Joe had just died.
He had died in his own home, in his own bed, just the way he had wanted.
For several years, Joe had gone toe-to-toe with brain and lung cancer and the battle had finally come to an end. Now his cotton-white hair topped a lined face which was at perfectly at rest; his merry, mischievous eyes had closed for the last time.
As soon as Steve and I heard the news, we drove to the house to visit.
From the couch where we sat, we could see Joe’s body lying in a small room off the living room in the home where his wife had lived as a child, a home where the two of them had lived since early in their marriage.
I couldn’t keep my tears from falling each time my eyes wandered in that direction, tears that were not for Joe alone but also for Paris, his small, white dog who was lying on the bed beside him.
Joe’s heart had been kidnapped by Paris from the first moment he saw her and over the years, she had loved nothing better than to sit right next to him, content and at home in the warmth of their simple companionship.
And even though her master’s spirit was gone, Paris continued to lie with him, her head propped up in its familiar place on his knee. She wasn’t distracted or deterred by the friends arriving, the casseroles appearing, the Kleenex boxes being passed–all the sounds and sights of a family gathering together in those first moments following the news of a loved one’s last day.
As the house continued to fill, I sat and listened contentedly to the dozens of stories that started to swirl around me, most of them starting with the words, “Do you remember when Joe . . .?”
I smiled at the laughter that so many of the recitations produced and I was especially thankful for how the stories diluted the pain just for a moment, reminding us all that Joe’s life and smile still bloomed in that room.
After the initial wave of tears and stories had come and gone, Joe’s wife, Sucellia, told us that it was almost time for the funeral home to arrive, almost time for Joe to leave behind his beloved home for the last time.
Knowing that most of the visitors would slip out before that point, Steve stood and invited all the friends and family members to pray together. As we began to form into a circle Steve suggested, “Before we pray, let’s sing that beloved hymn, “Amazing Grace.”
I will never forget the tender timelessness of that moment and the power of a song that permeated a house whose foundation had stood in that same place for over a century. The music drifted over the scarred, wooden floors and floated out past the fields and the marshes and the fig trees that had stood in silent faithfulness for over eighty years.
I will never forget the small grandchildren in the room, their hearts not yet understanding the full impact of what had just happened. And I won’t forget the loved ones gathered with their hands clasped and their voices raised as the majesty of those beloved words rose, expanded, and filled up every empty place.
The sound of our singing was not beautiful in the traditional sense of the word; it’s hard to make a lovely sound when voices are tattered by tears. But to my ear, it was still more beautiful than any song any great singer had ever produced. It was beautiful because Amazing Grace was the story of Joe’s life—a former alcoholic who in desperation, went to an altar one day to pray and was never again the same.
Amazing, that grace.
After the last note had faded away, Steve’s voice gently rose to heaven, praying for the friends whose sobs couldn’t be contained, praying for the family whose hardest days were just ahead.
And through it all, through the songs and the prayer and the tears, my eyes continued to drift back over to that bed and to that dog. I was drawn to that vigil, that faithfulness, that relationship between two beings who hadn’t needed words when Joe was alive and certainly needed no words now that he was gone.
The sight was heartbreaking and beautiful, terrible and tender.
A man and his dog. A family and their stories. A song and its singers. A house and its memories. A life and its ending.
A medley of grace that had brought Joe safe thus far.
The last remembrance I have from that day was Joe’s body being taken from the room and one of the dear friends of the family picking up Paris and holding her in her arms at the back of the funeral home van.
When the engine started up, the two of them continued to stand together in silent farewell as the vehicle headed toward the road. It drove past the fields and the marshes and the fig trees and it moved down the sun-sparkled road before it disappeared into the eternity of a bright place and an amazing grace.
Note: You may remember this post I wrote a couple of years ago called, “Tears by the Sea.” That was the story of Joe’s daughter, Allison. It’s a truly beautiful story featuring friendship, horses and the ocean. I hope you will take the time to read it again.
Thank you so much, Becky, most beautifully written and felt.
Eva,
So glad it was meaningful to you; thanks for taking the time to let me know.
Thank you for sharing your beautiful words of such a lovely tender moment. I feel like I was there. Honored.
Melanie,
I was honored to be there and honored for the chance to get to write the story!
Several years ago, a woman who belonged to an organization in which I was an officer died. Although I didn’t know her well, I felt I should attend to represent the organization. Because I didn’t know her well, I was quite unemotional…until the piped-in “Amazing Grace” started. Sorry. I can’t help it…always cry for “Amazing Grace.” After about the 5th verse, I was once more composed, so I looked around. Many were wiping their eyes but seemed to have stopped crying. By the 10th verse, some were holding back laughter (including me). At the end of the 13th verse there was a sigh of relief. At the breakfast afterwards, the length of the song was the topic for discussion, and many said that the dearly departed would have loved it and laughed out loud.
