Good Saturday Morning.
I’m sitting on our redbrick patio at the Grey House. And I suppose it’s time to start calling it Home. I don’t really need an adjective in front of “home.”
The puplet is sitting next to me not so patiently waiting for the next throw of the rope. And yes, I’m in my pajama’s. It’s Saturday morning, and the
Tradition still continues.
Last night we had a great evening out here in our new town. We met up with my folks at the Henderson County Performing Arts Center for a play called “
The Cemetery Club.” It was well written, featured a small cast of 5, and truly made me laugh and cry. That’s surely the sign of a good movie, book, or play!
We all agreed that Oaklawn Memorial Park should have sponsored this particular play… and we each appreciated some of the humor involved. But the main point of the story echoed what we see every day at the Park. The spouse left behind facing life with choices ahead of them. “Do you just read over the old chapters of your life, or do you go and write new ones?” That was the real question of the evening. And these actors skillfully wove the different perspectives into each character allowing the audience to examine the consequences and appreciate each path taken. And in the end, they each made the choice that was right for them.
It got me thinking about death, as I frequently do. To clarify… not death per say. But rather, life and choices surrounding a death. Morbid, I know. Guess it just comes with the territory of my business.
I attended a funeral last Saturday of a man that was dear to my folks. They have “adopted” a sweet elderly couple through the “Home Care Ministry” at their church. Over the past couple of years, my parents have invested themselves in the lives of Boyce and Esther. They have no children themselves to care for them – this is the Church being the Church. (Not the Sunday morning sit in pews and sing songs, shaking hands and feeling good about yourself Church. But the nitty gritty, caring for others, even when it doesn’t fit your schedule kind of Church.)
A while back, Boyce had to go to the nursing home, and Esther to an assisted living facility. They were separated from each other. That was sad. My folks continued to visit them, go to the doctor with them, buy birthday cards for them to send each other…
And then last week, Boyce died. The funeral was a celebration of life, and a gift to Esther. Sitting in her wheelchair at the front of the chapel, she had no idea who all was in the pews behind her honoring her husband. During the middle of the service her chair was turned around to face everyone, and it was clear how overwhelmed she was. I can’t really describe what happened, but as Esther called out and began naming people she saw…thanking them for being here… well, my tears finally found their release.
As my dad officiated the service, Esther became not an observer, but an active participant. Her dialogue to friends in the pews, her comments during the course of the service, and the way she chimed in and talked back during the message… all of that wove itself into the creation of a unique, one of a kind, beautiful memorial service.
During the service, two uniformed Army men stood watch. Perfectly still, silent, waiting. The presentation of the flag was to be an important part of the service for Esther, because Boyce took such pride in his service to our Country. (He was, in fact, well known for the stories he would tell, over and over and over again.)
The men removed the flag from its draped position over the casket and slowly, in their precise military way, snapped it tight and perfect. Esther watched with an eagle eye as they perfected each fold.
And as they presented it to her, I saw the glimmer of a tear in the young man’s eye. His voice trembled a bit as he knelt beside Esther and thanked her for the service that her husband had given. And I found myself amazed and enchanted that a stranger, a soldier that had probably presented a flag a hundred times at funerals, was tender enough to be touched by this moment, this memorial, this unique old school marm who so unabashedly cried out her gratefulness for the moment.
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Some might say that “beautiful funeral” is an oxymoron. But I say “beautiful funeral” is just perfect. And that is what it was.
So now, Esther continues. She is old and frail. But she is incredibly sharp. And she will now choose to either read and re-read the chapters of their life together, or she will write new ones. Either way, she’ll choose what is right for her.
Last night we had a great evening out here in our new town. We met up with my folks at the Henderson County Performing Arts Center for a play called “The Cemetery Club.” It was well written, featured a small cast of 5, and truly made me laugh and cry. That’s surely the sign of a good movie, book, or play!
We all agreed that Oaklawn Memorial Park should have sponsored this particular play… and we each appreciated some of the humor involved. But the main point of the story echoed what we see every day at the Park. The spouse left behind facing life with choices ahead of them. “Do you just read over the old chapters of your life, or do you go and write new ones?” That was the real question of the evening. And these actors skillfully wove the different perspectives into each character allowing the audience to examine the consequences and appreciate each path taken. And in the end, they each made the choice that was right for them.
It got me thinking about death, as I frequently do. To clarify… not death per say. But rather, life and choices surrounding a death. Morbid, I know. Guess it just comes with the territory of my business.
I attended a funeral last Saturday of a man that was dear to my folks. They have “adopted” a sweet elderly couple through the “Home Care Ministry” at their church. Over the past couple of years, my parents have invested themselves in the lives of Boyce and Esther. They have no children themselves to care for them – this is the Church being the Church. (Not the Sunday morning sit in pews and sing songs, shaking hands and feeling good about yourself Church. But the nitty gritty, caring for others, even when it doesn’t fit your schedule kind of Church.)
A while back, Boyce had to go to the nursing home, and Esther to an assisted living facility. They were separated from each other. That was sad. My folks continued to visit them, go to the doctor with them, buy birthday cards for them to send each other…
And then last week, Boyce died. The funeral was a celebration of life, and a gift to Esther. Sitting in her wheelchair at the front of the chapel, she had no idea who all was in the pews behind her honoring her husband. During the middle of the service her chair was turned around to face everyone, and it was clear how overwhelmed she was. I can’t really describe what happened, but as Esther called out and began naming people she saw…thanking them for being here… well, my tears finally found their release.
As my dad officiated the service, Esther became not an observer, but an active participant. Her dialogue to friends in the pews, her comments during the course of the service, and the way she chimed in and talked back during the message… all of that wove itself into the creation of a unique, one of a kind, beautiful memorial service.
During the service, two uniformed Army men stood watch. Perfectly still, silent, waiting. The presentation of the flag was to be an important part of the service for Esther, because Boyce took such pride in his service to our Country. (He was, in fact, well known for the stories he would tell, over and over and over again.)
The men removed the flag from its draped position over the casket and slowly, in their precise military way, snapped it tight and perfect. Esther watched with an eagle eye as they perfected each fold.
And as they presented it to her, I saw the glimmer of a tear in the young man’s eye. His voice trembled a bit as he knelt beside Esther and thanked her for the service that her husband had given. And I found myself amazed and enchanted that a stranger, a soldier that had probably presented a flag a hundred times at funerals, was tender enough to be touched by this moment, this memorial, this unique old school marm who so unabashedly cried out her gratefulness for the moment.
.jpg)
Some might say that “beautiful funeral” is an oxymoron. But I say “beautiful funeral” is just perfect. And that is what it was.
So now, Esther continues. She is old and frail. But she is incredibly sharp. And she will now choose to either read and re-read the chapters of their life together, or she will write new ones. Either way, she’ll choose what is right for her.
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