“Do you want flowers on the casket?” the funeral director asked looking toward me.
Thankfully, although the kids broke down each time we talked about arranging the funeral we had discussed the subject of flowers prior to my meeting with the funeral home.
“No. We will supply flowers for the service” I replied.
Later that afternoon, the Son, First Born, the Tween and I made our way to the only remaining florist in town whilst my DIL stayed in the car. She couldn’t make herself cross the road.
We asked the florist what sort of flowers she had that we could buy singly. The Son had decided he wanted bright coloured flowers to hand out to family and friends at the service. The only ones she had in bulk were gerberas. That suited us fine.
Arranging for someone to pick them up on the morning of the funeral, we quickly left. Organising this was much harder than we had anticipated.
The Gerberas were bought to the service by the Garden Gnome and it became my task to hand them out to family and close friends.
At the designated point in the service and to the sound of Il Divo crooning “Amazing Grace” each person came forward and placed their colourful offering on her tiny casket.
It was much more personal than an arrangement organised by the funeral home.
Today they are in a vase on my dining room table. Many of them have themselves died but one or two linger on. Like our angel, their beauty never faded.
Before their demise, I took one of each colour and photographed them.
Now their beauty and purpose will live forever along with the precious memories stored in our hearts.