Crosses to Carry Part Two

I cannot remember much about David’s funeral, yet I can remember everything. I do not remember all the flowers that were sent to the Church, yet I can remember the smell of a single rose.

The funeral Mass was beautiful. I felt that Father Bob picked my husband up in his strong, faithful arms and carried him, like a little child, to the Lord.

Our children were broken in pieces. LaVon looked like a tiny baby bird that had been caught in a storm. Jennifer was unnaturally stoic for the sake of her boys, Keifer and Collin, and I felt that she would break – at any moment - like frozen china. Dave and Lorie were literally knocked down by grief. Meriah, our first grandchild, suffered terribly; she was “Papaw’s girl,” and she had been “special” to David since the day she was born. Hanah, Meriah’s little sister, was a comfort to Meriah (what good kids we have!) despite her own grief. David was a hero to all of us, as a family and individually.

Our friends were there. Sarah, the director of Leighton Hospice; Betsy, the receptionist at David's doctor's office (he would have been so pleased that Betsy was there!) Liz, of course, was there with Frankie, the lady who had let us stay in her trailer when we came to Arizona; the alcoholics were there in number – those who attended AA, and those who did not; many of our caregivers were there, handing me cards and sweet notes, and Carolyn was there. She and Monique, our former office manager in Sierra Vista, rode together and brought a station wagon full of food to feed all those in attendance at David’s Mass.

That day – the day of David’s funeral – was the last time I saw Carolyn “well.” As always, she took up my slack, greeting, thanking and consoling the guests; making sure they all had enough to eat; collecting the “memory book” and cards; making sure that everyone had flowers to take home as a remembrance. When the last guest had left, she hugged me tightly. “Now they have David’s blood on their hands,” she said, without emotion. I believe that she was referring to Cochise County.

My husband’s remains were cremated, as he had wanted, the next day. The day after, the kids, Liz, and I made our way high into the Chiracahuas that he so loved; I drove David’s Bronco with the kids, and Liz followed behind in another vehicle. David and I had made this trip so many times together, just exploring the mountains and enjoying life; the last time we were in the Chiracahuas together, we saw two mountain bluebirds, the first I had ever seen.
Liz, who is an ordained minister of the Gospel, conducted a farewell ceremony in a beautiful dry wash lined with centuries old boulders and surrounded by towering pines. We played “Freebird” on a portable boom box while Collin and I scattered his ashes to the Apache winds. The whole mountain cried.