Alright, let's talk about Joe Edel. Ninety-four years old. That's a hell of a run, ain't it?
The Obituary as a Snapshot
The obit says he was a carpenter, owned Joe Edel Construction, retired in '88. Good for him. Worked with wood, liked his garden, fished, bowled. Sounds like a decent, simple life. But here's the thing about obituaries: they're just snapshots. Glossy, airbrushed versions of reality. They tell you what someone did, not who they were.
"Talented wood worker and was very handy at making anything someone would want." Okay, fine. But was he a good guy? A jerk? Did he cheat on his taxes? Did he secretly hate bowling? We'll never know.
And Roberds Lake? Lived there for sixty years. Sixty years staring at the same lake. I mean, I get the appeal of stability, but doesn't that drive a person insane after a while?
The Family Angle
Divorced Dolores Tebo. Ouch. That's gotta sting, even after all these years. What happened there? Was it a slow burn of resentment, or a sudden, explosive fight over… what? The thermostat? The TV remote? We get none of the juicy details, offcourse. Just "they later divorced." Cold.
Gail, Mark, four grandkids, two great-grandkids, and one great-great grandchild. Tucker. That's a lot of legacy. A whole damn tree sprouting from one guy who liked to hammer nails and grow tomatoes. It's kind of amazing, when you think about it. Or maybe it's just a biological imperative playing out, generation after generation, and we're all just along for the ride.
He was preceded in death by his parents, two brothers, Alvin and Marvin Edel, his sister, Leatrice Malecha and by his former wife, Dolores Edel. The list of the dead always gets me. It's like a grim roll call. Each name a life snuffed out, a story unfinished.
The Inevitable End
Milestone Senior Living. That's where he kicked the bucket. No offense to the staff there, but those places always feel like waiting rooms for the afterlife. The air thick with regret and the smell of disinfectant...
Mass at Divine Mercy Catholic Church. Interment at Trebon Cemetery. The whole shebang. The rituals, the prayers, the flowers... all designed to soften the blow of mortality. But they don't, do they? They just remind you that you're next.
The family wants memorials to go to Bethlehem Academy High School. In memory of Joe. Why that school? Did he go there? Did his kids? Is it some kind of tax dodge? I dunno. Details remain scarce.
Arrangements by Parker Kohl Funeral Home & Crematory. These guys are always lurking in the background of these stories. Efficiently processing our dead. Turning grief into a business transaction.
So, What Was the Point?
Ninety-four years. A life lived. A family created. A mark left on the world, however small. And now, he's gone. Just like that. A reminder that we're all just temporary tenants on this planet, shuffling around until our leases expire. So, yeah, enjoy your garden, go fishing, and try not to divorce your wife. Or don't. What the hell do I know?
