At 10:00 am on April 10, 2021 I gathered with others at a rural cemetery in Jefferson County to say goodbye to Robert Michael Purvis, DVM of Monticello, Florida.
Coming up a small rise, drawing closer to the cemetery, many people had already arrived. I pulled the car over on the right side of the road and parked. I crossed the road and started walking. Up ahead, about a hundred yards or so, people were walking through the entrance gates.
I could hear my feet moving, swishing through the roadside weeds and wild grass. Lost in that sound and my need not to acknowledge why I was there; I was startled by an SUV quickly moving past on my side of the road. There were three dogs hanging out the windows on my side; I could see another dog out the window on the other side of the vehicle. Happy, riding down the road barking; taking in the activity, the scents carried on the wind. Graveyard heralds for one of their own. A number of those already inside the cemetery grounds turned and laughed at the vanishing scene.
Inside the grounds small clusters of individuals gathered for conversations; some with somber looks on their faces, others with quiet smiles of remembrance. Many stood by themselves or with a partner; at the service for a common purpose, but unsure of how deeply they should or could immerse themselves in the collective moment.
There were the tales of off hours, late night, weekend visits to lend veterinarian assistance. Recollections of the many and varied small kindnesses. Stories of shared devotion. The man that still hears Mike playing guitar at the close of some days.
The Purvis Brothers Band, musical brothers and actual brothers, directed the morning gathering. Hymns and gospel music were played between those who spoke. Most assembled sang with the band. The music provided an emotional exhale, a reprieve from our common journey. The band announced they were playing their last song, Mike’s favorite hymn, Amazing Grace. The music rose and fell. Our voices rose, fell. Half-way through the song, an energy moved through me; warm, expansive, clean. Not just a warmth, but abundance. Not just clean, but cleansing. I believe others also experienced this moment of God’s love.
I do not believe there is a God; yet, understand I am not capable of knowing that God does not exist. I am capable of knowing the truth of what I felt that morning. I did not feel God, not directly. My connection to the morning was Mike. Many assembled for the man and their God. I came to say goodbye. To be among kindred others. Through that shared connection of openness and genuine affections, I felt their love, for their God. It was beautiful.
You were with me while I was writing Mike. Goodbye friend.
William Hyler