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To
Everything There is a Season: . A Time to Weep, A Time to
Laugh.
Ecclesiastes 3
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Mom's Last Laugh
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 solemness 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.”
# # #
Return HOME from Mom's
Last Laugh
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