Funeral suits...

I went to the closet to begin packing for the long trip to Alabama. I pulled out the old standard, my funeral suit, black three piece crepe old as the hills still looks good suit that I wear on these sad occasions. Every Southern lady of a certain age has her funeral suit or dress, one that may be worn at other times but is always worn to funerals. It is usually black, perhaps navy blue, but is dark and as elegant as you can afford. One doesn’t want to be flashy but exhibit restrained style. Just because you are grieving, or are attending the grieving, doesn’t mean you have to look like a frump.
It was going to be a long weekend. After the drive down on Friday, there would be two services, one in Montgomery and one in Birmingham. In Montgomery, friends and co-workers (those who were still alive) came along with friends and family. All the grandchildren came, a testimony to the impact their grandparents had on their lives. The beautiful old sanctuary of First Baptist Montgomery was filled with joy and sorrow, both dancing their way through our hearts as the service progressed. Ann and H.O. were members there for many years and his pastor remembered him with affection.
Women from one of the churches H.O. served as an interim brought lunch to the church so we could eat quickly and get on the road to Birmingham. The second service was scheduled to begin with a visitation at three with a grave side at four. The church H.O. pastored for twenty years was filled again with friends and family. Five of Michael’s high school friends were there along with other friends who had driven in from far away just to be with us that day. H.O. and Ann’s north Alabama family were well represented and many of them remembered Uncle Odell and Aunt Annie with love. People who were members at Eighty Fifth Street Baptist Church during H.O.’s time there came in spite of their age. Old they may have been, but the memories of what H.O. had meant to them as their pastor burned brightly in the stories they told. Once again great-grandchildren sat patiently (mostly) through their second worship service of the day.
And then it was time to go to the cemetery. Darkness had fallen early on that cold rainy day. We gathered around the grave, hugging each other, explaining to the children what was going to happen, hearing old words of comfort from the Bible, sending Daddy O on his way home to Mommy Ann. Carolyn, your image of a house with the furniture moved out helped Matthew get a picture of death that he could understand. He stood by the grave with me and wasn’t nearly as scared as he thought he might be. I was able to do for him what my grandmother did for me so many years ago, help him begin understanding the journey of life and death in the middle of love, laughter and tears.
We checked into our motel, changed clothes and drove to a restaurant for our evening meal. The six young boys were let out of their cages and enjoyed playing together. Fatigue, gratitude, and fun were on the menu for the evening. Alison screamed appropriately when she saw the rubber rat much to the boys delight. Family ties that bind held us close that night and it was a memory maker. The next morning, we scattered to the four winds... California, Texas, Kentucky, Tennessee, North Carolina... filled up and overflowing. Hugs all around, plans for the next get together, walkie talkies handed out, a flurry of leave taking as we began the return to our lives back home and we were off, on the road again.
Driving up the hill to our home, I saw the lights on and gave thanks to be back. Walking in, we were greeted by a clean home and food in the refrigerator. Our church had come and cleaned and cooked for us. Greater love hath no woman than to let other women see and clean her dirty house for her. 1st Peggy 3:16 It felt so good... loving arms and hands held us up, Pat’s home made soup warmed our souls and the lasagna meant I didn’t have to think about what to cook for supper today. We are loved and that love has been made manifest this weekend. We are so grateful for all those who have been a part of this journey. The pathway was made plain and smooth by your notes and cards, your calls and visits, your presence in our lives as we walked through this valley of the shadow of death. It is well with our souls because of you and the God we love and serve. My funeral suit has been made new again by the love and joy of those saints who surround us here on earth. Thanks be to God for all of you, for Ann and H.O., and for the gift of life that is such a mystery. Death was swallowed up in victory this weekend, the victory of love and life.