Micah ~ Eulogy at Memorial Service Oct 28

Going to the Moon ~ Michael

Thank you all for coming here and helping us remember just how wonderful Ezra was.

I’d like to begin by reading you the first chapter of a novel Ezra was working on called “Nougat”. He began writing this one day about a year ago, on a whim.

Just so you know, this first part is semi-autobiographical….

Chapter 1: The Secret

I was pacing back and forth, wondering what the meaning of life was. Mr. Semi-Sweet, my father, was lying on the sofa, making him look like a marshmallow in a bathrobe taking a catnap on a lumpy mashed-potato sofa. He asked, "Nougat, are you pondering the unsolvable questions of this universe again? It is a waste of time and daylight."

"No, I'm trimming my toenails. OF COURSE I'M PONDERING!" I exclaimed in a melodramatic shout. "Answer this, please, if you can. What is the meaning of life?"

"Yawwn. I am sorry. Are you sure you want to know?" asked Mr. Semi-Sweet.

"Yes." I stated.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! TELL ME!"

"It's a pretty big secret. Can you shoulder the burden of this sacred knowledge for the rest of your life?"

"JUST TELL ME!"

"You are not thirteen, so I cannot tell you."

I gave up and went to the park to meet my friends. While I waited, I threw some stones at an absurd elephant with a palm tree growing on its back. After a couple of minutes, all of my friends gathered and I told them about my morning.

My friends consisted of Brie (a quick witted rabbit with an odd sense of humor), Mignon (a muscle bound badger with dedicated sense of honor), and Rhubarb (a mischievous raccoon with a keen sense for profit and a hint of kleptomania). I am the mold that held this little group together. I am an agile mouse with an active imagination. Together we made the lunch group.

I explained how Mr. Semisweet seemed so determined to see to it that kids who are not of age shouldn’t know the meaning of life.

"I believe that respecting such rules is a very necessary part of maturing," said Mignon.

"Then, again," Brie remarked, "such a noble and powerful truth can be of great value to us,”

"And where there is knowledge to be found, there is money to be made!" Exclaimed Rhubarb joyously. "I say we go figure out the meaning of life."

"It will be a hard journey without direction," Mignon pointed out. "I say we bring along Mr. Semisweet."

Mr. Semisweet joined us, not having anything else to do. Apparently, he figured it would take 2 years for us to find the meaning of life. Mr. Semisweet was a professor of causes and effects. He wrote the Pulitzer Prize winning book, Watching the Gadgets Spin.

"Lets start by figuring out where we are, Nougat. Where are we in relation to the rest of the universe?" quizzed Semisweet.

"We appear to be in Oasis Park." I stated.

"Ah, but where is Oasis Park?" He pondered.

Without a snap's, crackle’s, or pop's hesitation, Brie figured out what Mr. Semisweet meant. "We are at the starting line of the race of which the first place prize is the knowledge we seek!"

"And therefore we must go west," Semisweet concluded.

We all were puzzled at these words. Everyone started to wonder, "why west?" After a small exchange of words, we understood why we must go west. West is the ignored direction. It is the direction that no one ever takes. Therefore, it would be the quickest road. We set off to the sorbet sea to the far west, unaware of the perils that awaited us.
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Ezra will never finish his novel. We’ll never know if Nougat and his friends and his Dad found the knowledge they sought, the meaning of life.

In later chapters, the heroes get sidetracked, forced to take action in a full-scale war of woodland creatures. We’ll never know if the scrappy militia they joined up with, the Dedicated Animal Defense Force, finally defeats the evil organization of hawks and owls who terrorize the forest, and call themselves The Right Wing.

The quest for sacred knowledge rarely even gets mentioned in subsequent chapters. For Nougat, the “unsolvable questions of the universe” take a back seat when there are gerbils being falsely imprisoned.

I can imagine how it might have ended, what answers he found, but not in Ezra’s voice, not with his strange, surprising sense of humor and way of putting things in their place. Not with his wisdom. Not with his amazing gift for finding meaning in the smallest things.

The story will always be a cliffhanger, cut short, full of promise, intrigue, love, loyalty and small-animal violence, but unfinished.

Many things are unfinished. Our basketball game that had to be stopped because Ezra had a headache. Our mock-horror film using marshmallows as actors, with the microwave as the monster.

The glass of milk that Elizabeth poured him an hour before he died.

And that’s not even counting the things Ezra never got a chance to experience: falling in love, standing up to bullies, working a crappy food-service job, wearing a tie, college, or being a father
.
Ezra would have been an amazing father.

