Mom's Service

After the not-quite-graveside, we went directly to the church, where more friends served us breakfast. People began to arrive for Mom's service. And I'm afraid at this point what followed is mostly a blur except for a few crystalline moments.

One of those moments is my friend Mollie. Mollie and I have been friends since junior high. She is one of those rare friends whose heart remains connected even when separated by time and distance. She now lives a few hours away and has a couple of all-consuming jobs, but Mollie came for Mom's service. She came for me. I think that is what made her presence so comforting to me that day. I looked over partway through Mom's service and saw Mollie sitting by herself, parallel to me in the next section of seats. As soon as I could, I scuttled over to grab her hand and bring her back to sit with me. (One of the great things about having a pastor for a husband is that I can entrust the service to him, knowing he will do a beautiful job. One of the suck-y things about entrusting the service to my husband is not having him sit with me during my mom's memorial. Just in case it seemed weird for me to gather people up to sit with me. It still might be weird, but there you have it.)

And I pretty much kept Mollie glued to my side for the rest of the time until she had to go home. Our church hosted an amazing potluck lunch for everyone after the service. Mollie stayed and sat with me and visited. Looking back, I probably did not greet everyone I should have. I certainly was not mindful of fulfilling the role of pastor's wife or good daughter. Maybe I was too exclusive or reclusive or something. I truly was thankful for all the friends and family who came to pay respects to my mom. But Mollie was definitely my comfort person, and I can't imagine I'd have made it as well without her.

Another clear moment in my memory is my Nate. Oh, my heart. My tender-hearted, big 15yo boy wanted to read his essay about his grandma. At her service. Out loud. He revised with his educational therapist, Ms. Catherine, and practiced. We bought a suit and shirt and ties at Goodwill. (We bought shoes too, but he opted to wear his Vans.) His only fear: breaking down and not being able to finish. So that morning, Nate sat on the podium, then stood and began to read. And cry.

I'm sorry to say Nate has inherited my inability to multitask while crying. For us, if it is time to cry, all other activity must cease. He could not pull it back together enough to form words, so his dad, my dear David, stood and put his arm around his boy and read the rest of Nate's essay about his grandma. Then Nate sat back down in his chair on the podium and pretty much cried for the rest of the service. I wanted to go and hug him and take his hand to come sit with me, but I didn't know how much he would appreciate that gesture from his mother. I asked him later, days or weeks later, how he felt about the whole experience. His only regret was that he had not been able to finish the reading. My boy. Love him.