Truly a roller-coaster day, and I only live on the fringe of the tremendous circle of people who knew, loved and were touched by the Harvey family.
The day started with the early morning news of another crime in South Richmond, three adults -- a mother, her daughter and the mother's friend. A sick pit in my stomach, even as reports emerged that two suspects had been arrested in Pennsylvania and apparently had no connection to the New Year's Day murder of Bryan, Kathryn, Stella and Ruby Harvey.
A friend drove in from Goochland to go with us to the 1:00 p.m. memorial service at the Byrd Theatre in Carytown. The afternoon was bright, cold and windy.
We arrived at the Byrd an hour before the service. The manager announced that they would open the doors at 12:30. WTVR, the local CBS affiliate, was already there. Signs on the doors of the Byrd read: "No media. No cameras."
Nikole, Nancy and I walked down to World of Mirth. Two more large pieces of posterboard were mounted on the storefront for friends and passers-by to write thoughts, express feelings on the loss of this family. There were more flowers, more notes. And there was a computer screen in the window with footage -- one of Bryan's bands, Fat Elvis, playing in the store for a cluster of delighted children. Kathryn and Stella laughing, pointing at the camera. All three of us walked away, shivering and in tears.
Outside the Byrd, a line already had formed. We stood outside of Rostov's Coffee and Tea as the line grew, extending well around the corner past Coppola's Deli. Jason and Marni stopped to chat, then joined us in line. Richard and Elaine arrived. The doors opened.
The concession bar at the Byrd was decorated with candles, draped in color. Posters with photos of the family were mounted by the doors. A microphone stood on stage before the projection screen, and vases of flowers were clustered in the front.
We sat, then watched as another 1,400 family members, friends and acquaintances of Bryan, Kathryn, Stella and Ruby arrived. There were hugs, waves from across the theatre. Strange faces, familiar faces. Faces that looked 20 years too old, because I hadn't seen a person in two decades. Familiar rock-and-rollers, waitresses, businesspeople, neighbors and strangers filed past and filled the seats.
At almost precisely 1:00 -- without a cue -- a hush settled across the gathering. A few moments later, the service began.
It was a heart-wrenching 45 minutes. Several ministers spoke -- one, who was friends with Bryan and who spoke at the vigil at the Unitarian Church -- was eloquent, poignant and wise, wise, wise. She spoke about this winsome, creative family with a rich familiarity. It was comforting. She gave us permission to grieve, and asked us also to remember to laugh -- to laugh, she said, the way some of Stella's friends describe the way she made them laugh, the "pee in your pants" kind of laugh.
There was a slideshow of the family, accompanied by several of Bryan's songs. I hadn't listened to any of his House of Freaks work this week, or for years actually. I'd forgotten, in my ears and in my gut, just how amazing a songwriter he was.
The photos were beautiful, sad and sprinkled with liberal doses of humor. The sniffles and sobs throughout the theatre were punctuated by bursts of laughter as friends or family reacted to various candid, and posed, images of the family.
And then 15 of Bryan's former bandmates gathered on stage and performed. It was perfectly lovely, and the perfect conclusion to this week of remembrance for a family who touched so many.
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