It was important to Mom that we went to church, so we started going when my sister and I were elementary school age, I think. If anybody knows when Wannie Harden was pastor at Blair Road, that’s when we started going. At that time, pastors changed every four years, and we were very sad when it was time for Wannie to transfer out of our church and into some other folks’ hearts. There were other fine pastors who followed, but none quite so special to me as Lynn Upchurch, who entered my broken heart upon the death of both of my parents, particularly my dad. I think Jenny would say the same.

One of the families we knew at Blair Road was the Ellises: John, Joy, Chris, and Britt. I visited with and cared some for Joy’s mom in her older years. Her name was “Bubbles” and I’d love to know more about that, but am not sure I thought to ask then where she got her nickname. They were all just good people we knew and liked. Joy died the month before Mom did. I was at her memorial service with Mom just like everything was normal on our end except another cancer diagnosis we were waiting for her to beat, and not a month later Mom was gone. So in that way, Joy and Mom are forever linked to me.

Dad was a shriveler after Mom died. Joy’s husband, John, was never a shriveler. He and Joy were always lively and smiling and fun. They made friends with a woman who attended Pete’s and my wedding solo, and I have photos of them having a grand ol’ time at the reception. John brought supper to Dad after Mom died, and tried to help Dad use the V.A., but Dad wasn’t interested (and didn’t even seem very appreciative, although he probably was somewhere in his broken, dying heart). When Dad died, John helped me with his military paperwork and getting the military marker and things like that. I saw him this past November at a church service and am glad I spoke to him even as he was trying to get away to somewhere he thought he needed to be. John loved Pete, and listened to him. John was so busy I couldn’t even make plans with him because he always had something going on! John stayed in touch and I wish I had saved any of his voice mail messages to listen to now, although they would make me cry. 

John is now reunited with his Joy, and with my parents, and for that, I am grateful. But for us, I am sad. 

Photo credit here goes to Alex Newton or her friend Randy Shaw (date 03/20/2010).

I attended a memorial service today for the son of some other friends. I counted 5 people I saw and hugged and was glad to see today who were not known to me or were not significant to me before either of my parents died, but through those tremendous losses, they became such special people to me. They worked at the funeral home or the church; they came to see us in the hospital or at our home; they cared for us; they performed the memorial service; they drove us during the memorial service; they told our stunned, empty, zombie, grieving selves where to go and what to do during the memorial service (and helped us plan it); they remembered us; they loved us – and we love each other even now, 11 and 9 years later, and we always will. I am so grateful for amazing friendships born of such devastation. I am grateful that we can help each other through continued loss and celebrate additional joys together. 

I am, simply, grateful, even as I am sad. That is the silver lining. I am clearly entering the years where there are more funerals. There is more loss. There are more stories about memories I have than about amazing new things I am likely do to – which is partly because I’m not super adventurous. I watch the young folks in our family and I am so excited and hopeful for them. I am so glad for those of us who already did what awaits them. I am sad for the ones who never got to do all the things. Life is phases and passing batons and creating new relationships and ending others and through the happy and sad of it all, I love it. Sometimes it hurts like I might die, but to quote Truvy in Steel Magnolias, “Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.” That is how I know I won’t actually die . . . yet.