There,s a grave I often visit,though I never knew this child
     he was ten so sweet and loving,fun yet meek and mild
     If I didn,t meet this child then how do I know this is true?
     it,s because I knew his father but this guy just made me blue.
     For seven year's I loved him but he grieved for his son so much
     He wouldn't let me in his Heart & his soul was out of touch
     My loss is like a bereavement for he won't come back again
     and as no-one else compares to him,on my own I shall remain
     I,ve moved on in life without him,it was hard to say goodbye
     Death stings the living and all I do is cry.
     But the grave is such a blessing as I leave my flowers there
     Not only for the child who died,but for his fathers loving care
                                                            cp 1999

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 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 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'?

"0h" "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.".
 
 

Author unknown (Do you know who wrote this?  Please let me know if you do so I can give credit. ?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forget me not

For I am there
In the beat of your heart,
On the wing of your prayer.

Forgive me my parting and leaving you thus,
A joyous reunion is waiting for us!

Continue to strive toward your goal and be brave.
Know that my love didn't stop at the grave.

My spirit is with you through good times and bad.
I share all the joys and the sorrows you've had.

Feel my presence within your next breath
And realize there's no distance in death.

Ask for my help and I'll answer your call.
Reach for my hand when you stumble and fall.

Run the last mile with a smile on your face.
My arms will be waiting when you finish the race.

Always remember, my love is right there
In the beat of your heart,
On the wing of your prayer.

author unknown

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old woman ... and nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.

I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years .... all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people, open and see,
Not a crabby old woman; look closer ... see ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet a lady who has lost her hubby

..they are an inspiration to all.