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The way it all went down
Monday, November 2, 2020 at 01:45PM 
Ember. Photo courtesy Erica Porter.The morning after my mother went to be with the Lord (Don't say that I died, were her unequivocal instructions), Henry and I had a ten o'clock appointment at the church where they had been members for a dozen years, and where her funeral would be held.
Our meeting was with two assistant pastors and the lady who would work closely with me to make our printed program a beautiful reality.
Weeks earlier, Mom had told me that she and I would be planning both the service and said printed program, together.
We assembled on a stormy morning.
She brought out a stack of programs going back ten years, that she'd saved from funerals of her friends, to show me the kind of keepsake her church could produce, and what our options were.
We talked about all aspects of the service, including Scripture passages and who would read them, songs and who would sing them, who would eulogize her, and even the exact placement of each pallbearer.
She was specific about everything. There were only one or two details that needed to be discussed, but given a few choices, she was always definite about the selection she made.
With my baby brother, Shawn. Photo courtesy Audrey Weber.
She'd decided on her burial outfit before I even asked: the flattering turquoise shift dress with matching coat adorned with sparkly buttons, that she'd bought for Erica's 2018 wedding.
Mom wore no jewelry to her grave; she'd already given her wedding rings to my sister Kay, her diamond earrings to me, her right-hand ruby ring to Erica, and other good pieces to other granddaughters.
Audrey loves her Uncle Shawn. Photo courtesy Shawn Plant.
She insisted on a closed casket. There was no guesswork involved there.
As such there was little to do except set it all into motion.
And yet, the week between her homegoing and her memorial service was packed with activity.
Henry, flanked by three of his daughters and a son in law, sat for some of the visitation.
A full-fig funeral is a lot like a wedding; there are lots of moving parts. A great deal going on leading up the day, and even more going on throughout that day.
We were fortunate that the church's staff members were so committed to being a blessing to our family, that they were available by text and email constantly. We never had to wait more than a minute or two before receiving an answer to any question, or to a cry for help.
Beautiful flowers, back home in my kitchen, sent by my precious friend Mari.
That cry for help part would become a reality on the morning of the funeral. Hurricane Zeta had come ashore in the Gulf of Mexico and made its way up to South Carolina.
I woke in the wee hours of Thursday morning, snug in the Greenville Hilton, to the sound of horizontal rain pelting the windows.
Mom voted absentee.
I got up at about six and looked outside. It was dark as midnight. Trees were thrashing in fifty-mile-an-hour gusts of wind (eighty mature trees would fall in Greenville County that morning). The rain was relentless.
After making coffee and taking a few minutes to wake up, I was preparing to begin getting ready (we'd planned a half-hour open-casket visitation for the family at nine o'clock at the church). I had just enough time.
The start of the service.
And then the power went out.
I froze. The lights flickered once, came back on for five seconds, and went out again.
For good. Power would not be restored in that area for at least sixteen hours.
Andrew, Brittany, Ember, Audrey, and Dagny were at the property also. We were all on different floors.
Stephanie brought me six white roses. I took them home and added my pink rose from Mom's casket spray.
Brittany was the first to text me. With a baby to feed and dress, she had arisen very early and was about halfway done getting herself ready, when everything went dark.
It was even dark in the hallways -- for a while. I mean, so black that it was terrifying. Then what I assume to be backup generators kicked in, and we had light in the hallways. The elevators worked too, as it turned out.
She drank and drank and drank and drank and drank. It served as her final rally.
But there was no light in the rooms, and, although they could move elevators, not enough power to run my curling iron or my makeup mirror.
I texted the assistant pastor who had been so helpful: We are desperate, I said.
Come to the church, he replied, almost immediately. We are here. Power is on. Plenty of room to get ready.
At seven thirty in the morning, during a tropical storm!
She was borne lovingly out into the suddenly gorgeous day, to the waiting hearse.
