My Story Part 3

So as I write this I'm feeling like I'm way behind the 8-ball.  Like, why didn't I do this sooner?  Why am I writing this now?  It seems a bit like old news but now that I've started I guess I feel like I might as well continue. 

The next hours were a blur.  I don't remember leaving the hospital.  I don't remember getting in my car or the ride home.  I don't remember how that piece of the journey ended.  I walked in the house and was lambasted with emotion.  Derrick's things were there.  His presence was felt there.  I didn't want to have to walk past his bedroom.  I didn't think I could do it.  I didn't want to go in.  Somehow I was forced in.  His sheets were disheveled.  I could smell him.  I could hear his voice calling me "Seestor!"

That day we had to go to the funeral home.  Stroo funeral home in Cutlerville. was the same place that was used for my Grandma C. and so it seemed like the natural place to go.  Likewise, Pine Hill Cemetery holds stones for Gram C, Grandpa C. and Uncle Johnny.  I remember hearing my parents say they might as well buy three plots in the cemetery so they will be buried by Derrick.  How awful that was to think of losing my parents too and the reality of that at such an awful time.  We all met at the funeral home together.  We were escorted to a room in the basement.  I had been in this funeral home for a number of visitations but never paid much attention to the basement.  Seems sort of fitting that the basement is where we sat and discussed the details of burial.  The funeral home director asked us if we would be putting the information in the paper and gave us a timeline that we had to finish writing the obituary.  My dad had come with a draft that we reviewed and ok'ed.  We talked about times we would hold visitation, when and where the service would be held, and then we were taken to the room with caskets.  I saw a small child's casket in the room and thought how awful too that must be.  I thought it quite strange to be "shopping" for a casket.  The price tags were high which seemed a bit ridiculous.  There were many styles.  I thought how unimportant it was to pick a certain style for something that simply gets buried into the ground but my parents helped us choose something special.  It's as though they had the foresight to know that standing at visitation and being at the funeral we would be looking at the casket and it would be nice to have something special.  There were trophy bass on each corner of the casket.  We chose flowers for the top that included some grasses and we put an arrow in them.  There was a larger floral arrangement that I think said son and brother and then a smaller arrangement for the casket that said "Uncle."

We began talking about the funeral service.  My dad knew there was no way that he as a pastor could give the message at the funeral of his son.  Ken Schripsema, the former youth pastor at Kelloggsville, was asked to speak at the funeral.  He joined us in our living room that night.  We were all just sitting there, waiting for someone to say something.  My dad, the pastor, chimed in "This sucks."  Now to most of you, those words might not be significant but I to hear those words come from my dad almost made us laugh.  My dad doesn't speak like that.  My mom used to rag on us for using the word "sucks."  Never before had I hear my dad say that.  And yet, it was so totally profound that he was there - able to admit and say outloud what we were feeling.  We all knew there were no words and so my dad's word choice in this situation left me thinking "You're right dad.  The everyday words we use don't have the possibility of describing this."  My dad is a man who is extremely strong in his faith and has lived that my entire life.  He has daily modeled unselfish, unending love to me even when I haven't been good at reciprocating and so hearing him say those words to me almost had the a similar conotation as the words "Jesus Wept" in John 11:35.  It was a firm reminder of our humanity.  Anyway, we talked with Ken about what we had so far thought the service might look like.  We shared what we wanted him to talk about in his message.  And he shared with us.  It was a time of weeping, a time of pain, and yet a time of sharing sweet memories and things we could include to make the service special. 

My dad and I were basically the ones who then put the rest of the service together.  We had to get an order to the funeral home director so that they could get the funeral service programs printed.  I remember feeling so busy and feeling like I had a purpose admidst my grief.  The conclusion of the day of the funeral was profound in that the support from visitation was no longer anticipated, the funeral was over, and we had the holidays just around the corner.  It was sort of a similar let down to what it feels like after planning a wedding.  While one is in joy and one is in pain, both are events that people spend months (or hours) rushing to plan, trying to think of the details, putting in emotional energy, and I know I felt after we got married a bit of a let-down when coming home from the honeymoon in regards to where my time and energy was being directed.  My brain had to slow down.  The schedule slowed down.  This big anticipated even was finished.

That Saturday afternoon while we were meeting with funeral directors, Derrick's football team was playing in the state Semi-Finals.  What happened in that game exploded on the news that night.  Derrick's team had won the game with a final score of 42 points - exactly the number Derrick wore on his jersey.  I wondered what it was like to be at the game.  While it was not possible for us to be at the game, nor do I think we could have emotionally handled a crowd at that point, my dad over and over again lamented that were not there.  My parents have followed all of us kids in our sports endeavors and have almost never missed a game.  My dad read through the stats of the game and spoke over and over again of how thrilled he was with how Derrick's teammates, Derrick's friends, played.

