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 was a veteran who served as a tank commander in Korea. He loved all people and esteemed them, whether they were janitors or held lofty positions. He answered to Papa by the grands.

     The family decided to do the graveside funeral themselves—it would be with family and close friends. Tom would dig a small hole for the urn the day before. 

     The memorial service will be at the church after the burial. Instead of flowers, donations will be accepted to the Mount Hermon Presbyterian Church. 

     I didn't know whether to give flowers or donate to the church, as they desired. Kimberly wanted all white flowers, so I got a lovely arrangement to take to the burial site before anyone arrived. It would be nice for the family to see flowers upon arrival.

 

     The night before the funeral, we went to Evelyn's for dinner. 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 viewing. A cousin of Paul’s wanted to see Uncle Jim privately at the funeral home to say her goodbyes. Beth and I wanted to go, but Aunt June and her other daughter, Kimberly, did not. 

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

     We met at the funeral home the following day to discuss the plans. A few family members and friends came—our gathering was informal. 

     Beth mentioned we did not need a casket to view his body—he was to be cremated. They did not want us to be surprised, so they said Uncle Jim was lying on a table with a sheet to his chest.

     We entered the room and immediately saw him on a metal table in a small room with a few cabinets; they typically used this room to put makeup on the deceased. The atmosphere was sterile, but that did not deter us from sharing warm family memories.

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

     As I closed the door, I looked 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 would 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 the deck.

Uncle Jim’s funeral (part I)

“Uncle Jim's Funeral”

Uncle Jim, Paul's uncle, passed away on December 5, 2012.

     He loved to laugh—had a bald head and smiles continually. 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. They 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 was quiet and reserved, with a love for interior design, while Beth was outgoing and loved the outdoors.

The garage door was locked when I arrived at their house. I did not want to wake them, so I stayed outside. Later, I 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 was 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 the bed—he'd 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 death of a dream?

One small email changed the course of my life for now.  Since my cookie shop closed seven months ago, I have been devoting myself to my photography.  I have been scouring the internet for articles and videos to help me advance my skills.  I have learned so much and have been applying that knowledge to my photography.  I eat and breath photography pretty much 24/7.

That abruptly changed when Paul got an email stating that his consulting job basically will come to an end.  He still has his regular job which pays the everyday bills, but we are in debt partly because of the cookie shop and need money to pay off those bills.  We also invested in land that is basically worthless because the neighborhood went under.  We are going to have to foreclose on the property, take our house off of the market, sell the lot we are going to build on, majorly change our eating out habits, but most life changing is me getting a job.

During the course of the seven months, I stared to see myself moving towards being a professional wildlife/nature photographer.  I would love to travel the world taking pictures of lions in Africa to seals in the Artic.  It was a dream I was focusing on which for now is no longer.  The passion I have for photography will now be set to the side to hold a regular day job. 

I have no idea what the Lord wants me to do for a job.  I know it will all work out, but I cringe at the thought of doing something other than what I am passionate about. 

I get it Lord!

 

 

Yesterday, I was bombarded with getting my proposals back out the door.  Three times very clearly in one day.  During my devotion I read Hebrews 3:16, “And who were those people who rebelled against God, even though they heard his voice?”  As I went to the eye doctor, I pulled up to a store next to his office and read a sign in the inside that stated, “Sometimes it’s the smallest decisions that can change your life.”  When I got home and I was on facebook, I read a note a friend of mine shared, “Dear Jesus, sometimes I’m afraid of letting you have complete control of my life.  Show me how to be a ‘yes’ kind of girl like Mary was, and use me to bring you to others. Amen.”  So, today I got busy once again researching where to send my proposals.

The Next Chapter

In the weeks preceding our shop closing, I repeatedly heard “the next chapter.” Many people referenced its closing as one chapter in my life, and the future would be the next chapter. I was now unemployed. I said I was a full-time photographer and writer. These passions were what the Lord blessed me with and what He wanted me to storm.

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

The Lord gave me peace. I had already gone through the grieving process, which was not easy. The shop’s closing had been coming for a long time. The economy stunk, and I didn’t know if we could stay open month to month. I was ready to get the next five weeks behind me until we closed. 

     The closing date is April 21, 2012, and our auction is April 24. Our money from selling our equipment would pay for part of our loan. If we’re lucky, we will get twenty-five cents to the dollar. We spent $11,000 on our mixer alone. 

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

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 added all the expenses like 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, having realized it for myself rather than him telling me. He did not have an emotional attachment like me.

     I wanted to tell my employees personally before they found out from others. They came to my house one Sunday, and I told them the news. I was sorry for them because they were losing their jobs.

     My daughter, Lauren, also worked for us. 

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

     I know someone who owns several restaurants. I called him to let him know we were closing and have a daughter and two employees who need jobs. He wanted them to apply—Lauren soon got the job.