There’s something about “Amazing Grace” that reminds us of past losses and past funerals; but there’s also something about remembering past losses and funerals that reminds us that we are never alone, and that the sun will come out again some day.
Jan,
13 verses? I’m assuming the CD player got stuck on a loop? Nice to have some smiles to share, especially knowing the deceased would have loved it. 🙂
And your last paragraph was lovely–so very true.
Amazing Grace. What a great song. Two days after Christmas 2009 I witnessed my father sing Amazing Grace to my grandfather as we thought he was in his last night on earth. During the song my grandfather, who was clearly on the other side, came back to this side for a moment and looked at my father. My grandfather lived through the night, but died 2 weeks later after a long big life. He was tired and ready to go. 4 months later, my father who was tired but not ready to go, left us. That song, that moment, the dying singing to the dying, will always be one of those gifts of Grace I was humbled to witness.
Brooke,
The dying singing to the dying . . . what a wonderful line and what precious memories you have of the men who lived that line. Thank you for sharing it with us
Tears as I read this. My Mama passed away March 15, 2014, and our Pastor’s wife stood behind me at the assisted living facility and sang “Amazing Grace” as she went to be with our Lord and our Daddy. Never forget that and this brought it back. Prayers for the family. We took Mama’s little dog to the funeral home to say good bye to her and the dog continues to live with Jim and me. She is now 5 1/2 years old and Luci is very much a part of our family as we had her the 2 1/2 years Mama was in assisted living. Mama had her 2 years. Of course Luci and I visited Mama also every day until she got really ill about 5 weeks before her death. God is good.
Ann,
It seems like dogs make the passing of our loved ones a little easier because they stay behind with us and remind us of the sweet memories of the ones we loved.
So good, Beck.
Deb,
Thank you–always means a lot, coming from you.
A great tribute to Joe and also to Allison. I had to go back and refresh my memory but I do remember reading it the first time. Five years ago this June I attended the funeral of a 17 year old that also lost her life to brain cancer. Her father was in my Sunday School class in Tampa. She was his only child. Her favorite color was pink and like Allison, the church was full with every shade of pink imaginable.
Phyllis,
Seventeen years old . . . so very young. I know the church was full of beauty on the day of her funeral–beautified by all the shades of pink and the many shades of love.
Brought tears to my eyes to read this. My next door neighbor passed away suddenly last week and this reminds me of him. I didn’t know him well and it was only at his funeral this week that I learned of the amazing life he’d lived, including escaping with his family from Soviet occupied Ukraine during world war two. It has been a lesson to me on the fragility of life, and to not neglect opportunities to reach out and expend time to really get to know the people in my life.
Jenna,
It’s amazing isn’t it, the things we learn after someone has gone. What you said is so true–we need to expend time to get to know people while they are still here to tell their stories.
My heart is filled with sadness and my eyes filled with tears. Goodbyes are so hard even though we shall all be reunited again someday. Memories will get us through until we meet again. Peace and prayers for the family.
Judy,
So thankful for the memories we have of all the ones we have loved–something death can never take.
Beautiful… there is something awesomely powerful in being part of the last days of someone’s life, or part of the first hours after that life has ended. I remember Tears by the Sea, most potently the pictures of her son. I can’t re-read it now, because it might bring tears and I don’t want to have to explain that to my colleagues! But I may revisit it after the workday is done…
Kristina,
The day that birthed Tears by the Sea was unforgettable–something about the combination of horses, friends, roses and ocean. Your words “awesomely powerful” describe that experience perfectly.
such a precious story of God’s Amazing Grace. so very thankful for that Amazing Grace in my life and in the life of others.
Gail
Thankful for that amazing grace right along with you!
You still don’t put “Tissue Alert” in your titles! One of your best posts, I agree. One thing that struck me was those too young to understand were allowed to be part of this rather than making death an unknown scary thing by being shuttled somewhere else (which I was as a child).
There it is. A post that only you could write. Beautiful tribute to Joe and his family…and his sweet dog.
Lesley,
Thank you for your encouraging words about my writing–it means so much!
Becky, I remember Tears By the Sea and I will be headed there next. This post is one of your best, I loved it through my tears. What a wonderful tribute to Joe!
Cindy,
“I loved it through my tears.” What a poignant way to express it.
thank you for sharing about Joe. He is now home and reunited with his daughter
Becky,
Yes the thought of Joe with his daughter definitely makes me smile.
Very beautifully written, Becky. I did re-read Tears By The Sea; I cried then and am crying again.
LeeAnne,
Tears by the Sea is one of my favorite posts; I’m touched that the imagery of that day still has the power to move you.