Post 10: Saying Goodbye
Both sides of our family gathered for the funeral. Just over two weeks earlier, Rex's family had gathered for his brother-in-law's funeral. It was surreal. But Rex's siblings and parents, my own siblings, and close friends gave me the strength to make it through that day.
Because of Covid, we couldn't meet indoors — we were fortunate to even be allowed to gather outside, in masks. My sister sewed about fifty of them for the family — music note masks for the women, Kansas City Chiefs masks for the men. Even something we were required to wear became a small tribute to him.
At the end of the funeral, as we were directed to follow the casket out, I realized I didn't know who I would walk with. My kids had their spouses beside them — I wanted them to feel that support, since they had just lost their dad too. As I stepped forward alone, one of my brothers suddenly appeared at my side, arm in arm, and walked that impossible walk with me. My siblings rode with me to the cemetery. I never felt alone.
Because the church didn't own outdoor sound equipment, friends found what we needed and, with my son's help, set up speakers, cameras, and a Zoom feed so family and friends who couldn't be there could still participate.
A friend offered to create a table of remembrance for Rex. She gathered photos and meaningful mementos that beautifully told the story of his life.
I'd made more than a hundred videos over the years — old family footage, tributes for each of my kids' weddings. When it came time for Rex's tribute, my first instinct was to make it myself. But my daughter-in-law asked if she could take care of it instead. I let her. I'm so grateful I did. She called it "A Life So Well Lived."
A friend who is a professional photographer asked how she could help. She restored several treasured family photos, including the last picture of all of us together. Some of what she gave us has become family heirlooms.
Friends cared for the grandchildren during the funeral and again a few days later so our family could gather to remember Rex. My son quietly recorded our stories and testimonies. I'm still transcribing them.
Our Relief Society president organized meals for us from the beginning, including the family luncheon after the funeral. My daughter's father-in-law smoked the meat, while many others volunteered to set up, serve, and clean up.
A friend shared a dream she'd had the night before. In it, Rex was helping me get ready for the funeral, just as he always helped with every gathering we hosted. "I believe he was at your side that morning," she wrote.
As friends dropped off leftovers from the funeral, we shared a few quiet moments together. One hugged me and promised she would walk with me through everything ahead, just as I had once walked with her through a difficult season.
Afterward, my daughter's in-laws hosted a family swim party. After a funeral and burial full of tears, both sides of the family needed somewhere to gather, laugh, and simply breathe. A few months later, I learned they had expected only four people that day and realized a much bigger gathering was coming when food started arriving — enough for an army, not four people. They welcomed everyone with amazing grace.
I've always been blessed with good family and friends. Even in my lowest moments, I've known I am surrounded by people who love me. On this day, their love and comfort carried me.
At the viewing that morning, I told everyone gathered there: when Rex passed so suddenly, and I was alone with him in the hospital, I understood that this was God's plan for him. It stood to reason, then, that He had a plan for me too — and that everyone in that room was part of it.
