "I know Jack Shit" on it? Me neither, but it was him.) Every seat in the chapel was full. They had to do a Rent-a-chaplain sort of thing, but he did a good job about talking about diversity and how everyone is different, but love has no pre-set patent on it, no particular look or feel. Love is just ... well ... love.
Thank you for your kind sentiments here at the 'coma. The family looked at them yesterday afternoon (RQ's mother kept saying, "What is the blog thing that you speak of?")
We showed her.
And if you want to know more and see a picture of Jimmy Dan with the biggest damn chicken I've ever seen (It's name was Charley and it is real) , go here.
It is his DVD tribute that played through the funeral.
And now, the hard stuff starts.
(Ed. Note: The link was messing up so I updated to the actual website. Look for Jimmy Dan Sturgis.)