The only thing that could have possibly made me prouder of him than the grace with which he bore his illness would have been to see him pass that strength along to his children. But I know that’s not going to happen.

His journey to solve the questions of the universe in this lifetime is done. Whatever answers he found, I can’t know for sure.

All that’s left is his life, as long as it was, as short as it was, is how he lived it, and what those experiences tell us

.And what’s clear to me is this: my son was the best person I’ve ever known in my life. This was true even before he got sick.

Ezra had a balance of character that was completely unique: clever, but never mean-spirited; brilliant, but generous; confident, but quiet; strong-willed and willing to stand by his ideas, but sympathetic and considerate to those around him. The great strength he would later show in the face of cancer he showed many times earlier in his life.

Three years ago, when our house caught fire, after everyone was out, and I’d gotten all of Sylvia’s 17 cats, he said “But I really liked that house.” And then he said, not a moment later, “Dad, we’re all safe,” and he went to look after the cats. No one was quicker to the optimistic view of a situation than Ezra. It was a genius of his that survived the headaches, the seizures, every pain and obstacle, throughout his life.

No one was quicker to adapt to a loss than Ezra, and still find a way to pursue joy.

When he couldn’t walk, he turned to World of Warcraft, and writing, and The Dog Whisperer, learning as much as he could. When he couldn’t see, he turned to music, and our pets, and food, always finding a way to express his passion and curiosity.

Maybe it was because the things he loved most, his family and friends, never left him. Or maybe he was just that freaking awesome. Whenever he lost something, whenever his world got smaller, Ezra looked at it more closely, with different senses.

A few weeks before he died, his right side paralyzed, his eyes wandering unfocused, Ezra turned to me and said:

“You know, I really like gravy. I want to try more gravies. I wonder what other sauces and condiments I’ve been depriving myself of.” Always pondering. We talked about cream sauces and tomato sauces and all different kinds of gravies. We talked about taking a culinary tour of Italy, to try all their fantastic sauces. He put the whole weight of his heart and mind into enjoying the one sense that was left untouched, into understanding better ways to comfort himself and find strength.

He tried hard, always, to love his life in an ever deeper fashion.

And the funny thing is, at those moments that made me proudest of Ezra as a father, that left me most in awe of his devotion to learning to be happy, at those moments that hinted he might have found some of the answers he was looking for, it really was just about the gravy. It was about intimately engaging with whatever experience his body would allow him, and sharing it with me.

Like Mr. Semisweet, there are many lessons I hoped my son wouldn’t have to learn so young, until he was at least thirteen years old. But Ezra did learn so much through his journey, short as it was, unfinished. He learned and lived enough to teach me how to persevere through suffering, how to live even with the pain of losing him.

Our world is so much smaller without Ezra in it, but he would have us look ever more closely, at our own lives and his. He would have us learn what we can with what we’re given.

Please help me to honor Ezra by carrying him with you, remembering his joy, his strength, his curiosity, how much he cherished life.

Please remember that no father was ever prouder of his son than I am, and that he loved us all as much as we loved him.

the first day i met ezra we played a game. my girlfriend (now my wife) was friends with ezras mom, and she agreed to babysit ezra one day.

i came along out of obligation. ezra started throwing a tantrum. screaming and scrreaming and screaming. we had no idea what to do. so i just screamed back. i matched him length for length, volume for volume, pitch for pitch.

probably not the smartest thing to do in normal circumstances. but ezra quicklyfigured out we were playing. he made me make the silliest and obscene sounds he could think of with his two year old mind, and his tantrum (whatever it was about) was soon over.

but we never stopped playing games with each other.

a short while after, i was at a party with the chattertons, playing a game of croquet. it was a college-aged party but i think ezra was there anyway, becausehe was always at ease with the older kids. i confessed to ezras parents that although they were fine people and all, i was
really more interested in their son. he just seemed so much cooler.

it took me several years to figure out that the impressiveness that was ezra was in some small part due to the impressiveness of his parents.

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when a tragedy like ezra's death happens we are supposed to take comfort in our faith. i am a christian. my faith is not shaken by ezra's death, but it gives me no comfort.

it gives me no comfort to think he is with god.
it gives me no comfort to think he is in a better place.

whats wrong with being here?

whats wrong with being in the car with his dad, shouting einstein pajamas or playing slug bug, on his way to my house, running three hours late?

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i am in the passenger seat of micahs car one day. jenn and ezra are in the back. micah is driving.

out of the blue ezra announces to me, "im going to the moon and im bringing a pheasant".

