Reflections on Burying My Husband

A year ago today - actually 35 minutes from now- we buried G.

I looked through pictures of that day yesterday because I honestly don't remember much. You never know ahead of time how you will get through things like that. It seems impossible. But God's grace is sufficient and in many ways shock is our friend. 1 year later, it is still surreal to me that it happened.

There are pictures on my phone from early that morning of the sunrise over the woods out my window. Vaguely, I remember seeing that sunrise and thinking about God's faithfulness, or his presence, or that it was a gift. It must've made enough of an impact that I took 2 pictures. I also took a picture of a bouquet that my sister had ordered for us - special flowers for the day. We put some on the dashboard of the car. Well, she did. And there was a balloon for P - a red heart. Was it part of the flower arrangement? I think so, but I can't recall.

There are pictures of P and my sister playing Legos together that morning. He looks happy. She, sorrowful. Then there are selfies of me in all black, wearing the dark Tahitian pears that G bought me for Valentine's Day early in our marriage. I look awful. Sorrowful. Devastated. I took those pictures not to share but to remember.

I must've had coffee and something to eat - I think my sis gave me a piece of toast and maybe an egg. How I ate, I don't know. I was so nauseous. For so long.

And then it was time. We scheduled the graveside service for the morning. Our choices were 11am and 1pm. Lots of people were coming from out of state (not really lots - it was COVID after all) but we picked the morning because it seemed tortuous to have to wait past lunch time.

My mom and sis had cleaned our car the night before. L drove and P and I sat in the back with his favorite bear, the balloon for Daddy and him in his new suit. His first suit that was ever purchased just for him - that week by UT's loving girlfriend. And a matching coat and shoes from AA. Sweet family that carried us through that week.

It was supposed to be super cold and rainy that day. A friend (BM) had picked up hand warmers and extra face masks for everyone - but none of that ended up being needed. It was oddly beautiful that day. Blue sky with some puffy clouds. Chilly but with warm sun. I remember thinking that rain would've felt more appropriate. The beauty felt at odds with the sorrow of the day.

When we got to the memorial park, we stopped by G's grave to show P the set up and greet UT and UN and our dear from R, G's mentor, who was doing the service for us. Rock of Ages was playing on the speaker (G's favorite which he had picked for any service when he died someday) and I watched a video of me and P walking up (teddy bear in hand) and giving hugs. I remember being so oddly calm and I look calm in the video. Was I being brave for P? Was Jesus just holding me so close? How were my legs even working? It's almost like these are out of body experiences. My mind was in a fog but my body knew what to do. Walk. Point things out to P. Give hugs. Ask questions. Walk back to car.

We drove up to the burial office and parked behind the hearse. I can't remember if we could see G's coffin through the window and the picture isn't clear on my phone. I'm glad G's hearse was black. It just felt right - not like the white ones that celebrate the glory too soon.

Friends drove past our car to get in line. Did I see my family beforehand? I don't think so. My sister was in the front seat still and I remember people were looking at our car and seemed a bit confused - probably looking for me and seeing her instead. I was thankful that I could see them but they couldn't see me.

And then it was time and we slowly followed the hearse. And parked. And got out of the car. I hugged the pallbearers (my brothers, UT and UN, BM and G's best friend from college TK). Greg's casket was unloaded. They carried him up the hill, over the plywood boards, and placed him on the structure over the grave. We followed. Me and P, my sister behind me, family and friends following.

We sat in the four chairs spaced out for us. Scooted P's closer to me. He held his bear and balloon tight. I didn't look up as people walked past. I remember that earlier that morning I really didn't want to do the burial because I thought that it would make G's death seem real. Permanent. That once I watched him be lowered into the ground, I wouldn't be able to pretend it wasn't happening. But that wasn't the case at all. It was so surreal. UT and UN read, there were songs, R spoke. I asked a friend who later confirmed that I did cry. My purse was stuffed with tissues but I'm not sure how many I used. I probably seemed oddly stoic. But it was surreal. Like another out-of-body moment. I was there, and I wasn't. G was in the casket. I had seen him in it Dec. 23, but it wasn't really hitting me. Who can imagine their loved one like that? Who can reconcile death and all its horror and permanence with the living, breathing, warm person that was in your arms just weeks ago?

People were given flowers to place on G's casket and I watched them do so. Then they walked down the hill and it was our turn. P and I put the flowers on and I think this may be when I cried. I remember saying goodbye in my head. And then we stood and watched as G was lowered down, the grave liner (and we got him a beautiful black one with a big silver cross) was closed. Then the tent was moved. The machines and shovels brought in. The grave marker placed. It was over. The man from the memorial park left at one point - we wanted to be the last ones there. P went back to the car and got changed and went to the park with my parents to be with cousins. UT, UN, me and my sister stayed until the very end. We took some pictures. Tied on P's heart balloon. Got in the car. And drove away.

We stopped at the memorial park office and at least my sister went in to use the bathroom. Did I? I have no idea. And then we went to Starbucks and she bought P a cake pop (I wouldn't have remembered this except that I found a picture) and us coffees and we split a cranberry bar. I think? Sweet sister trying to feed me.

Then we went to the park and visited with family. Ate Chick Fil-A. Let P be a kid. Took pictures.

I don't remember the rest of the day. I know a meal was dropped off. There's a picture of me, my sis, my parents and P eating dinner together. Where were UT and UN? No clue. Were they eating outside? This was still in the peak of the pandemic. We were being so careful. N95 masks, social distancing, meals outdoors.

And that's all I remember. Somehow we did bedtime routine and went to sleep. Somehow we woke up the next day and kept living. Life and time go on - no matter what unbelievably painful things you experience along the way.

And now it's one year later. Somehow if you keep going to bed and waking up and putting one foot in front of the other, you (by God's grace) survive.

I am not strong.

I am not brave.

I am just now processing this day.

It will probably take me years - a lifetime? - to deal with what has happened.

But God is faithful. Jesus is Emmanuel. He carried me through. And I am still here.