Mom’s Last Laugh13 August 2013 by a

Mom’s Last Laugh
13 August 2013 by admin
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, 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 meas 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
around 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’?”
“Oh” “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, I replied..”
“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
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.”
Two souls one heart, a match
made in heaven.