Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Beverly Anderson Hawkes

I have stalled and stalled...Alas, anything I write will not convey the spirit of my grandmother's funeral. Rather than flounder from feeling to feeling, I have decided to focus on what for me was perhaps the most poignant moment of her funeral.

The pallbearers opened the stained glass doors in the side of the chapel to take the casket through. But the gold and purple design my grandma loved was not even as impressive as the scene behind its doors: the snow, starkly contrasting with the blackly deciduous trees, almost matched her casket, making the bouquet burst in deliciousness to the eyes. I knew she would love the colors feeding my love of art. That moment, I felt her own joy finally touch my need to feel her there. She would have appreciated the pine and holly greenery, the winter roses, red and white. That blessed scene brought together a hug-ful of memories with my grandma when we would fill our souls with art and sigh at its beauty. We loved it.

I love her.

1 comment:

  1. A couple of paragraphs that are, in their own right, a work of art.


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