The Wrong Funeral
Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice
the hardness of the pew where I sat.
I was at the funeral of my dearest
friend - my Mother. She finally
had lost her long battle with cancer.
The hurt was so intense; that I
found it hard to breathe at times.
Always supportive, Mother clapped
the loudest at my school plays,
held a box of tissues while she
listened to my first heartbreak,
she comforted me when my father
died, encouraged me in college,
and prayed for me my entire life.
When my Mother's illness was first
diagnosed, my sister had a new baby
and my brother had recently married
his childhood sweetheart, so it fell
on me, the 27-year-old middle child
without entanglements, to take care
of her, and I counted it an honor.
'What now, Lord?' I asked, sitting
in church. My life stretched out
before me as an empty abyss.
My brother sat stoically with
his face toward the cross while
he clutched his wife's hand.
My sister just sat slumped against
her husband's shoulder, his arms
around her as she cradled their child.
All so deeply grieving, no one even
noticed that I sat alone. My place
had been with our mother, preparing
her meals, helping her walk, taking
her to the doctor, making sure she
had her medication, I ran all her
errands, making sure she was as
comfortable as she could be. We even
read the Bible together ... but now she
was gone to be with the Lord, and my
work was finished. I was all alone.
Then I heard a door - open and
slam shut - at the back of the
church, and footsteps quickly
hurried along the carpeted floor.
An exasperated young man
looked around briefly and
then sat down next to me.
He folded his hands and then
placed them on his lap. His eyes
were brimming with tears, and he
began to sniffle. "I'm late," he said,
Then after several eulogies, he leaned
over to me and said, "Why do they keep
calling Mary by the name of Margaret?"
"Because Margaret was her name. No
one ever called her Mary," I whispered.
I wondered why this person couldn't
have sat on th other side of the
church. He interrupted my grieving
with his tears and his fidgeting.
Who was this stranger anyway?
"No, that isn't correct," he insisted,
as several people glanced over at
us as we continued to whisper...,
"Her name is Mary Peters."
"That is not who this is."
"Isn't this the Lutheran church?"
"No, the Lutheran church
is across the street."
"Oh."
"I believe you're at the
wrong funeral, Sir."
The solemnness of the occasion
mixed with the realization of the
man's mistake - bubbled up inside
of me and came out as laughter.
I had to cup my hands over my face,
and hope it would be interpreted as sobs.
But the creaking pew gave me away.
Sharp looks that came from the other
mourners only made the situation seem
more hilarious as I peeked at the bewildered,
misguided man who was seated beside me.
But he too was laughing, as he
glanced around and decided it was
way too late for an uneventful exit.
I imagined Mother laughing. At
the final 'Amen,' we darted out
a door and into the parking lot.
"I do believe we'll be the talk of
the town," he smiled. He said
his name was Rick and since he
had missed his Aunt's funeral,
asked me out for a cup of coffee.
And that very afternoon began a lifelong
journey for me with this man who even
though attended the wrong funeral, was still
in exactly the right place at the right time.
A year after our meeting, we were
married at a country church where
he was the Assistant Pastor. This
time we both arrived at the same
church, and we were right on time.
And after all these
years, I realize that...
In my time of sorrow,
God gave me laughter.
and
In place of loneliness,
God gave me love.
This past June, we celebrated our
twenty-second wedding anniversary.
And whenever anyone asks us how we met,
Rick just tells them, "Oh, her Mother
and my Aunt Mary introduced us and it
has truly been a match made in Heaven."
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