At the funeral a day later, we were going through the graveside ceremony and it came time to pour the dirt onto the casket. Jews throw dirt on the casket however we use the back of the shovel to show reluctance. My uncle started and well…he did it the wrong way, with the shovel right side up. I didn’t notice until he had finished for the action hadn’t registered at that moment for I was lost in my grief. However, after my uncle did it the wrong way then all the rest of my family started doing it the wrong way too! It was my turn to put dirt on the coffin and I froze. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me and I couldn’t move an inch. I shook my head, for I was panicking and wanted to speak but couldn’t. Luckily my older cousin, realizing what was happening came to my rescue and she whispered in my ear, “If anything do it for Grandma.” That gave me strength and I put dirt on the casket-the wrong way.
Finally we gave the shovel to a man, a christian man who was a friend of my grandmothers.
THIS GUYS FLIPS THE SHOVEL AROUND AND PUTS DIRT ON THE CASKET-THE RIGHT WAY!
It wasn’t until after we all had a laugh about it.
I think Grandma would have laughed too.

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Here is what she wrote:
“Luke, I can’t really tell you in so many words what you meant to me over this past year. All I know is that your kindness and compassion in helping me create the urn of mine and my husband’s dreams was the wisest choice I ever made. It was such a hard time for me, as such times usually are for people, and with a sense of calm and patience you explained things to me in a way I could understand and let me feel like I was part of the process. I was doing SOMETHING in the wake of my husband’s death. It made me feel useful and I needed that badly right then. I am so very proud of our creation and I recommend you to anyone needing your kinds of services. I wish there was more I could do for you after all you have done for me.”

I have attached a photo of the urn Luke created and thought wouldn’t it be nice for other people to know about this idea… most urns come from China and are mass produced. It is nice to know that there are still artists who take a piece of wood and carve and sculpt an incredible image that can last a lifetime. Thank you!

Kate Higgins

and if you are interested in my husband’s work: www.custom-wood-urns.com

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I have a personal interest in this one. Not because I knew any of these men, but because, first, I am the widow of an industrial firefighter and first responder who died suddenly, and second, because the tragedy happened in my state, just 125 miles from my home, and all Arizonans have mourned these past 9 days.

From the beginning of this televised service, when On Eagles’ Wings was sung by a choir of “regular people with beautiful voices,” as one of my friends described them, through the many eulogies spoken by fire service officials, firefighters, and politicians (among them VP Biden and Gov. Brewer), to the prayers and scriptures, the ringing 19 times of the last watch bell, the presentation of flags and pulaski tools and IAFF medals of honor to the families, the playing of bagpipes, the cries of “All uniformed personnel, please rise!” before the Final Alarm, the military flyover in “missing man” formation – and the memorable view of a somber line of 19 pairs of boots, each topped by a firefighter’s coat, a helmet, and a pulaski – well, I couldn’t help but weep as if I’d been there in person, experiencing what the families felt, and feeling the love of fellow firefighter families and friends.

Ordinary people living ordinary lives and giving their lives in order to protect the lives and property of others – that’s who those Hotshots were and what they did. They were honored by thousands of mourners in an extraordinary way. I’m very grateful to have been able to experience the service from 125 miles away and mourn with those families. I hope they felt the love sent their way from Maricopa, Arizona.

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Ann M., Westbury, New York

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While everyone was seated in the funeral home chapel, I waited outside for the minister. The funeral director got increasingly nervous as we neared start time. When it was obvious he was late, I said no problem, we’ll just do this ourselves (that was the PR person in me thinking solve the crisis!). We mapped out the agenda. Late almost 15 minutes after start time, I walked in the chapel, up the aisle, and knelt before my mother, explained the situation, and told her it would be fine. I asked my brother to join me, and we did the service ourselves. I explained the situation, expressed hope the minister was ok (we didn’t know then where he was) and asked my brother to open in prayer. Towards the end of the service, my mother whispered to me that it was the “best funeral she’d ever been to” and many friends and family said the same. My oldest friend posted on his Facebook: “It seems there’s no way you can say you’ve attended a “good funeral”, so saying you attended the “best funeral ever” certainly sounds wrong. But, that turned out to be case today…”

For some families, this would have been a disaster situation. For us, it was a blessing.

Scott

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