I remember the day of her funeral…I noticed him…right from the start…and his is the memory that stands above all the others…that, to this day, remains etched in my heart.
The first pew in the church sat empty…except for her youngest grandson (his parents said he wanted it that way)…he said when it came time to talk about Grandma…he had something he wanted to say.
When the pastor nodded to him…he walked to the podium without an escort…he looked out over the crowd in attendance…then with a quick glance to his parents for support
he closed his eyes…touched his hand to his heart…and finding strength from somewhere within it…he said, “This world was a much better place when my grandma was living in it.”
As he walked back to his family…his footfalls were the only sounds in that church you could hear…and, if you could muster the energy to look up, you’d have seen a church that was filling with tears.
The pastor closed his bible…he ended the service knowing no more scriptures needed to be read…knowing, after the words her grandson spoke, nothing more needed to be said.
Yes, of all the wonderful stories told at her funeral…all the compliments…all the praises…all the boasts…it’s those brief words spoken by her grandson…that I shall remember most.
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