by Ingrid Brown

Previous Story

As we sat in Kurt's funeral, my thoughts and emotions ran rampantly. I felt guilty because I had not been aware of the gravity of his illness and had therefore not been a part of his life during those last months. I had not had a chance to say good-bye. My sense of loss was even more vivid as I listened to person after person describe their relationship with the deceased. As I listened, I realized that I really had not known this person who was my first cousin and now I could only become acquainted with him through the fond verbal memories of others.

There were evidently many victories that he had accomplished during his lifetime. These were victories I had not witnessed. He had obviously undergone a major transformation and had overcome odds that would test the average person's imagination. I had been aware of many of the obstacles but had no idea of the way in which Kurt had met these challenges.

I felt guilty that one who knew so little of the person who lay at rest in the burgundy coffin had arrived at the funeral in one of the two family cars and was seated on the second row directly behind his immediate family. My mother and I were ahead of many who had walked with him through his trials and had certainly been there to offer comfort and prayers during those last days and hours of his life. They had "been there for him" while I had been unaware of his condition; yet at the request of his sister, Vickie, there I sat.

However, these thoughts were to be only a minute portion of my feelings of guilt. The pastor of Kurt's church was my first love, Brandon E. Kincaid. I had not seen him in over 20 years and seldom thought of him. When I did think of Brandon it was always with fond memories and a smile. Ours had been a young innocent love that spanned junior and senior high school. We broke up during our senior year for no spoken reason yet we always had a warm, friendly dialogue whenever chance brought us together momentarily.

As I prepared to travel to Omaha for Kurt's funeral, I had thoughts of all of those who would be in attendance that I had not seen in the almost 20 years since I moved away from that fair city. I wondered if Kurt’s sister, Cheryl and I would even recognize each other. Of course, as I thought of those that I had not seen in many years, Brandon certainly came to mind. I tried to imagine how he would look after so much time just as I did with others I knew I would see. There was no special attention to my thoughts of him and no special feelings. I imagined that seeing him again and merely speaking with him briefly would be one pleasant event during an otherwise sad occasion. I was totally astounded by the emotions that overwhelmed me when I heard his voice. I felt as if I were loosing my mind.

After the family filed into the sanctuary, Brandon stood and looked over the crowd but did not speak. At that time I was filled with warm, fond thoughts. To me, he looked basically the same. Although, his hairline recedes minimally and he now wears glasses, I saw the same boyishly handsome person I had known since I was thirteen years old. He stood only a moment before again taking his seat. The music continued and I focused on those who took part in the program. Shortly, Brandon stood again and took his place behind the pulpit. He leaned toward the mike and uttered some phrase that I can no longer recall in the beautiful baritone voice that I had long ago forgotten. At that moment my heart began to pound and my face became so flushed that I feared I would faint. I felt shocked, confused, embarrassed and guilty.

Here I was at my cousin's funeral and I was feeling God only knows what for a man that I had not seen in years. I had certainly seen and talked to Brandon a number of times after we broke up so very long ago but had never experienced this kind of emotion. Over the years when I think about the different people I've been involved with and wonder, which was truly "the one", I've never thought of Brandon. Why at this particular time was I having this uncontrollable reaction to the mere sound of his voice?

I was so uncomfortable that had I not been a member of the family and if the church had not been so large; I would have walked outside to regain my composure. I have never been so shocked and confused in my entire life. I sat there with my head down in an attempt to avoid looking at the pastor but was unable to escape the sound of that voice. Thankfully, after only a moment, he again took his seat.

As I sat with the family, I was bombarded with missiles of emotions. On one hand, the tributes to my cousin warmed my heart and left me feeling that there had been a void in my life because I had barely known Kurt as an adult. I was impressed with the work that he had done for the Lord and relieved that he was at peace with the knowledge of his imminent demise and had, in fact, attempted to help his loved ones prepare for life without him.

