Between a Funeral and a Memory Place


karen draper ~ writer


I reached for my phone to call our dog sitter friend: realizing this was the fourth call in a year telling her we needed to travel back to Maryland for a funeral.

As we walked into the small limestone church of my husband’s youth, set amongst the mountains in rural Maryland – I saw her lying in the open casket that greeted us as we walked into the vestibule.

Funerals have a way of making old manageable wounds sharpen again.  They bring past hurts to the surface as if your wound was fresh: bleeding, throbbing and needy of immediate attention.  A palpable pain.

Sitting at Aunt Sis’s funeral, looking around at a sea of black, I wondered how many other people were feeling a sharp wound in their heart from a past significant loss.  How many minds were trying to focus on the funeral that was about to start while…

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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