Fond Memories of Your Funeral

Dear John,

 

Everything is under water except the basement. I had adventures getting to work this morning - I kept running into roads that were flooded out. CR 40 was blocked at SR 13, where a semi had tried to turn west and was stuck in the mud. The flooding around here is as bad as I've seen. I didn't drive by Rogers Park, but we both know how it looks. Meanwhile in the rest of the world, one suspect in the Boston Marathon bombing was killed in a confrontation with police. The other got away, but was caught a little while ago. They're two brothers in their twenties, and nobody has any idea yet why they did it.

 

Your funeral was a year ago yesterday, and I've thought about it a lot today. The weather is an obvious contrast - a year ago I wore a tank dress with a shawl, and sandals. Today it was in the 30s and we got some snow. It was a beautiful funeral, and I'm so grateful to all the people that were there - the readers and chanters that missed a day of work, Father, the ladies that made all the food, the funeral home folks, and all the family and friends that came. I'm still amazed at the distances some people traveled.

 

I told Father and Daniel to triple the food and the visitation hours, and I was right. Not many people realized how much you had done around here and how many people you knew. There was the Orthodox world, the local Mennonite world, Topeka, Central District Conference, your inter-conference work, the umpire's association, the Lilly grant you helped administer, people who worked at Pizza Hut and Essenhaus and three Paneras, and that's just the last fifteen years. We had old friends and extended family here, too. And there were people that knew primarily me, like the Goshen BNI people and the seminary. It means so much to me, and probably more to you, to remember all the people who came. I need to get out the guest book and read all the names again. I love it that the same guest book contains our wedding, your funeral, and has room left for my funeral.

 

And so I've spent a year without you. And I love you just the same as I did a year ago, and two years, and ten years. It seems that death can only inconvenience love, it can't kill it. It's like watching a 2-part episode of a television show. It will be continued as if nothing happened between the two parts, but you just have to wait for the second part to air. Our second part will come when I'm allowed to vacate these premises and come join you. I'll be there as soon as I can!

 

Love you always and forever,

Joan.