We never discussed music. We discussed many things over the years, but never music. When it was time to produce a playlist for Fritz, I didn’t know her favorite song – or if she even had one. So, I chose some music from her era and some from mine and compiled the soundtrack for her last cruise.
Fritz Kinney was my mother-in-law. She passed away in 2017, a few weeks shy of what would have been her 92nd birthday.
After a few days of meetings with a probate lawyer, the funeral home, and others, Fritz’ cremains were given to my wife Kris’ older sister, Kathy. Kathy, who wasn’t sure when or where she would scatter Fritz’ ashes, never got around to it. A little more than a year later, Kathy went to bed one night and never woke up. The disposition of Fritz’ remains became our responsibility. We escorted Fritz on her final journey last week.
We chose the San Francisco Bay. Fritz, who lost her first husband (Elton, Kris and Kathy’s father) to a heart attack in the early 1970s, married a widower named Paul Kinney. Paul was a war hero, college dean, and sailor. Fritz was his first mate. They continued sailing into their 80s. One of my favorite memories is of watching the 4th of July fireworks from their boat on the San Francisco Bay. Paul’s children scattered his ashes in the bay after he passed. Fritz, we decided, should join him.
I started the playlist shortly after the boat departed from Sausalito. We pulled away to Duke Ellington’s version of “Stardust.” Kula Shaker’s “Magic Theater” added a mystical element. Then came “The Last Farewell” by Roger Whitaker.
And I shall be aboard that ship tomorrow
Though my heart is full of tears at this farewell
The boat picked up speed. We barely heard John Stewart singing “Chilly Winds” over the sound of the motor.
I'm goin' where them chilly winds don't blow
Gonna find a true love. That is where I want to go
Out where them chilly winds don't blow
We headed toward, then under, the Golden Gate bridge. Once we were west of the bridge, Captain Dave slowed the boat and steered it in gentle circles while Kris, our daughter Meg, and Kris’ nephew Christopher scattered Fritz’ remains in the calm, perfect Pacific.
Fritz was one of the funniest people I have met. Her humor could be lethally ironic and frequently irreverent. She was a gourmet cook, a world-class hostess, and charmed the Chico State faculty and members of their sailing club with her wit, kindness, and efficiency. She could also be subversive. One evening, she and Paul hosted a woman who was pretentious, pompous, and immersed in self-perceived greatness. Fritz made her a special canapé. It was a seafood appetizer, invented for that guest – who raved about it. Fritz didn’t share the recipe for an eminently practical reason: she had served the woman cat food.
The playlist continued through the scattering of the ashes and until we returned to Sausalito. We listened to “Homeward Bound,” “Sailing” (the Christopher Cross version), and “Both Sides Now.” There was Frank Sinatra (“My Way”), Peggy Lee (“Is That All There Is?”) and Billie Holiday’s rendition of “I’ll Be Seeing You.” We had been telling Fritz stories, but momentarily fell silent during Judy Collins’ “Amazing Grace.” We pulled into the wharf to the sound of Jeff Buckley’s version of “Hallelujah.” The cruise was over.
I forgot to tell my favorite Fritz story during the cruise, so I’m going to share it with you. It says everything about Fritz’ mordant sense of humor and her irreverent take on life. Paul, who suffered from dementia, spent his waning days in a care facility. He had a glass eye, the result of devastating injuries he suffered during the Battle of the Bulge. Fritz told me Paul’s caregivers noticed the glass eye was missing. They searched his bedding and the surrounding floor and couldn’t find it. Later, they turned him over to bathe him, and found the missing glass eye. It was wedged in his buttocks.
Fritz’ comment: “Who knew he had hindsight?”
Fritz was one-of-a-kind. She loved, she laughed and cried, she had her fill, her share of losing. And now, as tears subside, I’m sure she finds it all so amusing. To think she did all that and she would say, not in a shy way, “Oh, no, oh, no, not me. I did it my way.”
Our little cruise under the Golden Gate Bridge was the only service we held for Fritz. It was not formal; the only preparation, aside from obtaining permits and chartering the boat, was compilation of the playlist. There were no prayers, no hymns, no invocation of the Almighty or the after-life. Instead, we laughed. I’m not saying there weren’t tears, but mostly there was laughter. Is there a better legacy than one that makes you smile?
I'm not ready for that final disappointment
Cause I know just as well as I'm standing here talking to you
And when that final moment comes and I'm breathing my last breath,
I'll be saying to myself
Is that all there is?
Is that all there is?
© 2024 by Mike Tully