A Tale of Two Sons and Their Fathers…
Monday, November 25, 1963: President John Fitzgerald Kennedy was laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery, after a nationally-televised funeral procession, modeled after the funeral of Abraham Lincoln, which Jackie orchestrated. The stoic First Lady wore another pillbox hat, with a veil over her face, in conjunction with her black funeral outfit. The Kennedy children were dressed in identical light blue coats, white socks, and red shoes. Caroline would turn 6 years old in two days, and John Jr. – or “John-John” as he was affectionately known – turned 3 years old on the day of his father’s funeral. The iconic image of the little boy saluting his daddy’s coffin broke the hearts of everyone in attendance and the millions watching at home.
Friday, November 25, 1983: There were many phone calls made and received this day as word continued to spread quickly about my father’s sudden and unexpected death. Friends and family were stunned. “Andy’s DEAD?? What do you mean, Andy Yurasits is dead?? I just saw him last week! But he wasn’t even sick!” No one could believe it. My father was literally here one day and gone the next.
Not knowing what else to do, I finally placed a phone call to the New York State Sheriff’s office in an attempt to locate my brother. I don’t recall exactly who I spoke to, but I told them I didn’t have a phone number for my brother and needed to get in touch with him as quickly as possible due to a “family emergency”.
When my brother finally called, I really didn’t want to tell him the news over the phone, but I had no choice. After letting him know that our father was dead, I told him, “Emery, please come home – Mom needs you.”
My brother had left home at the age of 18 under very upsetting circumstances to our family. He had been estranged for almost nine years prior, although our parents always encouraged me to keep in touch with him. In June of ’83, I received a letter from my brother, which I read aloud to our parents at the kitchen table, once I saw the specific reason for his latest communication. My brother relayed in his letter that he was removing himself from his personal living situation that he had been in for all these years. He added that he would be coming to see us as soon as he was able. Upon hearing this news, I remember my father somewhat firmly pounding his fist on the table in front of him and saying, “Good – maybe he’ll come home now…”
On this day, my mother and I made the excruciating visit to the neighborhood funeral home to pick out my father’s casket and make his arrangements. I will never forget sitting at a table there, talking to the funeral director, while he had us flipping through a binder containing photos of the different coffins available so we could pick one out. It was the most disturbing, morbid thing I had ever done in my life. As far as I was concerned, my dad could be placed in a simple plain wooden box like they used to do in Europe. I remember thinking, what’s the point of spending all this money for something that’s just gonna be put in the ground? I might have even said it aloud. But, I had to defer to my mother and what she wanted. He was my father, but she was burying the love of her life…
Oddly Enough 