From the time we learned of Ronald Cartland's death on April 8th, until this time, the Memorial Service was the best thing that happened, at least in my mind. I wish the story ended there. I suppose I have the option of ending this story with that one, which I think I will.
The thing that will go on and on, and frustrate, and infuriate, and baffle has to do with legal matters in several states, attorneys, and an estate. It may take many months, if not more, to be resolved, and one can not even guess how that might all turn out.
But as for me, I think that in my own mind, I will let this be the end of the story, as far as the death of Ron. The first goal, originally, was to view his body, which we did. Then it was obvious we had to make arrangements, and have some kind of a service, which we did.
We opted to have a memorial service for him in his home town where he grew up. We figured that at least, his brother Robert and wife Carol, and maybe a couple of their children would be present. And I would be there, and my children.
We had a plan that we would meet at the grave site where Ron's parents are buried. The small cemetery is attached to an old defunct church located on West Creek Road, about a mile or so from the old Cartland farm.
The service was scheduled for Sunday afternoon, May 7th, which turned out to be a very rainy and cold day. A granddaughter commented that the rain and the graveside service and umbrellas looked just like in the movies. I think she was right about that.
When I got there, there were already a good collection of cars, and I could not park very close in. I had numerous things to carry, so that made it harder for me. I had a small engraved stone marker, a container of flowers, my clergy robe in its bag, and an umbrella. I was so grateful I had worn my boots!
I decided that my robe was a very important distinction for me on this particular occasion. In my mind, it clarified that I was acting as clergy, and not really as ex-wife. I know that it probably seemed odd for an ex-wife to officiate at her ex's funeral. I chose to wear my robe to distinguish those roles. It seemed natural to me, doing what I do. (or at least what I used to do)
It was so surprising and unexpected that there were quite a few of Ron's high school classmates in attendance at the memorial service. While we, as family, had not seen him in 38 years, those folks had not seen him in over 60 years! I did not count the exact number, but I do know that between family members and classmates, there were over 30 people there, which I could never have anticipated. That made it so special.
I gave people a chance to speak, especially his children. A few classmates did. Michelle read two poems. Neither Brenda nor Priscilla had much to say.
I had worked very hard to select words and liturgy that would be appropriate for someone I knew was not particularly religious. I kept it positive, and talked about all the places he had traveled, and expressed appreciation his service to his country, and also for his being part of creating our family, for which we are all grateful .
He was treated with kindness and respect at that service. I do think that he would have been pleased by his own memorial service.
I know that my daughters were very grateful for that event. Each one expressed deep appreciation to me, and also surprise at what I had been able to do there.
It brought closure. Knowing what happened to him, and being part of taking care of him in his death, was so much better than always wondering. It brought a different ending to the story.
It brought him back home.
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