I went to a funeral this past Friday of someone very special to me. He was like a father to me, and he was just a great guy! As I stared at his body--like I have stared at the frame of many others I've buried--I couldn't help but have a flood of memories. There lay the frame of a man which was the antithesis of his character. There lay a silent frame. Mr. T (as I affectionately called him) was always full of life and making me laugh. There lay a cold frame. Mr. T was literally warm and figuratively warmed everyone who was blessed enough to be in his presence. He looked so much like his lively self I kept expecting him to sit up any moment and make me laugh!
I have a funeral ritual that I began almost twenty years ago when I lost my close cousin. I take home one of the plants from the funeral just to keep and take care of in honor of the person I loved and lost (with the family's permission of course). When I brought Mr. T's plant home, I watered my other plants...one being a plant I brought home from Mrs. T's funeral, who preceded her husband in death a year ago. As I watered the plants, I began to knead the soil and pray for the families connected to the love one of that particular plant. And I cried. But, then I glanced over at my smallest plant.