Graveside memories
Yesterday I was officiating at a graveside service.
Committal services follow a certain pattern, often called ritual or liturgy. The words were all written out. I had rehearsed the talk.
We arrived at the cemetery and stepped from the lead car. A drop of rain fell. A few followed but the sky was dotted with puffy clouds. The type that don’t drop buckets — maybe just a few little spits.
We gathered in a procession to the graveside. The spits became more intense. The point of turning back had passed. We stood under umbrellas as the rain continued.
And not just continued! Intensified! I saw a few pieces of hail land at my feet. I opened my folder and read loudly and quickly, as the ink got wet. At one point I asked if people could hear. Some could — others mentioned later they could only assume what I was saying when my head appeared from under the umbrella.
The words were hearfelt. The actual committal was short.
We came back to the reception — some went home first to change. My suitjacket was still wet hours later.
Some say the best way to make memories is to experience the unusual.
My memory bank has this one indelibly etched!!
