Chapter Thirteen: In which I process grief and sing at the Old South Church in memory of Harry Huff

I've spent a few weeks processing my grief over Harry Huff's passing. I think I'm finally ready to talk about it all. Here's the story:

Halloween had just ended. November had begun. All Saints Day passed with little event, at least for me. The only oddity was that I had not received an email from Harry (Harry Huff is the music director at HDS. He leads the Noon Service Choir I'm a part of.) about the music we were to sing the next day at Noon service. It was odd because Harry always emails us telling us if we are to sing or not, and if we are to sing, what music we will be singing. I set the confusion aside; maybe we weren't singing or maybe something had simply come up.

The next day, All Souls Day, I decide to go to Noon Service a little later than usual, assuming that we weren't singing so there was no need to come early to rehearse. On my way up the stairs to the Andover Chapel, I ran into Sophia (my friend who crafts with me and also sings in the choir). I asked her, "Are we not singing today? I figured we weren't since Harry didn't email us, so I didn't go to rehearsal." Sophia, with a worried expression, stopped me and touched my arm and said, "Natalie, I just heard that Harry had a brain aneurysm last night." I looked at her expressionless. I seemed to have turned off for a moment, uncomprehending her words. "What . . . ?" Then, "Oh no . . . Does anyone know how is he doing or if he is going to be okay?" We continued to walk up the stairs and into the chapel where the other choir members who had assumed we were singing stood around the piano. A man with dark curly hair and very much not Harry was sitting on the piano bench. Sophia informed me as we walked that as far as she knew, Harry was in critical care.

So we sang. Dazed, I was surprised any of us got out a note.
The service was scheduled to be hosted by the denominational counselors this week, who adjusted their plans to center us around prayer for Harry. We began by being updated on Harry's condition, which included only minute details past what Sophia had already told me. Yes, he was in critical care. Yes, his pastoral leaders were by his side. Yes, his condition was extremely dire. No, we couldn't go visit him. No, his chances of survival were not good. Yes, we could pray.

Each counselor scheduled to speak gave remarks and thoughts to provide comfort, give solace, and send our love to Harry. Finally moving out of shock, I began to cry. Tears fell quietly down my cheeks. I hadn't planned on crying today; how could the world so suddenly change? Then it was the Baptist counselor's turn to speak. He began by saying that when faced with times like these, he turned to music, as Harry had taught him to, to soothe the ache that nothing else seemed to reach. Sitting down to the piano, he began playing a familiar tune. As his soulful voice began to ring out, I recognized the song: Simon and Garfunkel's Bridge Over Troubled Waters.

Within moments there wasn't a dry eye in the room. Tears quietly trickling turned to streams of grief and hiccups of disbelief. Sophia began sobbing next to me. How could I, so sorrow-stricken, provide anything to Sophia? So I put my hand on her leg. Not much. Perhaps a reflex: this is what you do in moments like these. Perhaps more than a reflex: a reminder that we weren't alone, that life, the dear and difficult embodiment, can provide affection and communion and not just pain.

When you're weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all.
I'm on your side, oh, when times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled waters,
I will lay me down,
Like a bridge over troubled waters,
I will lay me down.

When you're down and out,
When you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard,
I will comfort you.
I'll take your part, oh, when darkness comes
And pain is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled waters,
I will lay me down,
Like a bridge over troubled waters,
I will lay me down. 

Sail on silver girl, sail on by.
Your time has come to shine,
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine. 
If you need a friend,
I'm sailing right behind
Like a bridge over troubled waters,
I will ease your mind, 
Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will ease your mind.

Tissues began being passed around, along with a paper copy of a hymn, My Life Flows On in Endless Song: one of Harry's favorite hymns. We sang for Harry. (The words of this rendition are not the same as the lyrics I have listed, which are the lyrics we sang for Harry.) 

My life flows on in endless song

Above earth's lamentation.

I hear the real though far-off hymn

That hails a new creation. 

Through all the tumult and the strife

I hear the music ringing.

It sounds an echo in my soul.

How can I keep from singing!

What though the tempest 'round me roars,

I know the truth, it liveth. 

What though the darkness 'round me close,

Songs in the night it giveth. 

No storm can shake my inmost calm

While to that rock I'm clinging. 

Since love prevails in heav'n and earth,

How can I keep from singing!

When tyrants tremble as they hear

The bells of freedom ringing,

When friends rejoice both far and near,

How can I keep from singing!

To prison cell and dungeon vile

Our thoughts to them are winging, 

When friends by shame are undefiled,

How can I keep from singing!

And then we prayed. "We know you are holding Harry, Lord. Please hold him tight."

That night, after I'd watched a Japanese film about grief and death for class (go figure, right?), I went home and told Spencer about Harry. Shocked and sad, he held me, stroking my hair till I sobbed everything I'd held in all day, saying, "We were just becoming friends . . . we were just becoming friends." Eventually, Spencer suggested Ibuprofen for my pressure headache. The whole body is affected by grief. Headaches, sore eyes, a stinging weight on your lungs and heart, mechanical movements of necessity, sensitive senses, the brain swimming through fog, everything itching to feel alive, to flee the closeness of death, to pull your loved one from its grasp but fingers not stretching far enough.

