BELLOWS FALLS — Today, I did something I have not done before. I attended a memorial service for a 29-year-old man who died in a motorcycle accident last Sunday.
It is not an experience I want to repeat.
Since my first funeral in the late '50s, I estimate that I have attended an average of seven funerals a year for 55 years or so. That's close to 400 of them. At some of them, I gave the eulogy.
The service I attended today for that young man was the most memorable such funeral or memorial I have ever attended.
It was not what I expected, nor was it like any others I have ever been to in the past.
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Greg Nichols' death hit me much harder than I would have expected. We were at best simply two local citizens who knew each other by face, if not by name.
Greg Nichols was many things to many people. To me, he was a visual shock in the Square in Bellows Falls. We would exchange a nod and a hello when I had business in the vicinity of the bench he often held down with his “posse” of friends and family.
With his facial tattoos and Goth garb, he was a very recognizable fixture. I know that some felt intimidated by his appearance and size, but those were superficial features that deflected from his true nature.
To some, he was “Goth Guy.” To others, he was “Angel.” To still others, he was a son, a father, a husband, an uncle, a friend, a fellow club member.
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The funeral home was packed, and it was standing-room only. How does a 29-year-old with no apparent daily obligations or responsibilities attract such a gathering?
Those who came to pay tribute came from all walks of life: babies, tattooed and pierced motorcyclists, black-garbed women and men, bankers, lawyers, shopkeepers - there was no common demographic to my eye.
What was clear: Greg was a much-loved and -respected member of this community by those who knew him. His adopted Native American family showed up, some in traditional dress, including war paint, feathers, beads, and skins. They introduced many of us to yet another facet of this young man's life: they sang songs that he loved and that had meaning beyond their words and chants. It was mesmerizing.
His 84-year-old grandmother was there, as were his young children. One of his sons spoke more eloquently than most 8- or 9-year-olds should have to. His wife and sister paid him heart-wrenching tributes with spoken words and song.
Others attested to the support and encouragement he gave to them, when he himself was in need of the same. We heard from a fellow Viking by way of a poem that demanded we pay attention.
* * *
It was a day I will long remember with both sadness and smiles.
Bellows Falls has suffered a loss with Greg's passing, but we are a better community for what he gave us and what he has left behind.
In these times of almost-daily stories of tragedy, killings, assaults, and other mayhem, we need more love and kindness like I witnessed today.
Go in peace.