Mother’s Day in 2008 rolled around just like it always had; the date was May 11 ^th and, as usual, I was standing in the card aisle at Wal-Mart a few days before, trying to find an appropriate card before they were so picked over that only the sucky ones were left with no envelopes to match.  This year was very different though.  This year my mother had beaten my father to Death on May 1—not literally but sequentially.  Everyone who knew them firmly believed my father would be the first to go for though her health had declined significantly over the past few years, Death did not seem to be on my mother’s horizon, much less right outside the door.  Her funeral had taken place just a few days prior to my Wally-World run; the dirt hadn’t even settled good at the cemetery.

So why was I standing in the card aisle, vacantly staring at the Mother’s Day cards?  Because I am the purchaser of cards for our family.  My husband, being a man, does not often see the need of both a card and a gift.  I, on the other hand, believe the card to be the most important part . . . unless, of course, you just grab the first one you come to and head to the nearest cashier.   And my mother-in-law was still very much alive and very much deserving of an appropriate card to celebrate her contributions to our lives and to express our gratitude for said contributions.

I can’t begin to tell you how odd the entire process seemed.  There should be two cards.  There had always been two cards.  Sometimes I cheated and bought the same card for both my mother and my mother-in-law, but I have always been somewhat picky about the wording on the cards I give and when I would find one that satisfied my high standards I was usually smart enough to realize the odds of finding a second one were slim and none.  I refuse to buy the cheesy ones and I shy away from those that rhyme.  They usually sound contrived and forced . . . and cheesy . . . so they have no chance whatsoever of qualifying for a one-way ticket to my house.

But this time, there would be only one.  From then until some unknown point in the future, there would be only one.  And to this day, the entire process still seems so very odd—and sad in a way.  The simple act of selecting only one card for a very special day brings a flood of memories—and sometimes a few tears. It’s a feeling that will probably never completely go away, and I’m okay with that.  It just reminds me of how dearly I was loved and how blessed I truly am.

The post Just One Card appeared first on Shackelford Funeral Directors | Blog.