mosses monday XXVII...

i stood at the back of our sanctuary very close to the same spot where i met the mosses 12 years prior to that day. a cherry casket adorned with a huge, beautiful spray of white roses and bearing the body of my dear mrs. moss was located in front of the altar.

in that room were just the three of us...

God, mrs. moss, and me.

it was a precious moment.

~@~@~@~

i looked at the back pew (which was right in front of me) where i, then john and i, then john, katherine, and i had sat with the mosses nearly every sunday for years. what sweet memories were made in that back pew...

then, i glanced up to the second row where the grandparents of the bride are seated for weddings. i reminisced the night (19 years ago today) our minister introduced john and me, “husband and wife," recalling that mr. and mrs. moss had looked up from their honorary seats in my grandparents' pew absolutely beaming at me.

subsequently, i looked over at one of the spots where mrs. moss and i had sat together shortly before she was unable to come to church any longer. i giggled at that memory...

you see, i had brought her with me to an evening memorial service for a friend of ours who had recently died. we had sat there together hand-in-hand and shared a hymnal during the memorial. after its conclusion, while i had helped mrs. moss gather her purse, bible, and sweater, a local politician (who had been sitting two rows behind us) had stuck out his hand to shake mrs. moss'. "how are you, mrs. moss?" he had asked and proceeded to talk rather than give her time to answer his question. "give george my regards, " he had concluded.

mrs. moss (with his hand still in hers) had looked at me and whispered (not so quietly) through a big closed-teeth smile, "george said it would be a cold day in hell before he'd ever vote for that man."

i never knew if "that man" had heard her or not... as i could not look back at his face because it had been all i could do to keep from busting out laughing. further, i knew that mrs. moss, though telling the truth, would have never said something like that in public had the alzheimer's not started affecting her mind-to-mouth filter.

(in a way i always hoped that he had heard her though; for, he was/is pompous and arrogant and was/is a much better self servant than a public one!)

~@~@~@~

a few minutes later, i heard the elevator door opening and turned around to see mr. moss in his wheelchair and jean. i held the door while she wheeled him out of the elevator. when the doors closed behind them, mr. moss took my hand and pulled me down to him so that he could give me a kiss on the cheek.

Further, i stood with him (my hand still in his) in the back of the sanctuary while he greeted people as they entered before they were seated. when all of mosses' nieces and nephews arrived, mr. moss was ready to go to his seat. with him still holding on to my hand, i walked beside him to the front of the church and helped jean get him seated (he was in so much pain with his broken back, it was heartbreaking).

he never let go of my hand, yet i was not supposed to sit in the row with the family; so, i sat directly behind him with my hand over the back of his pew. I had to sit up very close to the edge of my bench seat… in a pew by myself. (john was sitting on the other side of the church in a row designated for mrs. moss' paul bearers.)

I was not alone, however.

~@~@~@~

momentarily, mrs. moss' funeral service began. everything was perfect: God was there, her flowers were gorgeous, the sanctuary was full of those she had loved and touched, her favorite hymns were sung, her eulogy was very intimate...

and the soloist was incredible!!!

when she sang "precious Lord", i felt mr. moss' body shake as he cried. i, already teary, started to sob. it was more than i could take... mr. moss openly mourning the loss of his beloved, the loss of my dearest friend, the tightening grip he had on my hand, and the words... oh, the words to that beautiful, most appropriate song:

Precious Lord

Precious Lord, take my hand,

Lead me on, let me stand,

I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;

Through the storm, through the night,

Lead me on to the light:

Take my hand, precious Lord,

Lead me home.

When my way grows drear,

Precious Lord, linger near,

When my life is almost gone,

Hear my cry, hear my call,

Hold my hand lest I fall:

Take my hand, precious Lord,

Lead me home.

When the darkness appears

And the night draws near,

And the day is past and gone,

At the river I stand,

Guide my feet, hold my hand:

Take my hand, precious Lord,

Lead me home.

(Written by Thomas Dorsey)

~@~@~@~ 

(to be continued...)

love and God's blessings,

dani xx

ps you will find earlier entries in ascending order on my side bar entitled, "our love story":)