At the Funeral
They didn’t talk about your roses.
Or the hard-drinking man you married after you left their father.
They just spoke of Jesus.
They didn’t talk about your sparkling clothes, your love of costume jewelry,
The flashy cars you drove, your generous laugh, unafraid to be loud, and how you loved to dance.
They didn't mention how you sent every single one of your 34 grandchildren and great grandchildren some little trinket for Christmas
Every
Single
Year.
Each of us with a fine collection of scarfs, lipsticks and purses because we all needed more sparkle.
They only spoke of a Jesus they say you knew.
They didn’t tell of your roving spirit, and how there wasn’t a story you didn’t want to hear.
They didn’t say that after 96 years you didn’t have a penny to your name because you gave it all away to your children, and children's children, with no discretion, and no strategy, save for seeing a smile, your only true north.
You loved some churches because of their colorful windows and gold crosses, But you loved any church with singing during and laughter after.
And they spoke of Jesus.
But you didn’t.
At least not to me.
To me you spoke of noticing just how pretty the sun was reflected on the water, how funny ducks looked walking on land, and that coffee tastes so good in the morning, even if it is decaf.
And how important is was to love one another almost as much as you love life itself.
