I wasn't there in person along side of my brothers, saying goodbye. My sisters-in-law and I were only present in our thoughts and hearts. The reasons were of necessity but still deeply unsatisfying emotionally. The only thing that helped at all, was knowing that Barbara was already booked to visit Ontario in the following weeks.
We anticipated Barb's visit as a beloved sister, not as our brother's widow bearing copies of his funeral service on USB sticks for us. We had planned a family gathering so we could see and touch her, hear her voice and her news. We had not known that Alan would leave us in the interim.
I anticipated her arrival with, mostly, equal parts joy and trepidation. I wanted to be a support, to listen, to hug and offer love. I did not want to be weeping and needy requiring her consolation.
Robert did not want me to watch the service alone; ever the loving and protective big brother. Schedules interfered and I decided to watch it alone. I saw my brothers file in and sit together. The natural selection that chose our faces from different ancestral mixes, made us all the same height and shape, and now time has painted our heads varying degrees of grey. I know they missed my presence but maybe it was good to just be brothers together mourning the loss of one that was dear.
The service was in a sense familiar, the patterns and music of my youth and my upbringing. The pastor read from my brother's own Bible. My niece told the story of my brother's life so beautifully. My great-nephew sang and my sweet great-nieces gave their own remembrances of their 'Papa'.
Then there was a video..my heart cracked and a deep well of grief erupted. I had cried many times for my brother along the way, as I realized that he was suffering and at each new evidence that was he was leaving us. But this, this I hadn't know was even there. It occurred to me finally, that perhaps I had not really admitted to myself that he was gone, really and finally gone from us. I have lived most of my life far from my brother. I was used to picturing him in the garden or at the table for tea with Barbara, or hundreds of other little mental photos that I had. Even in the care home, I could picture the ebb and flow of his days because I had been a health care aide as well as cared for my parents. Perhaps I needed the reality of these final pictures.
I phoned my husband just to hear his voice, and he who knows me well, advised a quiet walk. It was drizzling, which was okay because I was too. In the process of calming down, and breathing in, and looking up, I guess I had processed something about the service more completely.
Alan had prepared the framework of his own service. His Bible was read from, his words to us all were spoken, the hymns he loved were sung, and the verses that were of special meaning to him were read. This was his voice. This was his final words of love to us all. He wanted us to know that his faith reassured him and carried him through even this. He believed he was loved and would be at peace and at rest. He had a deep and assured joy for his future. All of this underneath the painful and fearful process of arriving there, was this calm knowledge, this 'blessed assurance'.
So, while the tears are still close, it is okay because I received Al's last love letter to me.
I love you. It's ok.
