Hey, this kinda happend to me...except I didnt get married then!!
In 6th grade, one of our teachers past away and we all went to the funeral...well, we rode with the lunch lady who was already like 85 then....needless to say, we sat through the entire funeral of the wrong person...talk about scarring a child for life.....whew.....
My mother died last January and was buried around the corner at a very beautiful cemetery.
Last April 21, my son (who is 17 and unhappy with his current part time job) went with me to inspect the gravestone, before they cemetery would set it in the ground.
The stone is very nice and we asked the groundskeeper if he could set it that Saturday because my mom's birthday was April 22nd. He said normally on Saturday afternoon, they would not but because he could see her birthday carved into the stone, he did set it for us and we could put flowers on the next day.
While there, my son asked the groundskeeper if he needed any help and the man said yes, for the summer they need four high school boys to set stones. So we found out yesterday, my son did get the job.
I felt that even in death, my mother was helping my son.
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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;
I found it hard to breathe at times. Always supportive, Mother clapped loudest
at my school plays, held a box of tissues while listening to my first heartbreak,
comforted me at my father's death, encouraged me in college, and prayed
for me my entire life.
When mother's illness was 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.
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 clutching his wife's hand. My sister sat
slumped against her husband's shoulder, his arms aro und her as she cradled
their child. All so deeply grieving, no one noticed I sat alone.
My place had been with our mother, preparing her meals, helping her walk,
taking her to the doctor, seeing to her medication, reading the Bible
together. Now she was with the Lord. My work was finished, and I was alone.
I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the church. Quick footsteps
hurried along the carpeted floor. An exasperated young man looked around
briefly and then sat next to me. He folded his hands and placed them on his
lap. His eyes were brimming with tears. He began to sniffle. "I'm late," he explained,
though no explanation was necessary.
After several eulogies, he leaned over and commented, "Why do they keep calling
Mary by the name of 'Margaret?'"
"Because that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary. No one called her 'Mary,'"
I whispered. I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the other side
of the church He interrupted my grieving with his tears and fidgeting.
Who was this stranger anyway?
"No, that isn't correct," he insisted, as several people glanced over at us whispering,
"Her name is Mary, Mary Peters."
"That isn't 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 solemnest of the occasion mixed with the realization of the man's mistake
bubbled up inside me and came out as laughter. I cupped my hands over my
face, hoping it would be interpreted as sobs.
The creaking pew gave me away. Sharp looks from other mourners only made the
situation seem more hilarious.
I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated beside me. He was laughing, too,
as he glanced around, deciding it was 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.
That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with this man who attended the
wrong funeral, but was in the right place. 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, right on time.
In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter.
In place of loneliness, God gave me love.
This past June we celebrated our twenty-second wedding anniversary. Whenever
anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells them, "Her mother and my Aunt Mary
introduced us, and it's truly a match made in heaven."