This afternoon I was running late for a meeting and grabbed the folder I needed to take with me. I quickly glanced through it and was surprised (shocked, actually) to see a transcript of my husband’s funeral sitting among the economic development papers. I paused and looked at the introductory pages, thought about him and quickly put it in my bag. I didn’t want any of those tear-like things happening before the meeting.

It has been many months since I read my husband’s funeral service and I decided today would be a good day to read it again. After work, I sat down with tissues close by and read. And cried. And read some more. And cried. And smiled. And cried. This pattern continued until I finished reading the transcript. The tears were cleansing and healing.

It was so good for me to read the wonderful words spoken at his service. I read stories of his childhood, his love of God and his family. I read about his camping adventures and misadventures and how he affected others. Speakers recalled his many acts of service, sense of humor, his integrity, and of the love he has for me, his friends and family members. I loved others reminding me of the wonderful man I married.

The transcript also helped me remember the tremendous love and support I have from those around me. Sometimes I feel very alone and it was good to read the reassurance I am not. It comforted me to read their words of love and faith. I felt my husband was there with me, recalling the words spoken that sunny, early November afternoon.

As the 21 month mark approaches, images from my past continue to get smaller in the rear view mirror as I drive down the road of life. I am grateful I have this treasure of a transcript, an unusual atlas mapping where I have been but (mercifully) doesn’t show me the road ahead to my known destination.