In every parent’s life you come to the point of deciding when to take your children to funerals. Sometimes this decision is made for you if the deceased person is a close relative and the child needs to go in order to have closure. Sometimes the choice to take the child to the funeral is optional; the deceased is not related and there are no close ties with your children. However, eventually, a close relative will die and the children need to be prepared to deal with death.
For our family, the scriptures dictate the parameters of the “hereafter” and the “state of the dead”. But I was apprehensive about dealing with my children’s emotions of standing in front of the casket. I had been protecting them from what I perceived as a “dead body” trauma. So, I did not take them to funerals of non-relatives and even some relatives. My Mom kept telling me I was wrong to shelter them because they were five and six years of age and death was a part of life. Read more
My husband Floyd and I, on short notice, planned a trip to the Thumb area in Michigan with good friends Diana and Stuart. They were cyclists and Floyd and I had new bikes; that was about all we had in common on the bicycle thing. Anyway, I had a work trip to Washington, D.C. that preceded the biking trip.
Stuart and Diana
My mom begged us not to go to the Thumb. It was well known to be “militant territory” in Michigan. Read more
Floyd is an easy going guy. We have known each other since we were 5 or 6 years of age. I had NEVER seen him angry at me or anyone else. He might have gotten a little agitated with someone, but nothing more than that was witnessed by me. Floyd had such a wonderful character that my Mom and Dad would take his side before they had even heard my side of the story.
Shar is the girl watching her Grandfather escort her Aunt in the marriage to Floyd’s Uncle.
We lived on the West Side of Detroit in a four family flat. My Mother and Father owned the building and rented us the upstairs flat across from theirs. Two other families were renting the two flats downstairs.
Floyd (right) and his best friend in our neighborhood in Detroit.
About two months into our marriage, early one morning, Floyd and I were having an argument and I said something in a domineering tone. Floyd stopped in his tracks and looked me square in the eyes and said,
“You don’t talk to me that way! I’m your husband!”
His tone and seriousness shocked me. I started to cry. I mean boo-hoo-hoo, wailing crying. I am a bit dramatic, so I ran out of our flat and into my Mom and Dad’s apartment which was across the hall. Read more