I went home for a few hours last week. A final farewell for a fallen skydiver found me back at Skydive Sussex for the first time in many, many months.
Paul's ash dive was well thought out and well executed. A bagpipe played as the jumpers walked to the plane. The dude wearing Paul's ashes on his arm stopped at the entrance to the jump plane and each jumper gave their comrade a final "high five" as they climbed in. I walked behind and to the side, remembering my training to remain with the departed as long as possible. As the jump plane taxied, turned and took off, I stood nearby watching over my sky friends and saying prayers for their safety.
Paul had recently earned his rating as a skydiving instructor and was on the verge of jumping with his first student when he died. So one of the skydivers jumped in the student position while Paul's ashes rode on the arm of the skydiver jumping in the spot Paul himself would have occupied. Ten other jumpers accompanied Paul on this his last jump before he was released into the air.
The jumpers landed near the spot in the landing area where Paul's D license number was cut into the grass. His family and friends, who had gathered at the dropzone to watch the ritual, walked out to greet and hug the returning skydivers. Then the jump plane flew in low over the landing area, dipping its right wing. Cheers, more hugs, pictures, food, sitting in the warm sun, listening to people talk and laugh.
The beer light comes on once the last jump plane of the day takes off. In some drop zones there is not an actual light, but it is just an expression. When the beer light is on it means you can have a beverage if you want to. So, after one more jump the clouds rolled in and the beer light came on and we walked to the pub at the end of the landing area. Someone carried a couple of pictures of Paul with us. We put the pictures on a picnic table outside the pub, ordered draft beers and stood, with Paul's pictures and Paul's family, in a huge circle in the parking lot, toasting him and pouring libations.
As I always do in large gatherings I stood at the edge of things, watching the faces, listening to the laughter, smiling to myself at how good it was to be there, despite the circumstances.
But the best part? The best part was that I got to be the pastor me in the midst of my sky world. At another dropzone I once emerged from the bathroom after a jump wearing a suit and my clerical collar so that I could go visit someone in the hospital. I recall walking across the packing mat to get my rig and my gear bag, and that the reaction was rather comical -- something like the entrance of the villain into a saloon in an old Western. It seemed everyone stopped talking and the piano stopped playing and the glasses tinkled down to silence... But last week I was able to stand as fully and completely myself. I read a poem suitable for funerals and invoked some prayers of comfort and commital.
I recall standing in the large circle that had gathered in the packing tent, a circle comprised of skydiving comrades and Paul's family and his friends, and realizing the moment was the perfect intersection of everything that I am. I felt at peace. I felt at home.
And God was in it and over it all.
Paul's ash dive was well thought out and well executed. A bagpipe played as the jumpers walked to the plane. The dude wearing Paul's ashes on his arm stopped at the entrance to the jump plane and each jumper gave their comrade a final "high five" as they climbed in. I walked behind and to the side, remembering my training to remain with the departed as long as possible. As the jump plane taxied, turned and took off, I stood nearby watching over my sky friends and saying prayers for their safety.
Paul had recently earned his rating as a skydiving instructor and was on the verge of jumping with his first student when he died. So one of the skydivers jumped in the student position while Paul's ashes rode on the arm of the skydiver jumping in the spot Paul himself would have occupied. Ten other jumpers accompanied Paul on this his last jump before he was released into the air.
The jumpers landed near the spot in the landing area where Paul's D license number was cut into the grass. His family and friends, who had gathered at the dropzone to watch the ritual, walked out to greet and hug the returning skydivers. Then the jump plane flew in low over the landing area, dipping its right wing. Cheers, more hugs, pictures, food, sitting in the warm sun, listening to people talk and laugh.
The beer light comes on once the last jump plane of the day takes off. In some drop zones there is not an actual light, but it is just an expression. When the beer light is on it means you can have a beverage if you want to. So, after one more jump the clouds rolled in and the beer light came on and we walked to the pub at the end of the landing area. Someone carried a couple of pictures of Paul with us. We put the pictures on a picnic table outside the pub, ordered draft beers and stood, with Paul's pictures and Paul's family, in a huge circle in the parking lot, toasting him and pouring libations.
As I always do in large gatherings I stood at the edge of things, watching the faces, listening to the laughter, smiling to myself at how good it was to be there, despite the circumstances.
But the best part? The best part was that I got to be the pastor me in the midst of my sky world. At another dropzone I once emerged from the bathroom after a jump wearing a suit and my clerical collar so that I could go visit someone in the hospital. I recall walking across the packing mat to get my rig and my gear bag, and that the reaction was rather comical -- something like the entrance of the villain into a saloon in an old Western. It seemed everyone stopped talking and the piano stopped playing and the glasses tinkled down to silence... But last week I was able to stand as fully and completely myself. I read a poem suitable for funerals and invoked some prayers of comfort and commital.
I recall standing in the large circle that had gathered in the packing tent, a circle comprised of skydiving comrades and Paul's family and his friends, and realizing the moment was the perfect intersection of everything that I am. I felt at peace. I felt at home.
And God was in it and over it all.
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