A Little House and a Man

Today's funeral for Sheldon Martin was just like all the other funerals I've ever been to--unique.  I don't think I've ever seen the widow in red before, but Sheldon liked Louisa's red dress, and had told  her she should wear it to a funeral some time.  So she did.  A long beige sweater toned it down a good bit.

I've also added another way of grieving to the repertoire of possibilities I've been  taking special note of during the past months.  It involves standing outside yourself for a minute, and describing yourself in facetious language of the sort you might read in a heavy novel from the early 1900s.  It's pretty funny if you make it shamelessly self-aggrandizing.  Even funnier if you tell it to the person in the next stall in the bathroom.

For balance, you should probably mix the above with some very earthy expressions, such as "it [Sheldon's death] really stinks."

My perspective of the funeral itself was limited mostly to a view of the rear 1/3 of the sanctuary, and a very prominent support structure squarely in line between me in the overflow and the speaker's platform at the front of the sanctuary.  I didn't see anyone who spoke or led singing from the front.  I liked what I heard though--the singing, the teaching, the memories.

I reconnected briefly with Andrew and Jolynn, with whom I worked closely for two years when Andrew and I were the Pilgrim High staff members on duty every day.  It was really good to see them.
Andrew is Louisa's brother.

I had a nice long visit with Evelyn, whom I've known for several decades, and who lives nearby, but with whom I rarely have extended conversations.

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In an email exchange with Louisa earlier this week, she referred to Sheldon as being so "gone."  Mercifully, that reality doesn't sink in all at once.   Sadly, however, it will keep on sinking in deeper for a long time.  I will be among those praying for her as it happens.

Another thing Louisa told me in our brief little email exchange is that it's a great treasure to have had, for three years, "a little house and a man."

The quote is a reference to something Louisa blurted out spontaneously the year she was in my home environment class.  I had tried to make the whole homemaking thing look appealing, and it must have worked because she said that "Someday I want a little house and a man."  I thought then that everyone else was probably thinking the same thing and Louisa was the only one with enough nerve to say it aloud.

I told the story at a parent-teacher's meeting, and again on the last day of school and again at the open mike time at their wedding.  This week it was Louisa reminding me of the story.

Sheldon and Louisa's time together was short, but that time together was a treasure, and I'm glad Louisa was blessed with "a little house and a man."