Don’t you just love irony? I do. Sometimes things just sneak up on me, I look back, and I am amused that I lived through a moment that was surreal. One such moment happened to me a few days ago. I didn’t realize it until I was sitting here tonight reflecting on this past week.

I have a friend I spend a couple days a week with. He doesn’t drive, so I pick him up and we’ll go out for lunch. Go to the grocery store. Run errands that are difficult for him to do since he has to rely on a city bus to get around. Occasionally we’ll just take off and go on an adventure together.

This past week he needed to run out to a local cemetery to purchase a plot and make some preparations for when that time comes that we all know is going to come. He was preplanning so his children wouldn’t have to.

I told him when I picked him up that a friend of mine had passed away in Tulsa and I wanted to attend his funeral online while he was taking care of his business.

So there I sat in my truck watching a funeral in Oklahoma while he was in the little building out in the cemetery picking out his final resting place and headstone.

It was an interesting service. My friend was better known as Mr. Mushulaville. - After Mushulaville, Mississippi where he was raised. He was a historian, an artist, a storyteller, a renaissance man, a family man. - He fit no normal mold.

A friend of his played Ashokan Farewell on a fiddle during his service. It depicted my friend very well. I’m certain he planned it that way.

The man that gave the eulogy was his wife’s cousin, a minister from Virginia. I could tell he was doing his best to honor the life of someone he’d spent little time around. I’ll give him credit, he did a good job. He said the last time he saw T. J. last year, he gave him his pocketknife. He said it was a nice one. I wonder if he realized the importance of that moment for T. J. He also gave him not one, but two of his Stetson hats. Wow. He must have really taken a shine to that preacher.

All in all it was a very nice service.

They announced T. J.’s remains were to be taken back to Mushulaville and buried in his childhood church cemetery.

About the time the service was over my buddy returned to the truck, and we left for another errand.

Like T. J. and my buddy, I’ve made a few preparations for when my time on planet earth comes to an end. I’ll be planted beneath Mississippi soil, only it’ll be here in Kentucky where my daughters were born.

Several years ago I filled a few buckets with dirt from my home place in Winston County, Mississippi, brought them back here and poured them over my plot out in Oak Grove Cemetery.

Also, like T. J. , I’ve picked out a few songs that mean a lot to me. Jesus Loves Me is one. Do Lord is another. And one is an old Tom T. Hall song, Say Something Nice About Me - just in case the preacher needs a reminder.

There will be something else that’ll happen after my demise if they abide by my will, but folks will have to outlive me to find out what that is.

Like T. J. and my buddy, I believe one must be prepared for their exit.

So tonight it dawned on me the irony of it all. I was sitting in a cemetery watching my friend’s funeral service in Oklahoma while my buddy was inside making plans for his departure.

My life is funny like that.

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Rick Algood
March 22, 2021