Confidence
of a Certain Faith
Read:
UMH #509 verse 1 (link warning: the hymn will start playing automatically)
Considering
my father’s very bad health habits, it is a tribute to his
constitution that he lived to the age of 86. My mother had died more
than two years earlier, and Dad, who had insisted on being her
caretaker through her long decline, would often tell us he was ready
to join her.
These
were depressing conversations, but we listened as empathetically as
we could. We wished they had chosen to participate in a church. Mom
was a lapsed Methodist, if there is such a thing, and Dad never
attended church, as far as I know.
Some
people put pictures and coupons on their refrigerators; my parents
displayed their living wills and, as Oregonians, were glad to live in
a state that allowed doctor-assisted suicide. They came from sturdy
pioneer stock and were loath to take help of any kind.
Nevertheless,
Dad was willing to accept hospice if it meant he could die at home,
as my mother had, and that is the deal I struck with him.
They
didn’t want a memorial service. They were adamant. They wanted to
be buried at sea, with their ashes mixed together.
So
when Dad died in August, I braced for the next steps, which I thought
would involve hiring a local fisherman to take us out, me throwing up
the entire time. Dad had always enjoyed taking Greg, Ross and Ben
fishing, but I had a long history of motion sickness and was happy to
stay home with Mom. I fretted about distributing my parents’ ashes
in the ever-present wind, but I was prepared to honor their last
wishes.
The
undertaker put the end to those plans, explaining that the Coast
Guard handles burials at sea and that I could get into legal trouble
going rogue, as it were. The Coast Guard would conduct the burials at
a time that was convenient for them, and when the weather permitted.
Furthermore, the ashes would be placed in a biodegradable box and
dropped, rather than scattered. I would be notified of the burial via
U.S. mail.
In
late August, I arrived home from work and retrieved the mail from the
floor, where it had landed after being shoved through the slot.
Expecting the large manilla envelope to contain a brief notice, I was
stunned to see it include a color graphic showing the coordinates
where District 13 Division 5 Flotilla 6 dropped the ashes, as well as
a copy of the service, which was led by a member of the Coast Guard
Auxiliary and included taps. I’m not sure what my parents would
have thought, but it gave me comfort to read the words.
When
Greg got home, he took one look at the coordinates and said, “That’s
where Jack used to take us fishing!”
Prayer:
God whose days are without end, and whose mercies cannot be measured,
let your Holy Spirit lead us in holiness and righteousness all our
days; so that, when we have served you in our time, we may be
gathered to our fathers, having the testimony of a good conscience;
in the confidence of a certain faith, and in the comfort of a
reasonable and holy hope, in favor with our God, and in charity with
the world. AMEN.
Kathy
Gardner
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