Going Home (Jon)

The trip back home for Dad's funeral was amazing, my family is just incredible sometimes and it is so fine to see them and my cousins and all the people who I know loved Peter. Cape Cod is so dramatic at this time of year, the weather is so damn hot and muggy, the people are all crammed onto the peninsula waiting in line for something, and Cape Cod is so beautiful. Going there was a real treat, even after Bali, because I got to get in my brother's boat with his girl and my mom and sister--the whole family together. Being there with them made me feel very lucky indeed.

Now I am in Argentina, in the city of Buenos Aires, thinking about the whole thing, dad's death and my life and how things have played. Shannon and I are so happy, travelling together is such a good reality. My mom bought a house in Florida last month, during the drama of Peter's death (congratulations Barbara!!!) I got to see my cousin Jennifer and her family in Los Angeles, and my fave cousin Beth too (you guys rock). And we stayed at Shannon's sister's house in Long Beach and ate waffles and fried chicken and great mexican food...so good to see Carrie and John and thanks for the place to sleep and a ride to the airport!! I have received many emails of condolence, thanks for that everyone. The most important thing was to get back with family--it doesn't happen often enough and it is good.

Some great things were said at the funeral through me and I wanted to post it here. Between the two posts concerning my father's death (Peter Broderick Flynn) there is a kernel of truth or two that emerges about him, his life and death, and the fabric of our life, as brief as it was, as a family. Many people contributed to this eulogy, my sister Julia, my cousin Susan Gogan, and some of dad's friends including John Hallisey. Here it is:

From Maine to the Carribbean everyone knew Peter, he had friends everywhere. To his friends in the world Peter’s passing is no less than the end of an era. Peter Flynn’s broad shoulders and big bright smile—his effusive and generous nature—his great love of the world and travel and people warmed those who’s lives he touched. If he liked you you felt in the presence of a king who favored you and all that was left to do is hold on for the ride. Man he liked to party! When Peter was on a roll there was this disconnect from reality of which we were all aware. With his belly full of steak and more than a little Dewar’s he would sing and dance for his own pleasure, pleasing those who “Got it”.

Peter had an intuitive and accurate read on life that placed him in the center of its stream. He loved the current to plow around him. He loved the sea and sailed often in the Cayman Islands, Florida and of course on Cape Cod. He didn’t mind blazing the trail as he did in his business life. He truly loved the art of the game in his business dealings. I lived with Dad for a while back in the late ‘70s in Martha’s Vineyard and Sandwich and watched him work. It was tough—winter on the Cape was grueling then and I don’t really know how we got through those times. He and his partners were on the crest of a whole new wave of real estate, forming the first condominiums on Cape Cod, and he loved the challenge of it, the excitement of it, the possibilities in something new. He believed in what he was doing and was very proud of it.

There was a mythological complexity about Peter that made him difficult to understand. He liked to be inscrutable. He was a man’s man, men felt safe loving Peter the way a man feels safe loving Clint Eastwood or the Kennedy boys (or Johnny Cash). He had a kind of masculinity and beauty that inspired such love. He was also a ladies man…do you want to hear what I think is his most memorable line? He had caught the eye of a woman at the Wayside Inn in Chatham one night and instead of chatting her up then and there he decided to add a bit of drama. As he left the bar he walked up to this woman, looked her in the eyes and said “We will meet again” and walked out the door. It worked!

I don’t know what happens when we pass, go back to the earth. I do know that starting in late April and early May I heard my father’s voice in my head almost constantly. During trekking in the foothills of the Himalayas, my partner Shannon and I as sick as dogs, slogging up steep rice terraced hills with heart stopping views of mountains almost 5 miles above sea level, I heard him. He was singing. He was singing this song,

"Down the bay where the nights are gay and the sun shines daily on the mountain top,
I took a trip on a sailing ship and when I reached Jamaica I made a stop, and I 'm

sad to say I'm on my way,
won't be back for many a day.
My heart is down my head is turning around,
I had to leave a little girl in Kingston town.

Down in the market you can hear ladies cry out while on their heads they bear,
'Acky, rice, salt fish are nice'
and the rum is fine any time of year, and I'm

sad to say I'm on my way,
won't be back for many a day.
My heart is down my head is turning around,
I had to leave a little girl in Kingston town.

Sounds of laughter everywhere and the dancing girls sway to and fro.
I must declare my heart is there though I've been from Maine to Mexico, and I'm

sad to say I'm on my way,
won't be back for many a day.
My heart is down my head is turning around,
I had to leave a little chick in Kingston town."

Thanks to everyone who got me home and then back to the trip--Shannon, Steve and Kathy, Mom, Julie, Bethy and Jen, Carrie and John--the wild ride just keeps on keeping on. Stay tuned...