I was relieved but still had a few challenges to face. First I let Audrey and Brittany know that we could go to the church where there was light and air conditioning, plus mirrors.
(Despite the storm, it was an unseasonably warm day and excruciatingly humid. The air in the dark hotel rooms was already becoming stale and clammy.)
Safe and secure, in good hands.
It was a happy thing that I had showered and washed my hair just before going to bed the night before. I dressed in my funeral outfit, grabbed all of my makeup and grooming tools, and was escorted by TG to Andrew's waiting Jeep, into which he'd already put his wife and baby, and their belongings.
(They were checking out of the hotel; we planned to stay one more night, but would end up driving home when, by eight o'clock that evening, the Hilton was still dark.)
Arrived.
I went with Andrew and Brittany to the church while TG stayed behind to help Audrey get herself and Dagny loaded into their car with all of their stuff.
TG then faced a dark room and an ice-cold shower in a hotel without enough power to keep the water hot, or even warm.
Carried gently.
Meanwhile, we girls got to the church in time to blow into the lobby, be shown by waiting staff members to the various ladies' restrooms with mirrors and outlets, and begin our application of cosmetics and use of hair styling tools to make ourselves presentable.
My sister, who lives in Greenville and had many of her children and grandchildren staying with her, also lost power and showed up shortly after we did, to primp at the church.
Dagny and I followed. Photo courtesy Erica Porter.
After I stopped trembling and perspiring with anxiety, I calmed myself enough to put the lipstick and mascara in the right places on my face, and to wrestle my hair into submission, and to put on my jewelry.
It felt like preparing my own remains for viewing.
Henry waited with his daughters Rae Ellen, Beth Ann, and Laura, and his son-in-law Steve.
Mother was waiting (having noplace else to be), casket open, in the sanctuary. We had thirty minutes with her before the lid went down for good and guests were allowed to file in and greet us.
The night before, I'd set up two tables at the front, laden with photographs and memorabilia that I'd brought from Mom's house.
We all smiled through our tears. Chad and Erica a/k/a Cherica.
I displayed one of Mom's small Bibles -- in tatters with age -- with her name printed on the front; her glasses resting in their porcelain holder that sat on the table beside her chair; a navy blue straw pillbox hat she sometimes wore; a tiny white leather clutch that she'd told me was just the right size for holding a comb, a lipstick, and her handkerchief (in fact one of her handkerchiefs was still in it) for church; and various other artifacts of her life.
Folks filed by the tables both before and after greeting our family in the receiving line. That part of the morning went on for nearly ninety minutes.
They came from Texas for Mom and Grandma: Shawn and his daughters, Kelsey and Hannah.
Outside, as the day wore on, the rain slowed considerably, but it was still exceedingly breezy. Many schools and businesses had closed for the day.
Eventually it was eleven o'clock and time to start the funeral. We kinfolk lined up in the hallway and walked in to be seated in the front of the middle section.
Joel and "little" Andrew, our only grandson.
As funerals go, this one was intense. Two of my sister's children gave testimonies of what their grandmother meant to them. Later -- fulfilling an express request of their grandmother's -- twelve of Mom's fifteen grandchildren sang When They Ring Those Golden Bells.
It was one of Mom's favorites, having been sung at her own mother's funeral in 1981.
The kids (all adults) singing that song was a moment. You probably had to be there and know the players, but trust me. And I apologize to my nephew Michael for cutting him off by not panning far enough to the left. I was crying and trying not to drop my phone.
Three grandsons were unable to attend: my sister's son, Marc, and my brother's sons, Kelly and Gabe.
Our Andrew, with Baby Ember in her LBD.
The kids were accompanied by Jacob, husband of my niece Joanna, my sister's youngest.
At any rate Mom would have been speechless except, I'm pretty sure, for a series of loud Amens.
Tobias, eldest son of my nephew Michael, hands out sheet music.
But she would not have shed a tear; throughout her final ordeal (this is a trial, she told me more than once), Mom did not cry. Not one single time.
