Words erupted from my soul and panic laced my voice
as the caretaker held the small box over the freshly dug grave. I cried out—begging
her to stop. It was all wrong. Everything was wrong. She didn’t know him. She
didn’t love him. He wasn’t her second father. He was mine.
“Can I do
it?” I asked. To this day I don’t know what came over me, but something I was invited
to observe became something I had to do.
“Yes,” she answered.
The sun was high in the sky as I knelt on the cool
grass and looked into the perfect, deep depression next to where my mother was
buried. I paused to gather strength. Gently, I pressed a kiss to my fingers and
with every ounce of love in my heart placed it on top of the box—once, then
again—before lowering his earthly remains into their final resting place.
When the last piece of sod was in place, a promise
made long ago had been fulfilled in the days, months, and years since her
passing. “I took care of Ed, Mom, just like I promised,” I said, my eyes fixed
on their grave marker.
Sometime later I was reminded of God’s great love
for us. Even in the valley of the shadow of death, He entrusts our soul to no
one but Himself, guiding us through death’s dark shadow into everlasting life.
Father God, thank You for always keeping Your
promises.
© 2019 Amy A. Verzi 