On the other hand, I was painfully aware that my heart was pounding and my temperature had surely risen a couple of degrees. The confusion was almost more than I could handle. I used every available effort to focus on the service but could not stop wondering about the source of this odd and unexpected reaction.

When Brandon began to give the eulogy, I was once again totally overcome. The combination of emotions was almost too intense to endure. First, there was that "voice." But then there were the words, the concepts that described my cousin with such sincere admiration that I once again felt a deep sense of loss. However, he managed to keep his words of comfort very upbeat and encouraging. Brandon is a very effective speaker. He even enabled the congregation, including the family, to chuckle. One of the things I will always remember and admire about Brandon Kincaid is the fact that if you spend more than three minutes in his presence, you will laugh. Even if it’s through your tears, you will laugh.

Vickie told me later that Kurt had basically planned his own funeral. He had taken care of all details leaving only the content of the message and tributes for others to complete. His one major request was that the service be positive. Vickie said Kurt told her, "Keep the people calm, Vickie. Don't let them get out of hand. Keep everyone calm and light." I'm sure these were the instructions he gave Rev. Kincaid as well. I must say Brandon followed directions very well. At the end of his eulogy, he stated, “We've sung Kurt's favorite songs and we've read his favorite scriptures..." his voice trailed and his face showed that he searched for something else to do for Kurt. With nothing left to do, Brandon's demeanor betrayed the spirit that he had set for the service. His shoulders drooped and his mouth turned downward. He slowly left the pulpit and approached the casket. He touched Kurt's body and for just one second it appeared that after uplifting everyone else, he would loose control. He very quickly regained his composure and took his place with the elders of the church to greet the people. He flashed his beautiful smile as he shook hands with each person.

Kurt had been one of the ministers in this church and was the Director of the Ministry for Men. He was born and raised in Omaha and was well known and admired by people from all walks of life. There were several hundred people in attendance that all filed past the body while the family waited to view him last. I did not think I could continue to sit there with my heart pounding and my thoughts racing. Yet, I had no choice.

I had not had an opportunity to view Kurt's body before the service and was not sure of the condition to be witnessed when it was finally my turn to see my cousin for the last time. Also, I did not know how I would react when I was face to face with my childhood sweetheart. I felt extremely anxious. Finally, the usher indicated that it was our turn to leave the pew, view the body and greet the pastor and elders. I was relieved to see Kurt looked as I remembered him. He was very handsome in a gray suit and there was a look of peace in his face.

Now it was time to approach Brandon. As I walked toward him, he began to extend his hand. I ignored the gesture and opened my arms. We embraced and he spoke into my ear, "I haven't seen you in sooooo long." When we released each other I did not greet the elders; I had forgotten they were standing there with outstretched hands.

My cousin's death was unexpected to me and the effect of his home going service was even more surprising. I left the cemetery thinking that I had just experienced a life-changing event. On one hand, I felt foolish as I stood at the open grave and listened to Brandon repeat the words that are commonly used at the burial site. I looked at my surviving cousins and realized that we know very little of each other. I had not known that Kurt and his brother Rocky were both married. Nor did I know his sister, Cheryl, was divorced. We were the offspring of two sisters and yet we were as distant as strangers.

Of course, there were reasons for the lack of communication between us. However, as I gazed upon the casket that would forever hold my cousin's remains, I was confronted with reality. In the scheme of things, our differences were insignificant. In life, God must be most important. Alliance with family members must be second only to that supreme relationship. I felt partially responsible for the distance my cousins and I experienced and vowed to make every attempt to develop a strong connection with these relatives of mine. Surely, that would be an attainable goal.

On the other hand, I remained puzzled by my strange reaction to being in Brandon's presence. What was the meaning of this emotional maze? Was I about to discover some startling revelation about him or myself or both of us? Or were these feelings the result of an unconscious fantasy of a lonely, aging woman suddenly confronted with "what could have been?"

Copyright 2001 Ingrid Brown