He was laid out on creamy velvet inside the bronze, 18-gauge steel box at the front of the Baptist church. The air was heavy with the perfume of roses and gladiolas.
He was only 14.
A woman wearing a wide-brimmed yellow hat played the organ. I shuffled down the aisle in the procession toward the casket, with my reporter’s notebook tucked discreetly in my purse.
Knees weak, I reached casket’s edge. They say news reporters aren’t supposed to cry, but grief tumbled wet down these cheeks.My writing changed that day.
AND ON THIS DAY, 15 years later, I’m telling the rest of the story over at Graceful. Michelle DeRusha — a gifted and witty writer from Nebraska — asked me to guest-post there on the topic of faith and writing. Will you join me over there?
PHOTO ONE: Row of stones in our country cemetery.
: I had the opportunity to meet Deidra of Jumping Tandem
(at left) and Michelle of Graceful
(at right) in early May in Lincoln, Nebraska. Through their terrific writing, these women make me think, make me laugh, and make me a better me.