I took the tickets from my aborted attempt to go visit my brother on Thursday (all praise Southwest air) and flew down for Aaron’s funeral yesterday. My parents drove up from central VA. It was a long and brutal day, but cathartic. I’m going to write all about it here and then move on.
Media
This thing has been at the front of the Metro section for the past week. The coverage has sort of converged and seems to be looking for somewhere to go:
March 4: The driver talks to the press
March 4: A retrospective article
March 5: Article about Aaron’s funeral
Outbound
I took a lesson from Thursday’s failure and booked the 6:40am flight to BWI. It worked out perfectly and I was in a rental car heading south by around 8:30. Since the service wasn’t until 2pm, I decided to stop off at the Jefferson memorial to see if Tom had any words of wisdom. He did, but none that seemed really applicable to the day. Engraved on the marble was this gem:
From there, I went to the IHOP in question. As I remembered, even in broad daylight, alone in the car, it’s a tricky parking situation. You have to snake through several turns to get out, no matter where you park. I’m sure it was just chaos and confusion that night. There was a small shrine of flowers, pictures, and sharpie messages tacked up on a corner of the facade of the building. I thought it was mighty nice of the IHOP to not “clean it up” quite yet.
Continued south, met up with my parents for lunch.
The Funeral
We got over to the funeral home at around 1pm, an hour early. The place was already entirely filled, such that we could barely squeeze in to say hello to Aaron’s mom. We went over to the overflow seating in the church next door, where they ran a video and sound feed. We had to stand in a line that went all the way down the block to get in there, and there wasn’t a second backup location. By packing in, I think that everyone who wanted to attend was able to squeeze in, but there must have been at least 300 people there. The video feed was pretty good, they had a projection onto a big screen at the front of the church … it wasn’t just a dinky television at the front of an overcrowded room.
The press were there, but they were unobtrusive and fairly respectful. I still hate and fear them, of course. That part of Jefferson’s advice holds true.
The program started with music by various groups that Aaron had been a part of. The mens chorale, the guitar club, and several smaller ensembles. My brother performed an incredible solo guitar piece that just blew my mind. It was haunting, moving and deep. When I asked, he said that it was “just a study from a book of studies.” I dragged out of him that it’s study #13 from Fernando Sor’s book of 20. Op 6 #9. Here’s a midi version with no soul whatsoever. I found a version on iTunes by Kevin McCormick. All told, it was about an hour of music.
Then there was a sermon that did exactly what such sermons are supposed to do: It made everyone reflect on the high points of Aaron’s life. At only one point did the preacher (the same guy who married the parents and baptised Aaron 18 year ago, watch out rev_e, it’s not all happy occasions) touch on the violence and senselessness of his death. “An incident. A shooting. One kid was dead. It could have been more. IT DIDN’T HAVE TO BE ANY.”
Aaron had completed his Eagle scout, but had never had the formal court of honor at which they present the rank. A national level guy from the boy scouts presented it posthumously, which was gut wrenching.
Aaron’s godparents got up and said some words … which is was close to home, since I’m to be a godparent in short order.
The Browns Speak
Then, perhaps most amazingly, Mr and Mrs Brown got up. I’m pretty confident that I wouldn’t have the power to speak at such a time, much less to be coherent and gracious. Aaron’s mom spoke first, hugging a teddy bear from the display of Aaron’s things and clearly struggling … but never breaking down. She thanked the entire community by name, seemingly. At this point we were about two hours into the ceremony, and it was hot and stifling in the church. When she was done, Mr Brown took the microphone and paused for a long time. He seemed to me to be deciding whether or not to say what he had planned. Then he went ahead and did it. It went something like this (my version varies from the quote in the Post. Oh well. I wasn’t taking notes):
“In the past week, we’ve spoken to a lot of people. The mayor of Alexandria, the chief of police, various media and lawyers. There are still a lot of questions out there, and we may never know exactly what happened or why. It’s really hard for us to imagine how our son being shot is the right and appropriate outcome. If it turns out that Aaron made a mistake, an error, we will live with that. However, the far larger question lies with the officer. if it turns out that the officer acted according to the laws and regulations, if he followed his training and it led to this, then that training and those laws need to change. We will dedicate ourselves to making sure that shooting at a moving vehicle filled with nonviolent kids is never the legal action, in every state and in every town and in every precinct.”
Odd, for a funeral, but he had to pause for applause. Once things had settled down, he continued:
“This is a celebration of Aaron’s life, a party. And I don’t wear ties or collar shirts to parties. So if you’ll excuse me a moment,” and he stripped down to a tie dyed t-shirt that Aaron had made for him years ago. “Let your hair down a little. Try and relax. . . . Share your stories, I feel that the louder the music and the laughter, the more we will draw Aaron’s spirit to the party that we’re throwing in his honor.”
And with that, we sent Aaron on into the next life. At the end of the day, I felt that it was the best possible ceremony … and perhaps the best way to start to exorcise the demons surrounding Aaron’s death. This is the sort of thing that leaves people messed up for life, and this funeral was a starting point towards healing. There was no anger, only love and sorrow, and then re-bonding as a community.
The Browns, Mr Brown in particular, are just shockingly strong. Even in acknowledging that they’re disappointed and angry, they’ve found a positive. A way to go forward. I hope that, should I ever have to be in the public eye, I would do half so well.
The Reception and After
The reception was loud and wild. Various bands formed and re-formed around a couple of amplifiers and a drum kit. My brother seemed to be part of most of them. I noticed a major change in his playing. Before, he seemed to have to work for the amazing rock solos that he cranks out. They’re effortless now. I found myself talking to a lot of friends of both Aaron and my brother. Some even recognized me unprompted. It’s almost enough to make you believe in genetics, I guess.
You can say “he was a friend to all” about a lot of people. Usually it’s a flat out lie. In this case though, looking at the room full of boy scouts, metal rockers, church people, neighbors, stoners, freaks, geeks, and ordinary folks … I really believed it. I wish that I had gotten to know Aaron, even a little bit.
After our parents got back on the road for their long drive south, I wound up going out to dinner with my brother. For all his composure, he was exhausted and mentally scattered. Evidence for this: I cleaned the chessboard with him twice in a row. Usually those are good contests. We drove back to Baltimore together, I dropped him at his dorm, and then I hauled ass for the airport. I really need to stop this “sprint up to the gate two minutes before they close the door” behavior. Especially in dress shoes. Still, my luck held and I caught the 10pm flight.
Got home around midnight. Hell of a day, but I’m glad I went.
If you get this far, thanks for listening. I think this must be the longest journal entry I’ve every written.
In totally unrelated news, we now need to buy more baking chocolate, because I’ve eaten through the entire supply.
Leave a Reply