MIL's funeral was lovely.
Husband and I stayed with FIL, who graciously prepared the master bedroom for us while he took the spare room. The bedroom still contained MIL's jewelry boxes, hair brushes, and other little things--just as if she was going to come back home any moment.
FIL had found a cassette tape on which MIL had recorded, some years ago, her early experiences as a nurse. Not only were the stories amusing (MIL was always a wonderful storyteller), but they allowed us to hear her voice. FIL played one of the stories for me. It was when MIL had first become a nurse as a young adult in the mid-1960s and was working in a men's ward in a British hospital. One night, one of the men stood up in his bed and started shouting and flailing his arms around. MIL quickly went over to try and calm him down and see what he needed. The man was very agitated and swung a fist so hard at her, backhanding her in the head, that he knocked her back several feet, where she hit the ground. Immediately, other male patients in the ward, who had awakened because of the tumult, rushed up and pinned the man down, yelling, "Don't you ever hit that nurse again!"
The funeral was recorded and put onto YouTube. It would have been live-streamed, but the internet in the chapel stopped working. Fortunately, everything else went very well. All of the talks were so well done, and the whole thing was a joyful celebration of MIL's amazing life. Everyone who attended felt uplifted rather than sad and despairing.
After the funeral, FIL, Husband, and his brothers all accompanied the casket outside to the hearse before we went back inside and enjoyed a delicious luncheon prepared by the Relief Society.
FIL was relieved when it was done. I think it had weighed very heavily on his mind during the previous week, and now it felt like there was some closure. He is grieving, and I'm very glad he's allowing himself to shed tears and talk about her. He takes care of the dogs and the cats, who make sure he gets up every morning to feed them. I told him of MIL's visit to me and the message she had for him, and it made him feel so comforted. He asked me to share it with their children at the viewing, and I also wrote it all out while it was still fresh in my mind. We talked about it more after the funeral, when we all got together for dinner.
It was very nice that we were able to spend quite a bit of time hanging out with Husband's brothers at Brad's house before Husband and I had to fly back home on Sunday evening. Matt and Dan, the two who were able to fly in from England, had arranged to stay with their father for a week after we left. This past Monday, FIL took MIL's ashes back to Wales to have them interred in the plot with her parents. FIL is now spending several weeks visiting his children and grand-children in England.
Husband's oldest brother, Warren, and his sister, Tiffany, were not able to fly over, though Tiffany recorded a beautiful poem that Brad played during the funeral (see below), and which was the only point where I teared up. No one could get hold of Warren, though. Multiple of his brothers tried texting and phoning him during the private family viewing before the funeral, but he did not respond. He is still dealing with what is going on with his wife's (Julie's) body, which is still being held by the coroner as her death is being investigated as possible negligence, and with Julie's family.
I Am Standing Upon the Seashore, by Henry Van Dyke
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,
spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck
of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle
with each other.
Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone."
Gone where?
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to
her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.
And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone,"
there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices
ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"
And that is dying...