I asked her a few times if she was sad. She shook her head no. I said, well, I am.
TG opens the graveside service with a few remarks.
She was not the crying type, as you may have gathered; I've seen my mother cry maybe three times in my life. She was not given to morosity in any form, and declined to ever feel sorry for herself.
In writing Mom's obituary, I adhered to that always-timely adage: You've got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, latch on to the affirmative, and don't mess with mister in between.
Still using Mom's Bible, Pastor Minnick brought a message of comfort.
But as the two grandchildren who spoke of their grandmother each pointed out in their own way, Ann Dykstra was not without her faults.
She was too easily critical, often hurting the subject of her criticism. I've been the recipient of her judgments many times; too many times to count.
Two of Mom's oldest and dearest friends. For decades, they met each week to pray together.
To be brutally honest, Mom was sometimes in short supply when it came to the humility, tact, and sensitivity that serves as the oil to cool the friction that inevitably exists in human relationships.
As a consequence, many important relationships did not survive.
She could be difficult. No one who knew her well would deny it.
Closeup of Mom's flowers. The spray was made by a neighbor who was beloved of my mother.
But she had an abundance of qualities so endearing that, if one was committed to honoring their own responsibility to the relationship, those qualities helped it to endure (if not necessarily flourish as it would have, had the circumstances been more ideal).
Nevertheless she touched lives. She had an impact, mostly for good. She will be remembered that way, in the main. I hope that when I am gone, all of my many faults and shortcomings taken to my own grave, a fraction of the number of glowing, loving words are spoken of me, that were (and still are) spoken of my mother.
The great-grandchildren and others begin claiming their keepsake roses.
TG's eulogy, delivered just before the grandchildren sang, was sometimes emotional, sometimes sad, sometimes funny -- because Mom herself was known for cracking people up with her antics and off-the-cuff witticisms. She was a born storyteller, and he had some unforgettable stories to tell about her.
Mom's pastor brought a short message using one of her well-worn and much-marked Bibles. It was excellent and I can't wait to hear it again when we get the DVD.
Andrew's precious family. Photo courtesy Brittany Weber.
By noon, when we emerged from the church behind the pallbearers carrying Mom to the hearse, the weather was beautiful: balmy and breezy, with a blue sky and and huge, fluffy, scudding clouds.
We made our way to the cemetery where the men bore Mom from the hearse to her resting place. Our son, the newly minted Second Lieutenant Andrew Guy Weber, USAF, wearing his dress blues (as Mom had requested) sang Zion's Hill (at my request).
The pastor brought further remarks from Mom's Bible. We sang a hymn together to conclude the service.
The children and grandchildren led in claiming their keepsake rose from Mom's casket spray.
Watching until there's nothing more to watch: Andrew, TG, my niece Rebecca, and Rebeccas's husband, Rex.
Eventually we made our way back to the church, where we were fed a meal of succulent ham, pecan-encrusted sweet potato casserole, green beans (cooked with more ham), crusty bread, an assortment of refreshing salads, and a dessert buffet that reminded me of a moment we had with Mom near to her death:
She was always so thirsty, begging for water which we'd give to her on a little sponge dipped in ice water. She hadn't sat up to drink for many days.
Our five grandchildren: Melanie (eldest, left) was social distancing.
One evening she became animated, giving instructions that we bring to her the tallest glass in the house, stuffed to the brim with ice, and a bottle of water to pour over it. She told me to elevate the head of her bed and prop her on pillows. Then she drank and drank and drank and drank and drank, like the fulfillment of a fantasy.
All of us. Click to embiggen.
Two of my nieces were present (they'd come to sing to her, which she loved) and when she'd put the glass down for a moment, Mom recited for us:
Shoo Fly Pie and Apple Pan Dowdy
Make your eyes light up and your tummy say howdy.
