Photo of the Week

One of my New Year's resolutions is to take a photo a day. So far this has been fun, which was the idea. If get any good ones, I may choose to share one of them at the end of each week.

This week's photo was not actually taken by me--I mean, I took the photo of the photos, but that was only because it would have been uncool to rip the originals out of the album at the funeral and bring them home with me.

It also would probably have been inappropriate to take pictures in the viewing--I don't know, but I had a feeling, so I stuck with this. I thought it would be more interesting than the big dish of funeral potatoes I dropped off beforehand.

Meet Reed and Darleen. If you ever saw "The Notebook," you have sort of seen the Hollywood version of their lives (minus the extramarital sex and the beautiful house/care center), which is touching and all, but lacks reality. On the other hand, it has a good soundtrack, which to my knowledge didn't follow this couple around while Reed was caring for Darleen on a daily basis.

For the last ten years, Darleen has been steadily declining, and she passed away on New Year's Day. I never really knew her when she was well, but I know Reed. He is a wonderful man. Sweet, thoughtful, funny, dedicated, loving, and faithful. Every week at church he gives me a big hug, tells me he loves me, and says, "You're a neat lady." Every Christmas he brings our family a loaf of raisin bread and a photocopy of a talk by Dallin H. Oaks. Because of a case of polio as a child, he wears leg braces and has trouble walking. He lost three fingers in a railroad accident years ago. And most of his teeth are missing. Still, until two years ago he found the energy to assume the full care of his wife, who needed the same kind of care a small child needed. Finally he realized he couldn't take care of her on his own anymore, so he found a good care center where he knew she would be comfortable. Then he spent the better part of each day visiting her and holding her hand, even when she didn't recognize him anymore, or even speak or respond.

So yesterday we celebrated Darleen's release from the prison of her body. My favorite quote of the day, overheard at the viewing while we were watching a slide show of Darleen's life, was, "Do you think she's that skinny now? Because if she is, I bet she's happy!"

Reed called me the other day to see if we knew about what had happened, and when the funeral was. He told me all about how Darleen died, and how he sat with her, and how she looked. He said, "Oh, I'm so happy for her." And then he admitted that he's going to miss her, even though he had been preparing for this for a long time. He used to say, "We've only been married 53 years."

Yesterday I heard a lot of stories that helped me get to know Darleen better. Reed has been telling me stories for years. I think she and I had a lot in common. At this funeral, where not everything that was said was 100 percent positive, I thought that this was exactly how I'd like my funeral to be--with the same kinds of truths told about me (good and bad), and the same kind of love expressed, and the same kind of life reflected. Only I think that I should start requesting now that my kids at least dress up for my funeral--even if they choose not to attend church so much later in life and start wearing mullets. Possibly after I'm dead I'll find that I don't care so much if my relatives show up to my funeral in sweats and tennis shoes. Right now it kind of bothers me to think that they might.