"okay"

"you have to say what you are bringing" says micah

"um im bringing a robot"

"you have to say 'im going to the moon...'"

"im going to the moon and im bringing a robot"

"you cant come" says ezra.

"what?"

"im going to the moon and im bringing a bear" continues ezra

micah chimes in: "im going to the moon and im bringing a fish"

"you can come" says ezra

"im going to the moon and im bringing a parrot" i say

"you cant come" says ezra

"son of a..."

"but you could have come if you were bringing a bird or a parakeet"

"what?"

"im going to the moon and im bringing toes" says jenn

"toes?" i say. "seriously?"

"you can come" says ezra

"oh come on!"

i have no idea whats going on, but i hate being the only one who isnt going to the moon.

i eventually pick up that we are playing a word game. there is some pattern to the words everyone is bringing to the moon. pick a word that matches the pattern and you get to come to the moon too.

ezra loved word games. and games with puzzles in them. and games where you played together and solved things things together.

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if it wasnt for jenn i dont think i would have remembered some of these stories of ezra i have.

micah says ezras mind stayed intact throughout the cancer. but for some reason the cancer seemed to have stolen my memories of him. i spent so much time dwelling on the cancer that was taking him, that i forgot about the little boy jenn and i fell in love with.

but then last weeks jenn started telling stories.

about the boy who knew that driving games were just as fun to play while walking or at the dinner table.

the boy who played chess with me, and basketball, and video games, and croquet, even baseball a couple of times just to humor me.

the boy whos favorite holiday must have been halloween, because he started planning his costumes in april.

the boy who loved making up chuck norris jokes, i-will-kill-you jokes, and nonsense poems.

the boy i drew dinosaurs with.

the boy interesting enough that i was willing to befriend his parents to be his friend.

the boy who walked my wedding ring down the aisle.

the boy named ezra phoenix kabuto jacob scary dary rainbow robot tomatohead tomatosquirt tomatoblowup basketball jack quacking umbrella 17 chairs speed of trees flaco taco macho pipi garcia chatterton.

even his name is a game.

-------

three text messages from ezra to jenn:

1.
the boy wished he was a dog, the dog wished it was a log
the log wished it was a candle, the candle wished it was a camel
the camel wished it had some chalk

2.
the chalk wished to draw a hawk.
the hawk wished it could catch a fish.
the fish had a secret wish. a wish to be on a dish.
the dish wished it was a boy.

3.
katamari damacy do do do do do do do do
we request a royal banquet in noahs honor! it would please us so much.

noah is our son.

someone hearing these might guess ezras brain was going. or as ezra once wrote: "brain cancer! oh no!"

but this is just more of his weird little normal mind at work.

the mind that spoke in a mishmash of fables, video game lyrics, probing questions, and idle observations.

the mind that loved to turn a phrase. a phrase that loved to play on words. words that caught you by surprise. surprise that made you roll your eyes.

we will never do it quite like he does it.

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and we are supposed to take comfort that losing ezras mind is gods plan?

seriously?

we are supposed to take comfort that ezras mind has ascended? become enlightened? reached a higher plane? become one with the universe?

ezras mind __was__ enlightened. it __was__ on a higher plane.

if the universe met ezras mind it would go cock-eyed!
nature never could have conceived of ezras mind.

what beats rock, paper and scissors? ezras mind.

at the wake we should all make chuck norris jokes about ezras mind. i think ezra would have like it.

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i prefer to think that this was nobodies plan. this was a bad hand of cards. a bad roll of dice. a bad pull. because then i cant blame anyone. bad things happen even in fair games.

what i take comfort in is that no one could play it better than ezra played it.

sure sometimes he was sad. sometimes he didnt want to talk to anyone.

but other days he would look forward to the next game we would play together.

we would joke about how he and his dad would never be allowed near my son from three years old to thirteen. lest he torment noah the way i did him.

and he wouldnt forget to be present for others, even while undergoing the worst of his own treatments.

a message from ezra to jenn the day noah was born:
we are 2 of a kind. both stuck in a musty hospital.

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none of the stories we tell to comfort each other during losses like this are working for jenn or me.

so weve decided to write a new one. one that to us is more suitable for our best friend.

ezra had a puzzle locked up in his brain. it was a tough one. tougher than any other he had put before us or any we had put before him.

no one could figure it out. not doctors. not nurses. not scientists or poets. not priests. not monks. not ethicists or moralists. not me. not jenn. not his mom. not his dad. nor anyone he loved nor anyone who loved him.

not any of us.

it was that good.

so ezra has gone to the moon.

we cant come.