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, my friends tracked some down themselves. With my son's help, they ran the speakers, the Zoom feed, and the cameras — extension cords and all — so that everyone who couldn't be there in person could still participate.
A friend who loves to decorate and make things beautiful offered to build a table of remembrance for Rex. She asked about his hobbies, then gathered photos and mementos and made small placard signs to go with them, so his life was on display for everyone who came.
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 if there was anything she could do to help. We asked her to edit several photos for us — including the last picture of our whole family together, taken in pouring rain under a patio overhang that cut across the shot. She removed the overhang, brightened the whole image, and made it look the way that moment deserved to be remembered. Some of what she gave us have become family heirlooms.
Friends watched the grandchildren for the service, so the rest of us could be fully present. Other times, friends offered to take all five kids for an afternoon so the adults in our family could do something fun together. And three days after Rex died, on the Sunday after, I asked my kids to find a sitter so we could hold a family meeting — just us, sharing testimony and stories about him. It became one of the highlights of that whole first week. My son recorded it without telling me. I'm still transcribing it.
My friend, our Relief Society president, organized meals for us right away and the family lunch after the funeral, too. We were technically allowed fifty people indoors — though I'm fairly sure we had more. My daughter's father-in-law offered to smoke chicken for everyone, and many others volunteered to set up, cook, serve, and clean up.
As I drove home from the cemetery, right after the lunch, a friend texted me about a dream she'd had the night before. Rex was helping me get ready for the funeral, just like he always helped get things ready for parties, dinners, any event we hosted. "I believe he was at your side this morning," she said.
That evening, friends brought leftover food from the luncheon to my home, and each stayed a few minutes, one-on-one. One hugged me and promised she would be with me through everything ahead — the same way I had been there for her, years before.
Afterward, my daughter's in-laws hosted a family swim party. Both sides of the family needed somewhere to gather and just breathe. It was mid-July, too hot for a park, and after a funeral and burial full of tears, we needed a release. Seeing people laughing, talking, and swimming was a blessing. A few months later, I learned that my daughter's mother-in-law had only expected her son, my daughter, and their two kids that day — and got her first clue that a much bigger party was underway when the food started arriving. Enough for an army, not four people. She handled it 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, that love and comfort buoyed me up.
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.
