The Symbolism of the Phoenix

So this season, TNT offered 3 races: Disney, Phoenix, and Miami. The reason I initially chose Phoenix actually goes back to San Diego. James and I took the same flight back to NY, and as we headed from the gate to the cab line at JFK, James said his next race was going to be Phoenix. So, power of suggestion: boom - registered for Phoenix.

Over the months, and especially through the events of last summer, I started to realize that the symbolism of Phoenix is actually pretty powerful in my life. Back in the late 60s, my Grandpa, along with my Grandma and some of their friends, were growing dissatisfied with the direction the Catholic church was heading in. So, to address their concerns and needs, they started something called the Floating Parish. It was a contemporary idiom for religious celebration - any and all religions were welcome, families were welcome, there were no rules or restrictions, there were no rigid forms or customs, no formal agenda; it was an open exchange of ideas. They just wanted a place to share in religious celebration with anyone who wanted to join. It was a pretty progressive thing, especially at the time, but that was always Grandpa's way.

Around that same time there was also a place in Worcester called the Phoenix, where all were welcome to come have free and peaceful exchanges of ideas (religious, political, or otherwise). To honor that camaraderie, the symbol that they chose for the Floating Parish was that of a Phoenix. The logo itself was actually originally designed by a great friend of the family, whose last name I unfortunately can't spell, but it's something like Stecynski.

For those unfamiliar, a phoenix is a mythical bird who lives to be a thousand years old, and then upon its death it bursts into flames and is reborn. It's a symbol of immortality, of everlasting. And that symbol is what Grandpa wanted to be painted on his coffin.

In my family, the boys build the coffin for their father. My Grandpa built his father's coffin, and my uncles built my Grandpa's coffin. It was beautifully done - they're all architects and builders, so it was in their wheelhouse. Uncle John did the actual building, and the others had a hand in design or other touches. We stored it in the basement at Grandpa's house in the early summer, and he saw it and approved the design and finished product. I realize that sounds weird, but it was important to him that he had input for his final resting place. It was also important for him to retain control of the things he could, because he had no control over the disease and what was happening to his body. The finished product was very Grandpa - natural wood, beautiful finish, nautical handles purchased on the Cape, and the Phoenix painted on the lid.

So, I share this with you not to be morbid or weird, but to show how it all comes together. Some may think this is merely a matter of coincidence, but I believe it's another example of how intrinsically connected Grandpa and I are, and forever will be.