The next morning, I found out that Harry had passed away in the early hours of the morning. I quietly teared on the bus on the way to a campus where Harry wouldn't be anymore. I drank peach herbal tea and recalled the kindness that Harry had shown me; he'd made me feel at home at HDS by being excited to see me every week at Noon Service. He'd had enough faith in my ability to give me a solo in "Will I?" from Rent that we sang at a Noon Service, and he had laughed with delight when I did well. He had generously offered to give Spencer and I a private recital, history lesson, and demonstration of his E.M. Skinner organ, saying that he was simply delighted to do so and meet Spencer. He had riffed out all types of songs from soundtracks, scores, classical, jazz, and others. I can't really express my gratitude that I got to see him play his magnificent organ before he died.

Weeks passed. I seemed to pass through fog and despondancy till I at last emerged holding my sorrow, able to look at it at last.

~~~~~

A memorial service for Harry was held at Old South Church yesterday. After a few weeks of processing everything, I still don't know how to express how Harry could make such an impression upon my heart in such a short time or how to express my gratitude that he did. Yesterday, I went two hours early to sing in the pick-up choir for the service. We learned 10 songs. The service was honestly the most majestic and comforting service I've ever been to. The first 30 to 45 minutes were entirely dedicated to music. Outside, bagpipes were playing. The organist began by playing, "Psalm Prelude Set 1, No. 3 (Psalm 23, Verse 4)" by Herbert Howells. Then the choir sang "My Shepherd Will Supply My Need," the tune it was set to having been composed by Harry. After our singing quieted through the cathedral's Sanctuary, hand bells began to sound, barely perceptible at the first. Called The Old South Ringers, they played "Prayer for Humanity" by Linda Lamb. We (the choir) sang "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" by Thomas A. Dorsey. This is a stunning a capella number that I hope to sing again. George Sergeant, the organist, then played For deinem Thron tret' ich, BWV 668" by J.S. Bach. Once again, the Old South Ringers and a flute (played by Ainsley Land) sounded in a Celtic melody, "Celtic Farewell" by Linda Lamb. I didn't want to break the silence as the last note faded, standing and singing "O Lord, May the Words of My Mouth" by Bruce Saylor with the choir.

I had been holding it together quite well till Willido Sordillo began to play "Come Sunday" by Duke Ellington on his tender, soulful alto sax. Tim Harbold accompanying on the piano. Everyone felt it: Harry seemed so close, and it hurt to not hear him delight in the music although I knew he was. Tears began to stream, tissues being passed around among the choir members. (Here is Harry playing it himself.)

It turns out that Harry had been, on top of being a dedicated member and contributor to the Old South Church congregation, a loyal and full participant in the Society for Classical Reform Judaism. He had memorized and knew the Hebrew for Kaddish recitations. He even traveled to Jerusalm to be re-baptized in the Jordan River. He brought home a shofar from his trip, so it was quite right that the shofar be sounded before we continued on to the next hymn.

Following the shofar, we sang "When in Our Music God Is Glorified" by Sir Charles V. Stanfrd. At this point, Harry's reverends, past and present, his rabbi, and his friends spoke, comforted, expressed love and sorrow, and reminisced about Harry. Every so often, the procession of speakers would pause, and the choir would sing a hymn. "'Ihr habt nun Traurigkeit' from 'Win Deutsches Requirem by Johannes Brahms. We also sang an anthem composed in the memory of Harry Lyn Huff, specifically for this service, "Give All the Love," by Carson Colmen, the words by Ralph Waldo Emerson. 

After more beautiful words and remembrances and tears and laughter, we sang, "In the Sweet By and By" by Joseph P. Webster. This is one of Harry's favorite hymns, and he insisted it be sung at his funeral. So we did, for him. After reciting "The Lord's Prayer," the choir sang, "There's a Wilderness in God's Mercy." The final song was "A Repeating Alleluia" by Calvin Hampton. After singing it once through, the congregation joined their voices with ours, and we all sang and processed out of the Sanctuary. I could hardly sing for tears and gratitude.

I have never felt so hopeful while being allowed to also sorrow the loss of a friend, having come together to express gratitude for a happy, playful, loving, generous man, who had changed all of us for good. The stained glass windows with stories of Christ's life, suffering, and resurrection were shining, light streaming through. The space, music, words, and people were beautiful.

A lovely reception followed the service, giving Harry's friends time to meet, mingle, comfort, and reminisce over a light lunch.

Harry had two beloved cats:
Tigger and Kanga.

I apologize that this is so long. But one last thought. I wish I knew who said this, but this quote explains well how my grief has felt. "Grief, I've learned, is really just love. It's all the love you want to give but cannot. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go." This is how it felt to lose Harry, to have him, in some ways, disappear, and to not get to say goodbye and thank you, not knowing that the last time I saw him would be the last. I cried out all the potential our friendship had suddenly been bereaved of. But, I would add a small but significant adaptation: "Grief is just love with no place to go for now." I fully intend to become better friends when I someday join him and the others I love on that distant shore. 

Although I've experienced a loss, I am so grateful for the time I was given. Yes, I miss Harry Huff. But I'm so glad I was able to know him: missing him is worth it.

If you would like to get to know Harry Huff a little better, take a look at Old South Church's tribute to Harry Lyn Huff. You can also search Harry Huff on YouTube and listen to his wonderful music, such as "Will There Really Be a Morning" from his For Your Delight Album.
http://www.oldsouth.org/news/old-south-church-mourns-passing-minister-music-harry-lyn-huff