Attending funerals, even for people I don’t know well, has always seemed to me to be a merciful opportunity for closure. It makes me think that humans need ceremony and ritual to deal with death as well as other major events in their lives. Mark’s funeral was bittersweet for me, something I have dreaded for years and yet I enjoyed so many moments of the day (as I have already posted). Several moments touched me personally.

Our viewing was on Friday night, and almost two weeks had elapsed since we had seen Mark. Our three sons had the opportunity to dress Mark’s body and they wisely suggested that the rest of us join them during these morning hours. We wanted to spend some time alone with him. Our family was there as well as Mark’s mother and brother Danny. When the doors were opened we saw that Mark laying on a stretcher at the end of a large room. Crossing that room to get to him was solemn and heavy. Flanked by my children, I had to stop at least twice to sob, unable to walk. I was aware that his mother was having a similar experience beside me. Approaching my husband’s dead body is something I would never have chosen but something I had to face.

He was beautiful. His coloring was better than it had been for weeks or months and there was a gentle smile on his lips. My heart was full of anguish but he lay there full of peace. We all wanted him to open his eyes, sit up and laugh at what a good joke he had contrived. It never happened, but being there with him helped us to face the evening ahead. It was good to be with him. When it came time to leave it felt like leaving the hospital all over again – how can I go on while leaving so much of myself behind?

Standing beside Mark’s body during the viewing on Friday and pre-funeral visitation on Saturday was an honor and a blessing. Mark and I liked to host dinners and parties in our home and it almost felt like this – as though I were greeting our guests though my dear husband wasn’t doing his part very well. This didn’t matter, I was glad to have this time to be beside him again. All too soon it was time to go home – how can I go on while leaving so much of myself behind?

When we arrived at the church for the pre-funeral visitation I was anxious to be with Mark’s body again. As we entered the room I found Mark’s best friend from high school (also named Mark) had already arrived! He was gazing at Mark and I joined him as we both wept. My best friend from high school passed away just a few months prior to Mark and I feel the loss. Being on earth without our dearest people is a lonely experience.

All too soon it was time to excuse the mourners to go to their seats while the family stayed behind for our family prayer. We invited only Mark’s direct posterity and his mother. This was a special and intimate time together. David offered our prayer and then we had an opportunity for a final goodbye. As I came to his casket for the final time I was overcome with sorrow. After standing beside his body for so many hours, I had become very comfortable with the coldness and didn’t mind touching his face and his hands. I knew this wasn’t Mark – he is alive and free of suffering – but it most certainly represented Mark. Sobbing, I felt no constraint of time – I held his hand, I touched his cheek, I kissed his forehead. As I regained composure the funeral director came and helped me to “tuck him in” by gently assisting as I folded the casket linings around him. It was time to close the casket and how I dreaded it!! How can I go on while leaving so much of myself behind?

As I have said, the funeral was excellent. I found myself quite enjoying the entire meeting – and yet I sat and cried and comforted his mother and held hands with my daughters and stared at the casket that held the remains of my wonderful companion. How is this happening? This isn’t happening! This cannot be real! This has to stop! Make it all go away!! …..it didn’t go away….. I followed the casket out of the building and watched it being put into a hearse which pulled away. How can I go on while leaving so much of myself behind?

We were in the midst of a heatwave and the graveside service was hot and uncomfortable. Nevertheless I enjoyed being there. Mike’s memories and Brenda’s voice brought comfort. Greg gave the dedicatory prayer. I had to keep staring at the casket. This had to be faced, there was no way out of it. Here is how I managed to get through it. I recognized that Mark’s body had served as the sacred home of his spirit while he lived on earth. His spirit now resides elsewhere but I was left with the responsibility of caring for this body in the best way I knew how. He was tucked away in a cozy casket. The casket would be sealed into a vault. The vault would be lowered deep into the ground. Here he would remain until the glorious day of resurrection. Someday my body will lay beside him. Someday I will join him in Heaven. We will share the glorious day of resurrection. How else could I handle seeing him buried? How else could I handle this separation? How can I go on while leaving so much of myself behind?

Later – alright, I cried while typing. In this post I used the word “sob” because it is so different than crying or weeping. It is visceral and somewhat ugly, but very fitting.

How can I go on? I can. I will. Like countless widows before me. Mark wants me to.