Earlier this week, Dana and I traveled to Ohio with Terie to pay tribute to her grandmother, Jane. I like to point out that Dana found only one satisfactory mate in life, but she was blessed to have two first-class mothers-in-law. Saints, like all human beings, have imperfections, although they best emulate the only perfect example known to us, and show us how to live. Jane was that kind of person.
It was an emotional trip for another reason. Jane’s street-level funeral procession, from Moraine to North Dixie Highway, will stick with me for a long time. I can’t recall ever having seen such a disturbing progression of urban blight than what I witnessed from the back seat as Dana drove. We were all acutely aware of our surroundings. Every red light was bypassed within the supervision of local police. The steady, harrowing vision outside was that of a sad wreck — a city that I knew so well in the ’80s as Dayton, Ohio.
“Oh, the humanity . . .” (in the true spirit of the original lament)
