I buried my son today. He was cremated and I'm grateful. I don't think I could stand to think about putting his body under the ground. Ashes are easier for me to live with. I'm not sure that makes sense, but it's how I feel.
We started at the funeral home at 10:45am. (Richard texted me when he got there so I wouldn't be first) Michael unloaded my mobility scooter and I headed for the big double doors into the funeral home. The funeral director opened the door for me. I hesitated and I heard myself saying "I don't think so". I started to back up and then I saw Gregory (Greg's oldest son - 19 on July 8) walk toward me with his arms open to hug me.
He saved me. Because of Gregory, I made it through the doors. As soon as I was inside, I saw Greg's friend, Donnie, wearing one of the t-shirts Greg had made with his business name and logo. When I saw that shirt, I was done. Donnie reached down to hug me as I wept.
The funeral director showed me the room where they had the urn with Greg's ashes. He asked me if I wanted to go in to speak to my son. Instantly, the tears were replaced by incredulity. Really? Did he really think my precious son was in that box? His ashes, maybe, but the Greg of him - the part that was my son - was not in that box.
Greg is with the Lord - he's in my heart - he's a voice in my head - he's in every part of my home - he's on the front porch, talking to the frog that came to visit him every night last summer when he sat outside to smoke. He's in the garage, taking care of the birds that were born on a shelf there. He's nowhere - and everywhere. His soul and the heart of who he was - is not in a box. The part that's in the box can't hear me.
I could hardly look at Amy. Her face was full of pain. Her sons were standing by her - physically and emotionally. Amy's sisters and the rest of her family were there. I'm grateful she was surrounded with so much love and support.
The funeral home and cemetery were private - family only, so I was surprised to see Greg H. who''s known "my" Greg since they were in kindergarten - longer than anyone here, except my oldest son - and me. He was not just a friend - he's family. I'm thankful that Amy invited him.
We left the funeral home for a short drive to the cemetery. I was going to stay in the car at the cemetery (you can see the grave from the cemetery lane), but I didn't want to become the focus of this ceremony - in any way - didn't want anyone to feel that they should come to the car to check on me - or be with me. My concern was Greg's sons. I was concerned about Amy, but this burial was all about the boys for me. Greg is gone. He's not there. But he has left a hole in each of their hearts (and Amy's).
The ceremony is nothing like I would have planned - but it was the perfect ceremony. Amy spoke to Greg... Alex and Matthew talked about their father. The three of them were strong, articulate, beautiful. In hindsight, I put Gregory in a pretty bad spot by asking him to read a familiar poem. BUT... he was amazing - composed - strong. His dad was proud of them all.
Gregory placed the urn in the ground. Some of us placed a rose that was given to us by Amy's family, into the grave. Scott also put a copy of the poem I brought (copied below) in with the urn.
Amy suggested that we leave and gather at a restaurant in downtown Wilmington, where she had made arrangements for a reception.
As we left, I went by the grave and saw the flowers - the poem - the love - that were buried with him. He is buried with his father. And one more time today... I'm grateful.
My heart understands the loss that my mind cannot yet conceive.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
We started at the funeral home at 10:45am. (Richard texted me when he got there so I wouldn't be first) Michael unloaded my mobility scooter and I headed for the big double doors into the funeral home. The funeral director opened the door for me. I hesitated and I heard myself saying "I don't think so". I started to back up and then I saw Gregory (Greg's oldest son - 19 on July 8) walk toward me with his arms open to hug me.
He saved me. Because of Gregory, I made it through the doors. As soon as I was inside, I saw Greg's friend, Donnie, wearing one of the t-shirts Greg had made with his business name and logo. When I saw that shirt, I was done. Donnie reached down to hug me as I wept.
The funeral director showed me the room where they had the urn with Greg's ashes. He asked me if I wanted to go in to speak to my son. Instantly, the tears were replaced by incredulity. Really? Did he really think my precious son was in that box? His ashes, maybe, but the Greg of him - the part that was my son - was not in that box.
Greg is with the Lord - he's in my heart - he's a voice in my head - he's in every part of my home - he's on the front porch, talking to the frog that came to visit him every night last summer when he sat outside to smoke. He's in the garage, taking care of the birds that were born on a shelf there. He's nowhere - and everywhere. His soul and the heart of who he was - is not in a box. The part that's in the box can't hear me.
I could hardly look at Amy. Her face was full of pain. Her sons were standing by her - physically and emotionally. Amy's sisters and the rest of her family were there. I'm grateful she was surrounded with so much love and support.
The funeral home and cemetery were private - family only, so I was surprised to see Greg H. who''s known "my" Greg since they were in kindergarten - longer than anyone here, except my oldest son - and me. He was not just a friend - he's family. I'm thankful that Amy invited him.
We left the funeral home for a short drive to the cemetery. I was going to stay in the car at the cemetery (you can see the grave from the cemetery lane), but I didn't want to become the focus of this ceremony - in any way - didn't want anyone to feel that they should come to the car to check on me - or be with me. My concern was Greg's sons. I was concerned about Amy, but this burial was all about the boys for me. Greg is gone. He's not there. But he has left a hole in each of their hearts (and Amy's).
The ceremony is nothing like I would have planned - but it was the perfect ceremony. Amy spoke to Greg... Alex and Matthew talked about their father. The three of them were strong, articulate, beautiful. In hindsight, I put Gregory in a pretty bad spot by asking him to read a familiar poem. BUT... he was amazing - composed - strong. His dad was proud of them all.
Gregory placed the urn in the ground. Some of us placed a rose that was given to us by Amy's family, into the grave. Scott also put a copy of the poem I brought (copied below) in with the urn.
Amy suggested that we leave and gather at a restaurant in downtown Wilmington, where she had made arrangements for a reception.
As we left, I went by the grave and saw the flowers - the poem - the love - that were buried with him. He is buried with his father. And one more time today... I'm grateful.
My heart understands the loss that my mind cannot yet conceive.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Mary Elizabeth FryeI am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
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