![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Saying Good-bye
Early yesterday afternoon the limo picked the seven of us up from my mom's apartment complex and carried us to Rosedale Crematory. We did not see the cremation; that will be done later this weekend, I'm told. We gathered in the chapel for a simple memorial service in honor of Uncle Alvan.
I was taken aback by the white, cardboard box at the front of the chapel. It seemed far too flat to contain my uncle, who always seemed larger-than-life to me.
The minister said a few words of comfort; he spoke no more than five minutes. My remaining uncle reminisced about his brother and his shock when Mom called him with the news last Saturday. (Has it been only a week? It seems like a lifetime ago.) The undertaker sang one of Uncle Alvan's favorite gospel songs. And that was that. Any longer or any more elaborate, and Uncle Alvan may have made a repeat appearance to ask why we were making such a fuss. :-) That's the kind of person he was.
I like what the minister said. He said we have a hard time letting go, because we associate the person with the body he knew and loved us through. But the inevitable course of things means eventually the body returns to its natural elements. I felt a little better when he said that. Uncle Alvan as I knew him has returned to the collective consciousness. I had been feeling horrified at the thought of him in that box, but that wasn't him in the box...thank goodness.
The undertaker gave us each a white carnation, then began to lead us out of the chapel. T and I were at the back. "Is the box cardboard?" I asked the undertaker. He said it was. "May I write on it?"
"Of course," he immediately assured me. I took a pen and carefully wrote a message on the foot of the lid.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
labyrinthnight and her mom came back to the chapel to see why I hadn't come out with the rest of the family, and when they saw what I had done, they wrote messages, too. Whomever handles that box for the cremation will know my uncle was well loved.
I appreciate every message of support over the past week. It has helped.
I was taken aback by the white, cardboard box at the front of the chapel. It seemed far too flat to contain my uncle, who always seemed larger-than-life to me.
The minister said a few words of comfort; he spoke no more than five minutes. My remaining uncle reminisced about his brother and his shock when Mom called him with the news last Saturday. (Has it been only a week? It seems like a lifetime ago.) The undertaker sang one of Uncle Alvan's favorite gospel songs. And that was that. Any longer or any more elaborate, and Uncle Alvan may have made a repeat appearance to ask why we were making such a fuss. :-) That's the kind of person he was.
I like what the minister said. He said we have a hard time letting go, because we associate the person with the body he knew and loved us through. But the inevitable course of things means eventually the body returns to its natural elements. I felt a little better when he said that. Uncle Alvan as I knew him has returned to the collective consciousness. I had been feeling horrified at the thought of him in that box, but that wasn't him in the box...thank goodness.
The undertaker gave us each a white carnation, then began to lead us out of the chapel. T and I were at the back. "Is the box cardboard?" I asked the undertaker. He said it was. "May I write on it?"
"Of course," he immediately assured me. I took a pen and carefully wrote a message on the foot of the lid.
labyrinthnight and her mom came back to the chapel to see why I hadn't come out with the rest of the family, and when they saw what I had done, they wrote messages, too. Whomever handles that box for the cremation will know my uncle was well loved.I appreciate every message of support over the past week. It has helped.
no subject
I'm glad the memorial gave you some comfort. I know how hard it is to let the body go, even knowing intellectually the person I love is no longer in it.
*hugs
no subject
no subject
What a shock! I'm so sorry for your loss and glad that you were able to share this sweet ceremony with your family. What a great idea to write on the cardboard box! I plan to be cremated so I'll pass that idea on to my own family.
{{{hugs}}}
no subject
That's a message straight from you to him. I am very very sure he got that and is smiling. :)
I hope this helps bring some closure for you. The hardest part of the grief is the letting go and the realization that that body is no longer the person you know...
But then again, it is easier to let go knowing that the body is now just the shell of the spirit who contained it, of the personality and the being who you Loved.
I send you much Love today and every day.
K.
no subject
I still miss my aunt and I'm sure I will for a while yet; I know it's hard. I'm glad you were able to go to his service.
no subject
no subject
Big hugs to you,W.
no subject
It's more than enough for Irby's ashes: Edna's will be added when she goes, and the combination will be scattered in a few specified places they favored. Meanwhile, it's on a shelf where we can see it every day and remember him (as if we needed somethng physical for that).
There are also little keepsakes where a small bit of ash can be stored, so that several/many people can have a memento of the deceased.
no subject
no subject
Still, I'm sorry for your loss, and I hope that good memories keep your uncle alive in your heart.
no subject