God helped us through the milestones of March 22 and 24th, the one year anniversaries of the day Tracy died and the day we found out about it, by having us in Wichita. March 22nd was actually a much better day than I hoped because Reed's two classmates that met us for dinner were okay with letting us share lots of Tracy stories. And the 24th, Reed's last day of class, was not particularly painful. But the hardest day for us in the process of letting go of our son was April 1st, the day of Tracy's viewing and burial. It seemed like a cruel joke to have those sad occasions on April's Fools Day, but that is how it worked out.
The Morning
I wanted to have the viewing, burial and memorial service on the same day so out of town guests would only have to make one trip, but the funeral director warned us that the viewing and burial would be draining and difficult enough without adding anything else. I was so glad I listened to her. Looking at our son's body for the last time, putting it in the ground, was like having our hearts pulled through a knothole. We could not have faced a memorial service after that. My memories of Tracy's service are good, the hangar where he spent so much time, the many who came, the testimony for Christ, family and friends working together to pay final honor to Tracy's life. But I am dreading April 1st as much or more than March 22 & 24th. And, since I am thinking about that day whether I want to or not, I believe the Lord is telling me to write about it.
I really dreaded the viewing. I did not know what I would feel, do, or say. A couple friends assured me it was important to have that one last look, and I knew they were right because up until then Tracy's death had all been information from others, not physical evidence. Reed and I arranged to have Tracy to ourselves the first half hour before family came. I did not cry much. Reed and the funeral director were so busy trying to stick the Snap On tool decal on the slick surface of the casket, it was distracting, almost comic relief. I went out to the lobby and got a cup of coffee. The woman who prepared his body warned that there had been an lot of discoloration and bruising on his face. The forehead bruise was covered by his hat, and he always wore one anyway. They also made sure his worst side faced away from the light. Even with the makeup that hid the discoloration from two days lying undiscovered, it was a relief to see that he looked much like himself. And his hands, despite whatever washing they had done, still had the grease under his fingernails and in the creases of his hands that are typical of mechanics. I kept touching his shoulder even though it was cold, it felt solid, like my son. I needed that.
My neighbor, who lost a young husband early in life, suggested I talk to Tracy. I told him we loved him, that we never would have given up on him, that we knew he didn't want this to happen or to hurt us, that I wasn't mad at him. Then family came. There was that to focus on for a while. Small talk. Sad talk. Whether his nieces should see his body. Brie wanted to, but did not know quite what to make of it. I told her, "He looks the same, but different, doesn't he?" Jules wanted to see what everyone was looking at that made them cry, so Will held her up to look. Even Ren got a glimpse from the safety of her Daddy's arms. Tracy loved his nieces, bought them Snap On toys for Christmas. He let Brie drive the forklift when she was out at the airport and probably would have let them do all sorts of things like that years before their parents would. That is what aunts and uncles are for.
Feeding people is very important to me, so I had arranged for a brunch at our house in between the viewing and burial. I bought and prepped as much as I could ahead of time and had Robyn and my friend Diane take care of the rest. Several people told me to spend as much time as I wanted at the viewing. There are no do overs on that one last look. His girlfriend Amanda was profoundly sad, so we let her stay with us after we sent the others to our house. The time had come for sobbing, for saying goodbye. I pressed two fingers from my lips to his for one last kiss. When our hearts could break no further, we went home, leaving Amanda time alone with Trace.
Despite dizziness and nausea, Reed's mom tried to come with the other Missoula family members, but had to stop part way and get a ride home. I do not know what God's purpose was in that, or when it happened again the day of Russ' viewing, but I know God does nothing without purpose.
The Afternoon
The burial was at 3 p.m. The cemetery is at the base of the Columbia Mountains, beautiful, but usually windy. And that early spring day, it was also cloudy and cold. A gray day for a grim task. All of our pastors were at a conference that day, so we had Luke read Romans 8 and pray. That was it. Most left quickly, the out of town guests to head back home, our children, to get their little ones home. Eventually, as with the viewing, I simply could not look at the sorrow anymore. Only Amanda stayed until they lowered the casket into the ground.
At home, there were the usual things that needed to be done, but our hearts were not in any of them. Hearts broken for all to view, we might as well have buried them too, but life does not stop for sorrow. God is with us through the hard things, but he does not prevent them. He has helped us through this first year of mourning in ways both mundane and miraculous. Normally, the last bit of my posts are a wrap up, but I do not know how to finish this one. The story of our mourning is still being written, but His mercies are new every morning.
