MOM'S LAST LAUGH
     ~author unknown~

         Consumed by my loss, I didn't notice the hardness of
the pew where I sat.  I was at the funeral of my dearest
friend - my mother.  She finally had lost her long battle
with cancer.  The hurt was so intense, I found it hard to
breathe at times.

         Always supportive, Mother clapped loudest at my
school plays, held a box of tissues while listening to my
first heartbreak, comforted me at my father's
death,encouraged me in college, and prayed for me my entire
life.

         When Mother's illness was diagnosed, my sister had a
new baby and my brother had recently married his childhood
sweetheart, so it fell on me, the 27-year-old middle child
without entanglements, to take care of her.  I counted it an
honor.

         "What now, Lord?" I asked sitting in church.
         My life stretched out before me as an empty abyss.
My brother sat stoically with his face toward the cross
while clutching his wife's hand.  My sister sat slumped
against her husband's shoulder, his arms around her as she
cradled their child.

         All so deeply grieving, no one noticed I sat alone.
My place had been with our mother, preparing her
meals,helping her walk, taking her to the doctor, seeing to
her medication, reading the Bible together.  Now she was
with the Lord.  My work was finished, and I was alone.

         I heard a door open and slam shut at the back of the
church.  Quick footsteps hurried along the carpeted floor.
An exaspera ted young man looked around briefly and then sat
next to me.  He folded his hands and placed them on his lap.
         His eyes were brimming with tears.  He began to
sniffle.  "I'm late," he explained,though no explanation was
necessary.

         After several eulogies, he leaned over and
commented, "Why do they keep calling Mary by the name of
'Margaret'?

         "Because that was her name, Margaret. Never Mary.
No one called her 'Mary,'" I whispered.
         I wondered why this person couldn't have sat on the
other side of the church.  He interrupted my grieving with
his tears.

         "No", he insisted, as several people glanced over at
us whispering, "Her name is Mary, Mary Peters."

         "That isn't who this is, I replied.."

         "Isn't this the Lutheran church?"

         "No, the Lutheran church is across the street."

         "Oh."

         "I believe you're at the wrong funeral, Sir."

         The solemnest of the occasion mixed with the
realization of the man's mistake bubbled up inside me and
came out as laughter.
         I cupped my hands over my face, hoping it would be
interpreted as sobs.
         The creaking pew gave me away.
         Sharp looks from other mourners only made the
situation seem more hilarious.

         I peeked at the bewildered, misguided man seated
beside me.  He was laughing too as he glanced
around,deciding it was too late for an uneventful exit.

         I imagined Mother laughing.

         At the final "Amen," we darted out a door and into
the parking lot.  "I do believe we'll be the talk o f the
town," he smiled.  He said his name was Rick and since he
had missed his aunt's funeral, asked me out for a cup of
coffee.

         That afternoon began a lifelong journey for me with
this man who attended the wrong funeral, but was in the
right place.  A year after our meeting, we were married at a
country church where he was the assistant pastor.  This time
we both arrived at the same church,right on time.

         In my time of sorrow, God gave me laughter.
         In place of loneliness, God gave me love.

This past June we celebrated our twenty-second
wedding anniversary.
         Whenever anyone asks us how we met, Rick tells
them,"Her mother and my Aunt Mary introduced us, and it's
truly a match made in heaven."
         * * * * * * *

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