Tom spent the night at my parents house that night.  His parents were still on vacation and driving home seemed like such a task.  We fell asleep on the couch.  I knew at that moment that God had given him to me (for among other reasons) to help calm my soul.  Had he not been there I would have never slept.  I slept hideously as it were but having him there, holding me, allowed me to fall asleep. 

Sunday morning we didn't go to church.  It seemed like vit was appropriate to wait to have to greet people at visitation.  Instead of going to church that morning, we went shopping.  We had visitation Sunday, Monday and the funeral Tuesday.  I needed some new clothes - not that I knew how in the world to pick something out to wear at my brother's funeral but regardless we had to be dressed up three days in a row.  I didn't feel like I had three days worth of appropriate clothes.  I had just bought a black vest so I wore that with a white shirt and black skirt for the funeral.  I have no idea what I wore for visitation (certainly not important). 

I remember seeing cars come and go that morning from the church parking lot and wondering what it was like to be there.  I felt like people were just staring at our house.  Part of me wanted to go see them.  Part of me wanted to hide.  At that time Kelloggsville Church was really a family to us.  I felt like I was missing out on something that the rest of my church family was taking place in.  I didn't know what or why I felt this way but I certainly wondered...How did they say the news to the congregation?  I'm sure many had seen the paper but my dad being a pastor there, I'm sure they had to say it again.  Who said it?  How did the congregation respond?  Did they have a message that day?  What songs did they sing?

That night was our first night of visitation.  Surprisingly, I, the girl who's always late, was the first to get to the funeral home.  I walked in and the doors to the room were closed.  They did however have Derrick's name on a sign over the top of the door.  It seemed so odd to see his name there.  It didn't belong over that door.  It was heart wrenching.  I have been back to Stroo a few times for visitations since Derrick's and seeing the name plate over the door gets me every time.  I see Derrick's name.  It wasn't supposed to be that way! 

Since the room at this point was empty, the casket seemed like it was so far away as it was on the other end of the room.  Flowers had already begun to flood the funeral home.  I had helped pick out the clothes that Derrick would be dressed.  We picked a plaid light blue American Eagle shirt with jeans.  I wondered why it looked so different on him in the casket.  It wasn't until a bit later that I realized it looked different because they had tucked his shirt in so it was quite tight to his skin - not a way he wore his everyday clothes.  Most of the time his shirts went untucked.  His hands were also laid on top of each other in such a formal fashion on his stomach.  im's friend Rob had been with Tim the entire night in the hospital.  Rob brought a shotgun shell and tucked it into Derrick's hands.  Derrick was wearing a necklace he bought in Ensenada when we were there on a MOSES trip.

All three days the funeral home was packed.  Steph had flown in from New Mexico.  I have no idea when I first saw her or what I said but I know she spent all of her time at the funeral hanging out with Nasreen just staying around in case we needed anything.  My sister recalls having Nasreen go get her different clothes.  I just remember them being there.  We saw countless friends - some long time friends, some we hadn't even seen in a long time.  Tom and I were engaged just three weeks prior to this and the obituary stated Lisa and her "fiancee" so many people came to use congratulating us and offering sympathy at the same time.  People were so supportive.  Sooo many people said "I can't believe you're doing this!  How are you doing this?!"  It's true - only by the grace of God.  None of us wanted to be there but people were praying us through.

So many dear ones found different ways to support us and love us through this time.  I called my college roommates (Stacy, Afton and Lindsey) and asked them if they could come clean my bedroom at home.  My mom's best friend from Iowa was coming for the week and would be staying in my room but the dresser needed dusting, sheets had to be washed, the junk on my floor needed to be cleaned up.  Afton brought a very bland chicken noodle soup knowing full well that my stomach goes crazy with stress and a bland chicken noodle soup is something my stomach would be able to tolerate.  Tim had suggested using the country song "Go Rest High" for the slide show and so I sent Steph and Heather on a mission to find that. 

Mr. Moes, one of Tim, Derrick's and my former teachers, stopped by the house with a large pot of soup.  I answered the door and he couldn't even talk.  He just offered his gift and cried.  I knew he enjoyed cooking and I felt the love that had been poured into that.  I can still picture him handing me the pot of soup.  I tried saying thank you and it's as though he couldn't even accept my thanks.  He just trembled and cried and then left.

Visitation was tiring.  It was a time of celebrating Derrick's life while grieving his death.  I remember thinking his friends - just juniors in high school were too young to have to come to something like this.  I held many of their hands and walked with them up to the casket.  All the while we collected memories and thoughts from them that would be read at the funeral.

Again the verse resonates:

Thessalonians 4:13  "Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope."