Uncle Jim’s funeral (part IV)

We discussed the details at the funeral home. Evelyn brought a list of notes my father-in-law, Tom, had written to include in the obituary. 

Tom is a veteran who served as a tank commander in Korea. He loves and esteems all people, whether they were janitors or held lofty positions. He answers to Papa by the grands.

Uncle Jim’s family decided to conduct the graveside funeral themselves in Ila, Georgia, with only family and close friends in attendance. Tom will dig a small hole for the urn the day before. 

The memorial service will take place at his church after the burial, followed by a reception for friends in the fellowship hall. Instead of bringing flowers, people can donate to his church, Chapelwood United Methodist Church. 

I am unsure whether to give flowers or donate to the church, as they requested. Kimberly wanted all white flowers, so I got a lovely bouquet to take to the burial site before anyone arrived. It will be nice for the family to see flowers when they arrive. 

We went to Evelyn's for dinner, and I took the flowers for everyone to enjoy.

Uncle Jim’s funeral (part III)

Beth's husband came into town. He stood outside by the garage at the bottom of the steep hill. I wanted to tell him about the difficult times ahead and help him decide what to say to Beth. 

He lifted his hand to his mouth.

”You don't know … how much it meant to me that you were there for Beth while I was out of town.”

“It was a privilege to be there to minister to everyone.”

 

Uncle Jim chose cremation with no public viewing. A cousin of Paul’s wanted to see Uncle Jim privately at the funeral home to say her goodbyes.

Aunt June hesitated with the idea.

“Mom, it was important for people to be able to see him if they wanted to,” Beth said. 

“I don’t want to go,” Kimberly said.

A few family members gathered informally at the funeral home the following day. 

“We do not need a casket to view his body since he will be cremated,” Beth said. 

“I don’t want y’all to be surprised and wanted you to know Uncle Jim is lying on a table with a sheet to his chest,” a lady said.

She opened the door, and we stepped into the room. Immediately, saw him lying on a metal table in a small space with a few cabinets—this room was typically used to apply makeup to the deceased. The atmosphere felt sterile, but that did not stop us from sharing warm family memories as we gathered around him.

We said our goodbyes, and I kissed him on the forehead. I wanted to be the last to leave. 

As I closed the door, I glanced back and said, ”I’ll see you in Heaven.”

Uncle Jim’s funeral (part II)

I did not want them to worry about lunch, so I told them I was taking care of it. We decided on a restaurant around the corner that served good, home-cooked meals. Beth and I got several to-go boxes, and we had a nice lunch.

People would send a lot of food, so I told Beth I needed to clean out the fridge. She told me to throw out anything past the expiration date.

Beth jokingly said, “When you get to Heaven, he will get on to you about throwing out perfectly good food.”

Aunt June was cleaning and walked towards the foyer closet with his brown jacket. I took it and hung it up—it was probably the last jacket he wore. 

“Can I do anything else?” 

“You can vacuum.” 

Sigh.

I wanted to help but avoided getting in their way. They also needed time to grieve and be alone—a tricky balance.

    I was thinking of ways to help. Previously, I'd noticed tons of leaves on the back deck. So, the next day, I blew it off and tidied it.

Uncle Jim’s funeral (part I)

“Uncle Jim's Funeral” 

Uncle Jim, Paul's uncle, died of a sudden heart attack in the back bedroom of his home on December 5, 2012.

He loved to laugh—had a bald head and smiled continually. Uncle Jim loved music, sang in barbershop quartets, and loved to dance. He is like an uncle to me, so I call him Uncle Jim.

His doctor said he had a limited time left to live because of his heart—it could be a day or a year. This family knew it was coming but hoped it would be the latter.

I tried to remember and apply what I’ve learned about death. So, the following morning, after I took Ashton to school, I got Chick-fil-A for his wife, Aunt June, and their daughter, Beth. 

    Uncle Jim and Aunt June could not have children, so they adopted Beth and Kimberly. They are like cousins. Kimberly is quiet and reserved, with a love for interior design, while Beth is outgoing and loves the outdoors.

Their garage door was locked when I arrived, but I did not want to wake them, so I stayed outside awhile then went to the back door—Beth was in the kitchen. She thanked me for bringing breakfast. I gave Beth and Aunt June a good ole Glenn hug.

It is key to do whatever Aunt June wanted. 

“What would you like for me to do?” 

“Would you please finish decorating the Christmas tree?” 

Their family had been decorating the tree the night he died—it was meaningful to her as it was the last thing they'd been doing. Uncle Jim was tired and retreated to their back bedroom. Later, they found him on the small rug at the end of their bed—he had a heart attack.

They shared stories about a few ornaments as I put them on the tree. 

People would arrive soon, and boxes were strewn across the living room floor, so I tidied the room. Evelyn came, and we finished decorating the tree and house.

The Next Chapter

In the weeks preceding the closing of our shop, I often heard the phrase “the next chapter.” Many people referred to its closing as one chapter in my life, and the future would be the next chapter. Now, I am unemployed. I say I’m a full-time photographer and writer. These are the passions that the Lord has blessed me with and what He wants me to storm.

“It’s Like It Never Happened”(part II)

The Lord granted me peace. I had already endured a difficult grieving process. The shop’s closing had been coming for a long time. I was eager to get through the next five weeks until we closed. 

The closing date is April 21, 2012, and our auction will take place on April 24. Our money from selling our equipment will help cover a portion of our loan. If we’re lucky, we may get twenty-five cents to the dollar. We spent $11,000 on our mixer alone. 

“It’s Like It Never Happened” (part I)

Unfortunately, we are closing our cookie shop next month. While in my garage, I peeled the letters of the business logo off my car one by one.

It’s like it never happened.

Paul and I put all of the shop’s expenses on paper. It was too expensive to keep the shop at its current location. Paul looked at two small retail spaces that would save us a lot of money each month, but it did not add up when I included worker’s comp, taxes, rent, insurance, employee wages, etc. I mulled it over for a few days. I could not ask him to keep putting money into the business.

I agree we should close the shop. Paul already knew it—he was waiting for me to see for myself. It’s my job and my “baby.” I took the idea better after realizing it for myself. Paul did not have an emotional attachment like me.

I wanted to personally inform my employees before they heard the news from others. One Sunday, they came to my house, and I shared the news. I feel sorry for them because they will be losing their jobs.

My daughter, Lauren, also worked for us. 

“It is sad and not fun losing my job.” 

I know the owner of several restaurants, and called to let him know we are closing. My daughter and two employees need jobs, and he wanted them to apply. Soon, Lauren got a job.