It's Later than You Think

My wife and I were already an hour south of Jefferson City by the time the sun came up Tuesday.  Our destination was Anderson, Mo, a McDonald County town of around 2000 not far from where Arkansas, Oklahoma and Missouri meet.  My dad’s oldest sister, my Aunt Betty, passed away last week.  Her funeral was Tuesday in Anderson.

When we arrived in Springfield the size of our pre-funeral procession doubled as we picked up my dad and got in line behind a minivan carrying another of dad’s sisters, Sue, and her husband, Ray.  Tuesday’s weather was sunny, clear, and a hint of spring was in the air (along with LOTS of pollen).  The 90 minute drive from Springfield to Anderson was uneventful, but when we hit Anderson’s city limits, Anderson hit back.  As my wife and I watched from behind, a car backed quickly out of a parking spot and collided with the passenger side front fender of my uncle’s minivan.

Welcome to Anderson!

The other driver was very nice and very apologetic.   The damage wasn’t too bad, though the passenger door on my uncle’s van would no longer open and my aunt had to climb over the console to get out.  Later, I learned the other driver had attended my Aunt’s visitation the night before.   

At the pre-funeral meal I met the kids and grandkids of one cousin I hadn’t seen since the Clinton administration, and another whose path had not crossed mine since before he served in Vietnam.   

After the funeral, a procession of 15-20 vehicles followed the hearse down Highway 59 from Anderson to Gravette, Arkansas for the burial.  A police escort got us safely to the city limits and all along the way cars pulled over.  Not because my aunt was a celebrity – she wasn’t.  Just because that’s one way people still show respect in a small town.

Forsythia bushes were in bloom as we drove alongside the Elk River through postcard-pretty Noel, Mo.  In Gravette, a local business caught my eye:  “Grumpy’s Coffee – motto – PEACE, LOVE, COFFEE".  A visit to Grumpy's would have to wait for another day.  Three miles south of Gravette the hearse turned onto a dirt road for a short drive through the countryside to Bethel cemetery.  Purple wildflowers poked out of the soil and ladies high heels poked into the soil as everyone gathered at my aunt’s gravesite.  Beside it were the graves of my Uncle Jim and cousin that died unexpectedly in 1995.

As the preacher read scripture my eyes wandered the area.  A few feet from the funeral tent was the grave of Billy Gene Matlock.  Billy died on Christmas day, 1957, at the age of 24.  A few yards in the other direction was a granite marker with toy cars on it for Jeremiah Scott Engleman.  Jeremiah was only 19 days old when he died on January 17, 2000. 

As the sound of friends and relatives singing my aunt's favorite song I’ll Fly Away drifted into the Arkansas hills and holler’s, I recalled something my mother-in-law told me the year she died.  She looked up at me from her wheelchair and said   “It’s later than you think”.   No argument from me on that.  And, if they could still voice an opinion, I imagine the permanent residents of Bethel cemetery would all kick in a hearty “amen!”