~~~Flashback Post~~~
The Funeral (March 31, 2015)
I had stood at the door of my closet that morning, staring blankly at the sea of colors and clothes in front of me. I had no idea what to wear. I had no idea what would even fit. I had been hiding behind bulky hoodies and sparkly scarves desperately trying to hide my growing waistline, while battling an inner sickness and mania, for five months. I was only days out (double digit hours really) after sending my body into the shock and recovery of childbirth and delivery. I knew my body was quickly shedding pounds, but I had no idea how much I had actually lost.
I kept thinking over and over, what in the world does a mother wear to bury her child?
I finally went with an old black short sleeve shirt, covered with a dark grey, open knit, short sleeve sweater wrap, and my favorite black dress slacks. Slacks that had hung unworn in my closet for the last several years, because they were too small. These were thee slacks that had always been my "skinny pants" goal. Well, I could get them on that morning, so I wore them. It was a small consolation prize.
We drove in silence to the cemetery, where we joined the small group of friends and family we had personally invited to join us. Family, close friends, and our co-workers. A few steps out of the van, my mom came over and hugged me. Holding me long and hard and crying huge hiccuping tears into my ears. I clung to her with all the strength that was in me. My sister-in-law, mother-in-law, and father joined the circle around me and the rest of my family. Hugs, support, tears and so much pain.
I knew others were hurting, but part of me struggled to realize the depth of everyone else's pain and loss beyond the walls of our home and within my own mind. I was aware, but did not fully comprehend that we were not the only ones solely hurting from this loss, and that was often hard for me to fully acknowledge. I was so self absorbed in my pain and focused on myself, my husband and my sons that I was blinded from clearly seeing beyond that. She wasn't just our daughter and sister. She was a granddaughter, she was a niece, she was a cousin, she was their friends and co-workers child, the thing that God has caused the people they loved to have to hurt and endure and suffer through and from... Everyone there loved us, everyone there hurt for us, everyone there was also hurting and grieving her heavenly departure from earth..
We slowly crossed the grass that was slowly greening, yet still matted and dirty from the winter blanket of snow that had recently melted. The sky was a vivid blue, and we made our way to the small crowd of people watching us and standing behind the four chairs waiting in the front row. The chairs were draped with the old, royal blue, funeral home chair slips. There was a matching blue cloth over a small table, with the tiny white, fabric covered, casket resting on top. A tiny rectangular hole was carefully dug into the freshly thawed earth next to the table.
A single light pink rose with babies breath sat on the top of the closed white lid. It’s color, fragrance, and texture emitting life and hope, while at the same time ultimately representing death and sorrow.
Inside, a tiny, diseased filled, earthly body was resting in one of the two pink and white scalloped blankets my husband and I had picked out together a few weeks earlier, in preparation for this very moment. The second matching blanket was waiting and carefully folded on a table next to the pink photo frame displaying her little ultrasound picture back at the church.
That moment in time will forever be etched into my mind. The sun, the spring warmth, the gentle, gentle breeze through my hair and open stitching of my sweater, the hard metal chair beneath me, the strong arm and support of my husband directly to my left. The sniffs and tears of those standing behind us. Our teenager held hands and cried with his girlfriend, who had also buried an infant brother several years earlier, and to whom I was so incredibly grateful for, as she was able to provide the support and comfort that I emotionally was just not capable of. Our youngest sat on my husbands lap. He did not cry once. He looked back and forth with wide eyes, looking deep into our wet eyes and emotionally spent souls. While he knew some of what was going on, I know he really did not grasp the absolute magnitude of it at all. There was no way he could fully comprehend the details and reality of that life and death moment. It left me feeling an incredible amount of guilt and regret for not telling him sooner and attempting to help him understand, grasp, and process the enormity of it all.
The text was on Hebrews 11:1 “Now faith is the confidence in what we hope for, and the assurance in what we do not see.” The exact verse and meaning she was named after. And then Pastor Jon went on to talk about her middle name. MaryJo. A combination of her grandmother’s names… and then I heard him talk about Jesus’s parent, Mary and Joseph ~ which also could be blended into the full meaning of MaryJo as well. I remember how profoundly that statement struck me in that moment.
And then suddenly, we were praying, and the small service was over. Another long moment that slipped by and had ended entirely too fast ~ another perfect and exact representation of her life. We were standing again, we were hugging, we were crying with those behind us. Soon everyone was walking to their vehicles, heading off to church for the small lunch and receiving line. My husband and I were the last two to leave, minus the funeral directors. I remember how hard it was to pick up that tiny pink rose and will myself to just walk away from her tiny casket, knowing it was soon going to be lowered into the dark and damp earth. Soon to be surrounded, hidden, stained, and fully covered by the black earth.
That was so beautifully written...Tears. I'm so sorry for your loss. Prayers to your family always. 💗
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