The Never-Ending Ramblings...

:-(

I hate funerals. Even ones where the death isn’t necessary a sad thing. Still, the whole concept, of life not lasting forever – at least as we know it on the planet, brings a heaviness to my heart that is hard to shake. I’ve been to three funerals in the past fifteen months. The atmosphere and environment surrounding each very different.

Fifteen months ago, one of my part time employees lost her four-year-old son. We were both at work when she got the call saying he was in the hospital fighting for his life. Visibly shaken, she dashed out of there. Concentrating on my job was difficult. Several hours later, she phoned to say he had died. I was stunned. Two days later, her x-husband was arrested and charged with the murder of a four-year old boy through child abuse.

I attended the showing but couldn’t make myself go into the room. I stood in the doorway, unable to move forward. The next day, at the funeral, I found a seat at the back. The church was packed. People lined the walls and there were others standing outside. The pastor giving the service had a deep loud commanding voice, sorta like James Earl Jones. But different sounding. He told stories of childhood happiness. How could this have happened? My eyes kept looking at the small blue casket covered with an arrangement of blooming white flowers. I wasn’t the only one crying throughout the entire service. When it was over, and the pall bears began moving the casket down the isle, everyone started singing a slow somber version of “I’ll Fly Away.” I totally lost it. Seeing that tiny casket, knowing tiny body was inside. A week prior, he was at the tennis center, eyes filled with excitement when he saw his grandfather pull into the parking lot. He had brought McDonalds happy meals for the four year old and his big brother.

Three moths ago, a neighbor died, losing a yearlong battle with cancer. A family friend, and physician, this funeral was tough. Lots of folks were there, a scrapbook of sorts was placed in the back of the sanctuary for us to flip through on our way out. He Lots of stories were told, funny ones, to make the mood light. He would have wanted it that way. He was quite a character too; tattooed, long hair, braided. He and his wife rode their Harley’s to Bike Week in Daytona every October.

Yesterday, I attended a funeral for two people. Family members. In-laws actually. A husband and wife dying within forty-eight hours of each other. He was eighty-seven, she eighty-six. They had been married sixty-five years. An eternity in my book. Sometimes, I’m doubtful my marriage will make it through the week, much less half a century.

She was a tennis player. He was a writer(two thngs I love) - who loved to hunt and fish. We visited their home in New Smyrna Beach Florida countless times. She would mark the occasion with a home cooked seafood meal. He, who never failed to mention to Bryan that he thought all three of his girls were beautiful, would play this old scratch 33LP of Frank Sanatra. I want to say the name of the song was ‘Autumn Wind” but I’m really not sure. Now, I can here the music in my mind. He loved her name, and our visits to his house.

I met lots of relatives I hadn’t seen in years and a few I'd only heard about. Everyone shared their stories of the couple; family photos, and clippings of his writing were displayed on a table in the den.

These people lived a long, healthy, successful life here on Earth. A chapter in the lives of those they touched closed. Life goes on but won’t be the same.