If you've read my last post and have also suffered the loss of a loved one, you'll understand why this blog has been silent for a week. For those who are left behind, death is exhausting.
While we were planing Deb's funeral, our pastor mentioned that there was a spot for family or friends to stand in the pulpit and share a few words about her. Knowing that something as stupid as a tampon commercial can bring me to tears, I quickly declined to speak. Daphne, however, felt she needed to say something. On Thursday night, after the visitation, we brainstormed a brief outline of things she could say at the funeral.
The next morning I pulled into the church's parking lot, and we saw a row of cars with bicycles purposely mounted on their trunks. Deb's RAGBRAI team, a group of people who only knew her for one week once a year, had also traveled far from parts unknown so they could pay tribute to her life. The sight was a bit overwhelming.
"Oh, I don't know if I can do this," Daphne whispered.
Deb's family gathered in the basement while the pews upstairs filled with friends. We were seated later, and Daphne and I sat in the front pew with Charlotte wedged between us. When it came time for Daphne to speak, she met the challenge with the courage she inherited from Deb. While she was honoring her mom's memory, I could hear the audience laugh at her jokes, and I suspect she made them tear up as well. I was too busy trying to calm down Charlotte to know for sure.
Charlotte doesn't understand much of what is going on, and she got really upset when her mom left to address the congregation. I couldn't keep her quiet, and while thick tears ran down Charlotte's face she cried, "I don't want my mommy up there! I want her down here with me!"
All I could think to say was, "Shhhhhh. I know, honey. That's exactly what your mom is telling everyone, too."
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