As a pastor’s family, we are often given the honor of being involved in momentous transitions of our congregation’s lives. One of those moments came to us about a week ago in the form of a memorial service for a church member’s daughter, Allison. She died of brain cancer at the age of forty-seven, leaving behind a teen-aged daughter and a son in his twenties.
After a service that was packed to the walls with friends and resonated to the rafters with robust singing (Allison had requested a non-somber funeral), we went with the family and a few friends to a nearby beach to scatter Allison’s ashes.
Allison was an avid horsewoman and the family had arranged for one of her best friends to carry her ashes along the beach on horseback.
Steve and another pastor read Scripture and prayed . . .
while Allison’s friend and Allison’s ashes stood watch.
And then at the place where Allison had spent so many contented hours, her ashes were scattered . . .
and her memories gathered.
Having accomplished her loving, lonely task, Allison’s friend turned her horse and rode away–but this time, without Allison.
Then it was time for Allison’s family and friends to walk to the edge of the water and lay their roses down along with the ashes.
A certain beloved (and weeping) cancer warrior joined them.
After Sarah had completed her sad and beautiful task, she walked over to stand near me. As she and I glimpsed each other’s tears, we both understood that we were not just there as a mother and a daughter but were instead present in that moment as two cancer sisters who’d journeyed to the sea to honor a third sister—one whose beautiful life was cut short by an enemy that we knew only too well.
Sarah and I stood and embraced for a long time, crying and praying and remembering. The grief in the air, the weeping on the wind, the eternity in the waves—it was a moment she and I will not soon forget.
My tears continued as I saw Chad, Allison’s son, say his final good-bye. As I looked at him I couldn’t help but think of my own dear Nathan, so near Chad’s age. I could only imagine the pain he would be feeling if breast cancer had taken me away from him, the way brain cancer had taken Allison.
The day held such beauty . . .
. . . such sadness,
. . . and such hope.
As we all finally turned to go, I looked back and noticed one single rose.
Representing one single life. Well lived.
We will never forget the memories made by that day, of ashes and love and roses . . . and tears by the sea.
I love when you repost! Although the words are the same I find it to be even more eloquent then the time before! How is that even possible since all your posts are eloquent, beautiful & most importantly (I think); thought provoking? Jodi
an now, tears here by the computer
Mrs. Pam,
This is one of those posts that just “does it to me” every single time.
good post, Bec. Life is to be lived every day and it so much more blessed if we do this with a grateful heart; reaching out to the only hope in the universe, our dear Lord Jesus… thank God for this unspeakable gift to us all. And thanks for helping us see this more clearly in the way you write it out for hearts and minds to grasp onto and go on our way, giving thanks.
Thanks, Ruth, for your words. Being at the funeral of someone who died so young truly does make me go on my way . . . treasuring my days.
Beautiful written story. I can’t help noticing the pier in the background was broken, was this after a Hurricane? or just a old pier?
CeCe,
Actually, if I recall correctly, there had been a hurricane or a noreaster that had come through previously..
A very special, holy day.
Steve,
A day I will never forget. Such sadness and such beauty.
What a beautiful post. After having gone through a tremendous loss recently myself, this is especially touching right now. My thoughts and prayers are with Joe as he begins another battle, one he definitely should not have to be going through.
Robin,
Thanks for thinking of Joe in the middle of your won loss. He also just found out yesterday his sister has ovarian cancer. Such suffering and loss–and yet such brave people (like him and you)– in the middle of it all.
I can usually keep it together while reading this post until I see Allison’s friend on her horse. Then the tears fall. Thank you for sharing again.
Vickie,
Yes, the friend on the horse is truly such a beautiful, evocative image.
I can’t type much….too many tears…just beautiful. God’s best work – loving family and friends, magestic strong horse and the sea to send Allison home.
Mary,
“God’s best work.” I love that.