Have you ever had the feeling of complete and udder emptiness, like someone punched a hole in your chest and ripped out your heart? This is the feeling that swept over me as I sat on a hard, brown, wooden pew at my neighbor’s funeral visitation. Honestly I wasn’t even sure if my heart was beating anymore, I felt so dead inside.
All sorts of people wandered into the church. It was packed, I mean wall to wall bodies. There were so many people there that the church ran out of the extra metal folding chairs and people were left standing. The only non-crowded spot in the church was the altar, where the cold, lifeless body of Marilyn Jean Beddow rested in her dark colored coffin.
“Marilyn and her husband Bill have lived next door to my family since before I was even thought of. She was like a grandmother to me. I spent days playing in her lush green yard and running through the sky-high pine trees with her actual granddaughter, Brittney. Every time I came over she would ask how school was going and if there was anything fun happening in my world. She would wrap me in a huge, warm hug that always smelled of her perfume. (You know the kind that older ladies wear, that always smells sophisticated.) Whenever I left to go home, Marilyn would hug me again and tell me she loved me.” This is what I said at the service when they asked for people to share their memories of Marilyn. I was 11 years old. When I was done I just stood there with tears running down my face. …show more content…
I looked around at everyone sitting in the church. Most of their faces mirrored my own, puffy, red eyes, cheeks streaked with salty tears. After I sat Marilyn’s best friend Kaye took ahold of my hand, she didn’t let go until the visitation was over.
I remember when my mom first told me Marilyn was sick. Crying hard, I questioned God, “Why? Why would you do this to her? She doesn’t deserve this!” I went to my room and sobbed into my pillow. Eventually staining its case with my tears. Lung cancer killed her. It stole her from her family and friends, those who loved her in just a year. She suffered and endured all the pain of chemotherapy only to have her life taken in the end. After the visitation I found Marilyn’s husband Bill. He wrapped me in his strong arms. “Everything you said was true. She loved you so much,” Bill whispered to me. I just cried harder and he held me tighter. That night I cried myself to sleep and I asked God why. Why had he taken her from me? Why would he do that? The next day was the funeral at St. Magdalen’s Catholic Church. I refused to wear black; instead I wore blue. My mom smiled sadly at me, understanding my wish for Marilyn to not really be gone. Marilyn had requested that my sister Mikayla, my neighbor Zach and I altar serve at the funeral. Not a good idea. Zach and I were the same age and we both spent the service holding back tears. My sister made me ring the bells, I had never done it before, I messed up, and I felt so terrible, not only had I made the mistake, I had made it at Marilyn’s funeral. I was so embarrassed I could have crawled into the casket alongside Marilyn. There I was staring at her laying in a coffin, closed eyes never to open again, and I hadn’t accepted the fact she was gone. I mean really gone…Forever. When I first found out Marilyn was going to die I was a wreck. My mom had picked me up from softball practice and we were driving on the interstate. In those days it was common for me to ask about Marilyn’s condition. “Marilyn has been put into hospice care,” my mom told me. “Oh,” I replied guardedly, “Can I see her?” “I don’t think that is a good idea…” “But, why not?” “Well, she doesn’t really remember people, and she is in really bad form. I just don’t want that to be your last memory of her,” mom fell into silence. “So, she is
All sorts of people wandered into the church. It was packed, I mean wall to wall bodies. There were so many people there that the church ran out of the extra metal folding chairs and people were left standing. The only non-crowded spot in the church was the altar, where the cold, lifeless body of Marilyn Jean Beddow rested in her dark colored coffin.
“Marilyn and her husband Bill have lived next door to my family since before I was even thought of. She was like a grandmother to me. I spent days playing in her lush green yard and running through the sky-high pine trees with her actual granddaughter, Brittney. Every time I came over she would ask how school was going and if there was anything fun happening in my world. She would wrap me in a huge, warm hug that always smelled of her perfume. (You know the kind that older ladies wear, that always smells sophisticated.) Whenever I left to go home, Marilyn would hug me again and tell me she loved me.” This is what I said at the service when they asked for people to share their memories of Marilyn. I was 11 years old. When I was done I just stood there with tears running down my face. …show more content…
I looked around at everyone sitting in the church. Most of their faces mirrored my own, puffy, red eyes, cheeks streaked with salty tears. After I sat Marilyn’s best friend Kaye took ahold of my hand, she didn’t let go until the visitation was over.
I remember when my mom first told me Marilyn was sick. Crying hard, I questioned God, “Why? Why would you do this to her? She doesn’t deserve this!” I went to my room and sobbed into my pillow. Eventually staining its case with my tears. Lung cancer killed her. It stole her from her family and friends, those who loved her in just a year. She suffered and endured all the pain of chemotherapy only to have her life taken in the end. After the visitation I found Marilyn’s husband Bill. He wrapped me in his strong arms. “Everything you said was true. She loved you so much,” Bill whispered to me. I just cried harder and he held me tighter. That night I cried myself to sleep and I asked God why. Why had he taken her from me? Why would he do that? The next day was the funeral at St. Magdalen’s Catholic Church. I refused to wear black; instead I wore blue. My mom smiled sadly at me, understanding my wish for Marilyn to not really be gone. Marilyn had requested that my sister Mikayla, my neighbor Zach and I altar serve at the funeral. Not a good idea. Zach and I were the same age and we both spent the service holding back tears. My sister made me ring the bells, I had never done it before, I messed up, and I felt so terrible, not only had I made the mistake, I had made it at Marilyn’s funeral. I was so embarrassed I could have crawled into the casket alongside Marilyn. There I was staring at her laying in a coffin, closed eyes never to open again, and I hadn’t accepted the fact she was gone. I mean really gone…Forever. When I first found out Marilyn was going to die I was a wreck. My mom had picked me up from softball practice and we were driving on the interstate. In those days it was common for me to ask about Marilyn’s condition. “Marilyn has been put into hospice care,” my mom told me. “Oh,” I replied guardedly, “Can I see her?” “I don’t think that is a good idea…” “But, why not?” “Well, she doesn’t really remember people, and she is in really bad form. I just don’t want that to be your last memory of her,” mom fell into silence. “So, she is