We were a tad late, but were there in time to hear the testimonials of my father-in-law and Uncle Max's daughters. It's an odd thing to see. I'm guessing it's a borrowing, but it works well here, as Uncle Max didn't go to a synagogue, so they had to use a funeral parlor rabbi.
I wish the rabbi had worn a kippah, though, given that most of the male mourners did. He did a perfectly fine job, though, and never pretended to know him, which is good.
We decided that, given that Jonathan had to get on a train to Princeton, and that I didn't really know the way back, to skip the cemetery - even though Aunt Julie kindly offered me a place in the limo. I dropped Jonathan off at a kosher pizza place near a subway station, at his request, and drove the rest of the way to Brooklyn,
I didn't intend for this to happen, but I drove past Ground Zero on my way home. It was weird. I haven't driven past there in daylight until today. So, I'm driving down the West Side Highway, heading for the Brooklyn Bridge when I look at the road a head, and. They're gone. There's an enormous hole in the sky where two buildings ought to be looming. It made the whole thing alien. Unknown. Different.
I kept on driving, missing a turn I might have made, so I could go past the actual in the ground hole. I've never seen it before. There were signs. "We will never forget." "We will never forget your sacrifice. The WTC Families." There were flags. There were buildings draped in netting or gigantic moving quilts.
They're gone. The way Uncle Max is gone. And in both cases, all that's left is a hole in the world.