It’s mid-September, the late morning sky covered with brush strokes of gray that hold the sun at bay. My wife Karen and I follow the hearse into the parking lot of Shiloh Mennonite Church in Resaca, Ohio. I was last here in September of 2007 for the funeral of Karen’s father, Elmer Jantzi.
Today we are here for the funeral of Miriam Jantzi — wife, mother, grandmother and the best mother-in-law a fellow could ask for. It would be an intimate gathering for immediate family. I count 26.
Some of us (others would meet up at Shiloh) gathered at the Chiles-Laman Shawnee Chapel for a brief visitation, with hugs, tears, joy, prayer and poetry in the mix.
Miriam’s three daughters — Karen, Janet and Joyce — tended to their mother’s needs with such grace, humility and love in the last months, days and hours of her life. Models of compassion, the sisters are bookended by John the elder, a man of the cloth, and Phil the younger, a man of the white coat and stethoscope.
John’s role in the end-of-life journey, as requested by his mother, was to compose and be the shepherd of Miriam’s memorial service. A veteran of many funerals, John would find a meaningful way for the family to walk the path carrying the spirit of their loved one close to their hearts.
Phil spends long hours tending to the medical needs of patients under his care and has, perhaps as a tonic for his own well-being, taken up woodworking. He turns rough sawn slabs of oak, maple, cherry and other species into beautiful cutting boards.
Taking lumber that had once been part of an American sycamore tree, Phil crafted a simple but beautiful resting place for his mother. His final act was to put the lid on at the viewing and use his mallet to tap pegs into holes to secure the top. The end of a sequential process.
Back at Shiloh, grandchildren carried Miriam’s resting place and lowered it onto supports over the grave. John led the service with the aplomb of someone who dearly loved his mother. Readings from Scripture, hymns and family remembrances were all parts of the atmosphere. Oh, lest I forget, smiles and laughter were sprinkled about.
I shared an anecdote of how Miriam would extend the lifespan of my work wear by taking needle and thread to repair frayed hems and patch holes in well-worn denim fabric. As a tribute to my dear seamstress, I wore a pair of Dickies that she saved from the landfill. I also wore one of Elmer’s flannel shirts that hangs in our closet.
John smiled and noted that he was not aware of that part of the relationship his mother and I shared. A smile of joy about a life well remembered.
After some guidance from a member of the church the grandchildren carefully lowered their grandmother into the depths of the Madison County earth, where sycamores grow along the banks of Little Darby Creek that flows through the county.
The Jantzi children grew up on a farm, thus it was fitting that they would bury their mother. To fill the earthen vault where Miriam would rest next to her dear Elmer and perhaps, to help fill a void in their hearts. One after another, shovelsful of loose earth fell into the grave, making a thudding sound as it hit the box, then growing softer.
Over the years Miriam was the recipient of beautiful floral arrangements that were saved and put into an ever-growing dried arrangement that had its place on top of a curio cabinet. I’m told there were probably some 400 flowers in that arrangement that in most households would have ended up in the trash. In this family, those floral memories still had a purpose as everyone took flowers and lovingly dropped them into the grave. One could say that Miriam took those gifts of love to her place of final rest.
With the service completed, we adjourned to the church for a nice meal. Back in the day, as a member of Shiloh, Miriam would have helped to prepare many a funeral luncheon. This day she was there in spirit and would have enjoyed the meal.
Outside, folks milled about in the parking lot with smiles, hugs and farewells in the mix. “See you soon!” “Travel safely.” “I love you.” I walked over to the grave and found it to be in tidy order. The sextons had left their mark. “Well done.”
I have no idea when I’ll next drive into that parking lot. What I do know is that as we pulled out with a shy sun sneaking peeks through the clouds, I was taking memories that I will hold close to my heart.
Phil Hugo lives in Lima. His column does not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Lima News editorial board or AIM Media, owner of The Lima News.
