Grandma

The buggy squeezed through the gate to the cemetery, circled near the empty grave and pulled to a stop nearby. The two men in the front climbed out and were joined by 4 others who had come in other buggies. They opened the door in the back of the buggy to reveal a homemade casket. Two wooden handles were passed under the casket and with a man on each end of each handle the casket was moved out of the buggy. Then they waited for the rest of the mourners to arrive.

Many had already arrived. Walking through the pasture from where the funeral service had been held. The service was subdued. True to the Amish tradition there was no singing. The people arrived, filed into the large chilly barn, sat on the backless benches, and waited quietly for the service to begin. At 9:30 AM the silence was broken by a lone Amish preacher. He stood looking across the sea of faces then began to recount the history of man. Beginning at the creation he spoke about Adam and Eve in the garden, about Cain and Able, and about Noah and the flood. He finished by reading a portion from the bible after which he shared a few words of encouragement to the family and took his seat.

Another preacher stood up. He reminded us that Jesus is the only way to heaven. He is the way, the truth, and the life. He told us how grandma rarely said anything negative about anyone and encouraged us to be careful what we say. He also read a passage from the bible and, after closing comments, took his seat.

The third preacher now arose and closed the service with more encouragement for all and a few more words about grandma. "Grandma sometimes felt like she was a burden to the church but she gave more than she recieved," he said. "I wish I would have thanked her for her contribution to the church. If you have people like her in your church; thank them before it is too late."

After he had taken his seat everyone filed past the casket for one last good-bye. Grandma's children and their spouses gathered around and looked for one last time on the face of the mother who had been so much to them for so many years.

When the had taken their seats; the four men filed in and carried the casket outside and placed it in the back of the buggy which carried grandma's body to it's final resting place.

When the mourners had all assembled around the hand dug grave the four men placed the casket over the grave resting it on the two handles. 2 straps were passed under the casket, it was picked up, the handles were removed and it was lowered into the wooded rough box that had been placed at the bottom of the grave. A wooded lid was then lowered onto the top of the box.

From the back of the crowd a voice intoned "Goodnight my loved one..." he read one verse of the song. Then he began to sing. A few appointed men joined him as he sang. It was an old old song. Nearly a chant. As they began to sing the four pall bearers took shovels and began to gently shovel dirt over and around the wooden box. The men stopped singing and another verse was read. The singing resumed and the shovels were passed to other men. The son's and grandsons took turns shoveling the dirt. A few granddaughters also helped.

As the song drew to a close the last shovels full of dirt were added to the mound in the cemetery. One by one the mourners turned to leave and the group around the heap of dirt dwindled. A few searched for small stones from the dirt that had been dug from the grave. One last thing to remember grandma by.

That has been over 2 months ago. The mound of dirt has probably settled. Maybe some grass has grown over it. Another generation gone. But grandma still lives in her children. The choices she made are still making a difference in her posterity. We will always be influenced by grandma. The things she did and said, the choices she made, the things she accepted and the things she shunned. Each one of us will leave a similar mark on those who come after us. What will that mark be like?

Somebody follows you,

Watching the things you do.

Walk in the light,

And be pure in his sight.

Somebody follows you.

John M. Henson