The funeral was lovely. Pleasant and simple against the backdrop of Sedona’s beautifully red-tinted mountains. Small and rugged with meandering patches of rich green valleys providing a breathtaking contrast of nature. Perfect for their gathering to honor Perry Williams’s life.
His children were there, his grandchildren, and even one great-grandchild. A small boy, perhaps three or four, standing quietly and gripping his crying mother’s hand.
It was a modest gathering, which was more common now, but the atmosphere was warm and happy, just as Perry would have wanted.
His children spoke of a wonderful father. A man focused not just on appreciation of life but the gift and duty of trying to make it better—for everyone. To remember that it wasn’t just about savoring our time here but about helping someone else savor theirs, too. And hopefully to contribute to the world around us in whatever way we could.
It was to this that Rachel also spoke. Sharing how she had first met him in Denver and the countless ways he had helped people while they worked together at St. Luke’s. And to know that he had indeed made the world better. That he was a wonderful man and one they could all be proud to call their father and grandfather.
When the service ended, Rachel stood solemnly to the side, Henry beside her, watching people slowly file away over an endless carpet of thick green grass.
“Perry told me an interesting story once,” he said. “He said that many years ago, he was working on a project that required him to look up old articles from something called microfilm. He said just for fun, he looked up a newspaper from the day he was born.” Henry slowly grinned to himself. “He said, ‘You know what people were arguing and fighting about back then, Henry? The same crap we are now.’”
Henry turned to her. “He said the names and words were different, but it was the same arguments. The same bickering that’s been going on for ten thousand years and will go on for another ten thousand. One constant and never-ending argument, going on and on, about who is better and who is worse. Most of which never actually matters.”
Rachel gave Henry a warm smile. “He told me the same story.”
“The funny thing is … I don’t think he was telling me a story as much as giving me a lesson.”
“Yeah?”
He watched with Rachel as the last of the people reached their cars. “So, what now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what do we do now?”
Rachel frowned, not answering for a long time. Until she finally said, “I think maybe you should go home. And find a nice comfortable job. A safe job. And focus on what matters, like Perry said.”
“Maybe,” he replied, staring forward. “Or…”
“Or?”
“Or maybe we continue. Making a difference.”
Rachel smiled again, this time wider. “I was hoping you would say that.”
“Now that John is stabilized … I say we go find that monkey.”