John Kitsco

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There it was. The cards being handed out, each with a picture of
Mom, smiling, on the phone -  smiling. That was then. This is now. And so began the day of the funeral. Approximately one
hundred and fifty visitors, each wanting to pay final respect to
a quiet spoken and loving lady. Slides of memorable moments,
eulogy of her grace and goodness. Various speakers coming
forward to each offer a special story, an inspirational perspective
and in passing, she left a legacy. And the Minister spoke of how
each of us, can do better. Do more. Do better.
 
The funeral procession with the police escort.  A moderately
cold winter day. The sun still offering some afternoon light.
And in a quiet way, crossing the city and turning into the
cemetery. Cold on hands and ears. Family handshakes. Family
warmth. Moments with the Minister at the grave. More prayer
and then as dust to dust, the tossing of some dry clay on top of
the small box-like container with the urn inside. Inurnment.
Complete. Over. Tears. And off to the hall for coffee or juice
and sandwiches. More smiles. More tears. More handshakes.
Memories of Mary. Memories of our Mom.

And yes, Mom, we shall all try to be better, in all things and
all ways. Always.

And the wind sang Proud Mary and the sun lost her place in
the sky and the day ended too soon and we went home to
look at more pictures and rested, still hurting. Still wishing
that it had been different. But we accept - that we must now
Move On.