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.”
No comments:
Post a Comment