How does a mother write about the funeral of her daughter, especially that of her youngest daughter? Deborah's final request, the only request she would ever again ask of us....to bury her.
My swollen fingers must obey the task, and start writing. These fingers and hands have nurtured her, held her, loved her, and now write about her. It seems unfathomable, but I must push myself. Yesterday, I even used her mouse-less computer for the first time. Her main screen has her and mine picture on the page, the day of her graduation.
The Lord has prepared me for that day, as he has shown me the day prior that I would have an unexpected family member in attendance. A fifteen minute walk in the park the day before revealed who this person would be, and I'm glad that I was able to prepare the rest of the family for this. This person with sadly very low moral values has had a hugely negative impact in our lives, and sadly she is still not walking with God, but we are praying for her.
My sorrow that day was catastrophic and epic as I am sure the rest of my family can attest. We woke up fairly early, got dressed into our black garb, made sure the men had their shirts ironed, and the suits had no lint on them. I put Deborah's blue ring on my finger and we drove to the church in our car. We were shown where the prayer room was, where we could sit, escape or get refreshments as needed.Everyone was so gracious, and kind. The ladies at the church were scurrying around getting a table cloth ironed as it did not meet the criteria. Everything was beautiful, pink and blue like my daughter would have liked it. White and pink table cloths held her precious memories, like her art work, her violin, her favorite books, her achievements and the photo albums she assembled. The soft music Sarah compiled started to play. A brief meeting at the prayer room, started with prayer, and a quick preview of the procedure to enter the congregation. The two pastors, Arne, all the ushers, and we were there, now only five.
We soon got to sit at the front, by which time, Deborah was in her coffin at the front of the stage. Two beautiful reefs embraced the sides of her coffin, one the shape of a cross, and one a big heart adorned with white and pink roses. One sister did not want to see her, but she happened to be there when they brought her in. Her memory wanted to be of the lively Deborah we had just before the 18th. She did not even come to the private viewing we had prior. Despite her beauty Deborah was very cold to touch, and distant, a shell alone. We knew her Spirit was with the Lord, and this alone gave us comfort. My other girl brought a white rose for each of us to place in her coffin, and we did this when we were ready to.
Weeping visitors, and friends would offer their condolences to us, as we sat in the front chairs. It was hallowed ground, it was a loss, it was immense pain. Looking back I'm wondering how we made it without any drugs, an Ativan or something. We just allowed our grief to pour, natural and full. Some of her friends brought letters, which they placed in her coffin. Indeed this is how it should be. Now I understood why I had to have an open coffin. Reconciliation with their God and their friend was so needed. A conversation with God and Deborah, that is what was needed. The coffin, was closed by noon, and the service began.
The pianist began playing "How Great thou Art", and "Great is thy Faithfulness", two of our favorite hymns. She happened to be Deborah's piano teacher, who so willingly stepped into this role. Pastor Wes began, the service, followed by Arne Bryan, a very close friend of Deborah's, and my three girls. They somehow had the strength from above to say their last speech, so final so frail, as three china tea cups shaking in the wind. Sarah introduced us to everyone, gave a little historical speech about us, and shared about Deborah's last weeks with us. Erica read, Lanny Townsend's poem, called "Sparkling Deborah" which you will find in my September blog. Elizabeth stood by in support, too stunned by the event. Then came the message by pastor Sam, speaking about the brevity of life and how nobody knows their own date of death, but surely it will come. We are all born with an expiration date. It is how we live between the two dates, the birth and death, "The Dash" that matters. Spiritually, we were not just challenged but an invitation was made to be a child of God right then and there. Powerful, and charismatic was his demeanor, and I believe the service in it's entirety was so very beautiful. The slide presentation, with the background music called "Oceans" by Hillsong continued for a full nine minutes. This included her film made at her water baptism (full immersion) at Crescent Beach. I was unable to watch most of the slide show, as my tears welled up in my eyes, and I was only able to hear the music. Sobs, and cryings all around me strengthened my faith, as I knew that my brothers and sisters in the Lord, felt with us.
The service came to a conclusion, as pastor Wes indicated that the family would be going to the cemetery, and guests were welcome to stay for refreshments and food afterwards. We walked up on the aisle of a packed church, which I sensed from all the feet that were there. I was unable to look up, only rush to the limo awaiting us. The weather was hot and sunny by the early afternoon.
I will not be sharing the events surrounding the burial, only to say that we immersed Deborah in the earth, and sang "It is well with our soul".