We convulsed with laughter and asked her for an encore, which she gave. Then she asked for the head of her bed to be put back down, and went to sleep. She'd be in heaven five days later, never to thirst again.
Cherica photograph their rose and their shadow. Photo courtesy Erica Porter.
TG concluded the eulogy to his mother-in-law of nearly forty-two years, thusly:
In closing I’d like to add that Ann was a patriotic American. She loved her country. One of the last things she did in her life, was vote. There are pictures of Ann studying her absentee ballot, which her granddaughters helped her to complete, making sure it was duly signed, witnessed, and placed in the mail.
If anyone did, Ann truly voted ABSENTEE. And if she were here today and the subject arose, Ann would encourage you to vote on Tuesday. God bless America, and God bless the memory of Ann Dykstra.
Indeed.
And that is all for now.
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Happy Tuesday :: Happy Election Day :: God Bless America
Reader Comments (10)
Wow - what a day! I'm thankful the power didn't go out at church. It sounds like a wonderful service. I was touched by all the grandkids singing. I know she would have loved it. Andrew did a fine job at the graveside service too.
The family photos are so nice. We did the same last year when Bob's mom passed. You need to take advantage of having everyone together. Little Andrew is growing so!
I voted today, I'm glad your mom got in her absentee ballot. I am sure we voted for the same man.
@Mari ... oh yeah girl ... we all voted for the same man! TRUMP 2020. Funerals are like family reunions! It's hard to get the shots but you have to be forceful and organize folks into the frame. The results are priceless. xoxo
I can't even begin to imagine how I would have handled all that you did on that day! It was certainly memorable for so many reasons. You wrote this so beautifully and I do hope all of your family will make a copy of it to keep. Your mother sounds like an amazing woman, warts and all. I so wish that my mother and I had a better relationship...I have tried but some things are just not meant to be. I hope that now your mother's passing (noticed I didn't say she died:) and her funeral are behind you, you can move forward with beautiful and cherished memories. All those children are just precious and I'm sure this will be a very memorable event for those old enough to remember. I do have to say that sweet little redhead is beyond adorable! Take care, Jenny, and know that heaven is a lot brighter....and definitely more interesting...with your mother's arrival. Isn't it wonderful to know we will see our loved ones again one day?
@Cheri ... Yes indeed it is wonderful to know that, and I look forward to the day when I see my mother again. One of the things her pastor said which stuck with me was, her love for you is perfect now. Perfect! It could not be even close to perfect when she was here, but it's perfect now that she's there. I'll take it. Thank you for your kind words and, the way we did it that day was to just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and leaning on the Lord. It was helpful that we were all together. And I'll have to agree with you on that sweet little redhead ... isn't she SOMETHING? She's what the kids nowadays would call "extra" ... hahahaha! I love her to distraction. xoxo
Beautiful, Jenny. Your family, so close, is a reminder of how we should all be at times like this. Yes, perfect now, and that's how I like to remember my own mother.
Thank you for sharing such personal moments.
xoxo
@Sally ... you are welcome my dear and thank you for taking the time to read and comment! Love you xoxo
Oh my goodness, through weather and calamity, you managed to fulfill your mother's final wishes. I loved the singing. Andrew had a wind accompaniment with the flag keeping beat behind him! All of you coming together to say goodbye is very special. None of us in a human body is perfect - it's good to recognize that and affirm the positive. Hugs to you Jenny as you process your loss.
@Barb ... Thanks my dear friend. Processing the loss is a good way to put it. Andrew did indeed have the wind and the flapping flag to accompany him! He soldiered on. It was a special day. xoxo
I love the grandkids singing--such beautiful harmony and one of my favorite hymns. It certainly will be a Glory Hallelujah Jubilee.
I wish your Mom had a moment with God and being her feisty self, tell him that she needs her absentee ballot to count and get this mess down here straightened out! We need Trump back in the White House.
@Judy ... AMEN to all of that, my sister and my friend! xoxo