I have finally conquered my early morning roamings. These days you won’t generally find me out of bed at 4:00 a.m. This morning is an exception. I guess for me it is the “magic” hour when my subconscious mind will be silent no longer. It is so strange, but these early hours are when my mind is sharpest. When God speaks to me the most clearly. This morning there are several things on my mind, but the big one is Chris. When waking, my eyes were already wet with tears. DH is also having a hard time putting this behind him. Even after the funeral, we are still feeling that his death isn’t real. That he is just playing one of his jokes on everyone.

I told DH yesterday that was the hardest funeral I have ever attended. We have known many who have died through the years. It is never easy to say goodbye, but….hmmmm…maybe that’s it. No one got to say goodbye to Chris. Carbon monoxide poisoning caused him to go to sleep at the bottom of the pond, then slip on over into eternity.

The funeral started late because people kept coming in; ushers scrambled to find any empty seats until there was standing room only. It was incredible how many lives this 27-year-old man had touched.

A representative from the church he grew up in spoke about him for a short while. Then his uncle Tim, who is a preacher in Georgia, spoke about him for a while, sharing hilarious stories about Chris and about his blue Corvette. The final speaker was Chris’s pastor, whom Chris had worked very closely with helping to build the church. Chris loved his church very much and had a vision about evangelizing their area for Christ.

Chris was the drive behind the Praise and Worship team, the drummer who kept them on track. The pastor spoke of the loooooong drum rolls Chris could do; he occasionally would burst out into “drum roll” during the service, making everybody laugh. On the platform, the drums were silent, a tribute to the hole he leaves behind. The worship team sang several songs beautifully, but it was heart-wrenching to see the pain of loss in their young faces. Many times, in moments where Chris would have shone on the drums, they fell apart. So did we. At the end of the final song, the leader told them to do part of it again. He explained to us how Chris would have raised the roof at a certain point in the song. He told the team this was the last time they would get to perform this song with Chris. They tried, they really tried, but it was so tough they could barely sing. But when they got to the section with Chris’s solo, they enthusiastically picked up the slack and played drums high in the air with imaginary sticks. That church is going to miss him for a long time.

An image that sticks with me was one of many flower arrangements, a plant on the platform near the foot of the casket. About 3 feet tall, it had large green leaves with no flowers except for 2 or 3 large brown and yellow sunflowers shooting from the top. Across the middle of the plant was wired a pair of drumsticks.

It truly was a personal funeral, a celebration of Chris’s life. The pastor pledged the church’s support to Chris’s wife, to her parents, and to Chris’s parents. That really impressed me. Then he asked the mourners to give money to help Jennifer with funeral expenses. An offering plate had been placed along the viewing line. DH and I were in the second of five large sections to line up for the final viewing. That plate was already overflowing by the time we worked our way to the front.

There is so much in my heart to process about the last few days, such as special moments I shared with Chris’s mother and his wife at the visitation Friday night. There are so many elements to this story that I just can’t write about them all. This post is obviously personal, but I am posting publicly so that others who couldn’t come, especially from our out-of-state office, can have a glimpse into his home-going celebration.

We arrived very early to make sure we could get a seat. The row in front of us was already filled. As people came in, there were waves of grief followed with the laughter of memory. But the young man sitting in front of me couldn’t be consoled. Numerous people came to him, put their arms around him, talked to him. He sat with his head in his hands, his body heaving.

When time for our final viewing of Chris, this man was in front of us. The line moved fairly well until it was our turn to say goodbye. The people in front of us stalled out at such a point we could not approach Chris. The pastor had asked the people not to approach Jennifer because she was too weak to speak with everyone. But suddenly Jennifer and other family members jumped out of their chairs and surrounded the young man who had melted down at the casket, giving him their comfort. During the service it had finally dawned on me that this young man was the owner of the business Chris was working for when he died. And Chris’s personal friend. Please pray for him.

DH and I were finally able to position ourselves where we could say goodbye to Chris, then we left the building. We were on our way to the truck, not planning to attend the interment, when someone called our names. Outside the church thus began a wonderful time of reunion with friends we haven’t seen for many years, including several former students. How wonderful that was! (Remember, Chris had been on my staff when I was school principal.) The Texas heat was bearing down, but it was still a wonderful time of reunion.

When DH and I left, we had to navigate the truck around two police motorcycles positioned to lead the caravan. The bikes were sparkling—shiny chrome and mirrors reflecting the Texas sun. Perfectly polished helmets sat on the handle bar of each bike. As we squeezed past them, I told DH, “Chris would love that!” I could see Chris’s smile, his eyes lit up, as he would ask if he could take a ride.