That was then. This is now.

Back in February, my sister and I went to my cousin Jean's husband Kent's graveside in Springville, Utah.  Kent had suffered with poor health for years.  Jean, their girls, and probably hospice were the caregivers.

It was a bit stormy and cold that day.  Everyone huddled around the graveside seeking shelter from the dripping rain.  Kent's choice was a plain wood casket, made with no nails.  He wanted no services except the dedication of the grave, but their son Jeff gave a short and excellent eulogy.  Then the grave was dedicated.

The family gathered at the chapel for a luncheon.  I spoke with Jean and each of her children to give my condolences.  It was so nice to see them.  I visited with other relatives there and met some new people, too.  Here is Jean's family all gathered around her.  There was a lot of conversation and picture taking.  There was a respectful and stoic air to the gathering.  Kent had been released from a bed of pain and everyone seemed to understand that. 

Who knew what was ahead? That was then.

This is now.  This is deja vu. 

This week, my sister and I went to our cousin Jean's graveside in Springville, Utah. Same place.  Same overcast day.  Some drizzly rain.  Not so many coats and umbrellas.  Most of the same people.  Same family.  But new tears.

Same plain wood casket, made without nails, but this time it is Jean's casket and not Kent's. 

There was also an abbreviated service:  Jean's daughter K welcomed everyone and announced the order of the brief program; opening prayer by my cousin D . . .

a beautiful eulogy by Jean's daughter L, and a dedication of the grave by Jean's brother C. Kent's sister and her family had prepared a luncheon at the church and most everyone made their way there.  I think this food was the best I have ever had at a funeral luncheon.

Here are cousin C and her mother L.  They had to leave right after the graveside.  (Note the man in the suit behind Aunt Lucile. It is Kent's brother and when he arrived at Kent's graveside service last February, my sister leaned into me and quietly said, "My goodness!  Kent has come to his own graveside!"  I had had the same reaction upon seeing him.)

Here are the rest of the Nielson first cousins (minus C--don't know where he was right then.)   Clockwise starting at high noon :o) S, B, C, Patty and D.  Thanks to B's husband D for taking the picture. 

There was such an overlay of stunned sadness at this luncheon, maybe shock at doing this all again so soon.  Maybe it was emanating from me.  I hardly took pictures.  My heart was not in it this time.  I made it a priority to speak with each of Jean's children (except I somehow skipped Scott this time).  I could barely get my words out to offer sympathy to Jean's girls because I kept getting chocked up.  It just did not seem possible--hadn't we done this already? Shouldn't Jean be right here with us like last time? During the luncheon, I sat next to D. I do feel particularly sad for Jean's girls and for D because Jean's death will leave such a hole in their lives.

I made efforts to visit with others but it all seemed so surreal that I was not as talkative as I might usually have been.  And then it was all over, sooner than it seemed possible, and everyone was leaving. 

It is sad to see Jean go, particularly when it feels like she passed away too soon.  However, I also believe there is a reunion going on in heaven with all those who love Jean, such as Kent, her mother and father, our grandparents, and other relatives and friends, including my mother.  President Spencer W. Kimball said: "If we look . . . at mortality as the whole of existence, then pain, sorrow, failure and short life [are] calamity.  But if we look upon life as an eternal thing stretching far into the pre-earth past and on into the eternal post-death future, than all happenings may be put in proper perspective."  Good bye, Jean. Fare you well, 'til we meet again.  And give Mom a hug from me.