It had been grey and rainy for days. There were all kinds of mistakes in the few days prior. The death certificate had a wrong name. The permit wasn’t ready and without it we couldn’t travel with grandpa’s remains. The faxes wouldn’t go through. I had to travel to pick up a corrected copy just before closing on Monday. Mom was having a difficult day.
On Tuesday the sun was bright and shining. We picked up Elizabeth on our way. Even though it was just family Andres wore his suit. We arrived early and were able to relax in one of the family rooms of the mortuary. We made our way up to the gravesite and on the top of the hill were 5 folding chairs set beside a covered mound of dirt. Mom was so happy we were together this last leg of the journey with grandpa. We sat down and the warm sun and God’s peace enveloped us. Father Patrick from nearby St. Cornelius parish in Long Beach walked toward us. We had a conversation about grandpa, mom, the family in general the week before. Father Pat, with his Irish accent, talked about what a marvelous full life grandpa led….a life of faith, a life lived for family. He spoke of the hope of the resurrection of Christ and how grandpa was sharing in that resurrection because of a life of faith. He recalled all the details of his life that I had shared with him….without any notes. I know it made an impact on mom and Andres and Elizabeth. Father Pat would pause and reflect and we would too. It was unhurried. It was private and personal. It was powerful and profound. It was a perfect day.
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