February 10th: Naming the Lobsters

The Lobster Tank at Red Lobster is AWESOME!!!!  Bucky  (my three and a half year old grandson) and I spent about 10 minutes naming the lobsters while we were waiting for the rest of our party to arrive.  I gave them random names like Larry and George. But Bucky named them after family.  The smallest one was Baby Sadie Lobster.  She’s cute and little, he told me.   The biggest one was Daddy Lobster.  Then came Mommy Lobster, (she’s right next to Baby Sadie Lobster)  Nanny Lobster, (very nice)  Uncle Jeff Lobster,(maybe Bucky thought he actually looked like his Uncle Jeff.  He didn’t say)  Tappaw Lobster (he needs glasses) and the busiest lobster in the tank he named after himself.  That’s Bucky Lobster.

After we’d named them, the hostess asked us if we’d like to pet the lobsters.  Bucky and I looked at each other a bit confused.  Neither of us had ever thought about petting lobsters before, but since their claws were wrapped shut we decided we’d give lobster petting a try.  As thoughtful as it was of the hostess to pull a lobster out of the tank for us, it wasn’t a thrill we’ll carry in our hearts right next to catching our first fish together or hanging out at the kids pool.  Truth is, when it comes to petting things, lobsters will NEVER replace dogs, or cats or or horses or even pigs or anything else with hair or feathers.  Of course we kept this to ourselves.  Ultimately, life as a lobster in the Red Lobster tank is, by definition, already filled with enough disappointments that we didn’t want to add insult to injury.

The kind of happiness I felt naming lobsters with Bucky at the restaurant was a tender mercy.  An hour later I was trying my best to console my sister, my niece, my brother-in-law and others who stopped by the mortuary to share the burden of a family’s loss.  After hugging and briefly chatting with everyone there I knew (and there were many I didn’t) I slipped over to the baby grand piano in the corner and quietly played the music my heart was feeling at that moment.  The first thing that came out of my fingers was a piano arrangement I’d done thirty-five years ago of a Clara McMaster’s classic primary children’s song: WHENEVER I HEAR THE SONG OF A BIRD.  It just felt like the right melody at that moment.  It’s only now, remembering it, that I think I get what it was trying to tell me.  The lyrics to that song go: “Whenever I hear the song of a bird, or look at the blue, blue sky. Whenever I feel the rain on my face or the wind as it rushes by. Whenever I touch a velvet rose or walk by a lilac tree.  I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heavenly Father created for me.”

While I was softly playing this tune I was able to watch the people in that room, surrounding a closed casket, emotionally hold each other up.  There were moments of sadness and tears in that room, and there were moments of smiles and yes, even laughter as family and friends were doing everything they could at a difficult time to be there for each other.   As I played I  was the one who WAS GLAD THAT I LIVED IN A BEAUTIFUL WORLD where people reached out, a bit awkwardly at times, but reached out just the same to show how much they cared.

Tomorrow is the funeral.  I’ve been asked to sing some of my songs.  I’m such an emotional guy anyway I’m trying to figure out how to get through my part of the funeral without breaking down.  I think before I sing I’m going to close my eyes and remember naming the lobsters.