Most of you are familiar with our memorial videos—the ones that contain X number of pictures that usually have a nice, appropriate-to-the-person background accompanied by some lovely, non-copyrighted music.  They’re usually played during the visitation, sometimes during the service, and hopefully for years afterward in someone’s home.

What you may not know is, at least in Savannah, we watch that video before it’s ever played for the family and friends.  We try to watch for duplicate pictures.  We try to be certain all of them are turned correctly.  And we certainly try to be sure they are all family-friendly.  That last one isn’t usually a problem, but you just never know when it might be.

This past Sunday I was in the front office working on accounts receivable when the nice folks who compile the videos for us delivered one.  Since I was the only employee not doing my best impersonation of a chicken with its head cut off, I sat back down at the computer, opened the disc drive, inserted the DVD, and managed to click on all the right spots.  The music started to play, the title screen came up, and I began my journey through someone else’s life.

Some families will meticulously arrange their pictures chronologically while others will bring them to us in no particular order.  These folks were the latter of the two, so color pictures from more recent years were occasionally interrupted by the black and white and gray tones of a bygone era.  She had been a striking young woman with dark hair and darker eyes, tall and slender . . . but like a lot of the rest of us, the passing years had lightened her hair and added weight to her frame.  But you could still see the young girl in her eyes as she played with her grandchildren, as she posed for the wedding photos and tolerated the candid shots of her in the middle of something she loved. Even as she greeted those who came to spend time with her in the nursing home, the smile would be there, shining through her eyes.

As I sat, watching the pictures glide from scene to scene, I was particularly drawn to one.  She and her husband were sitting side by side in a swing, his arm draped around her shoulders, her hand gently resting on his knee.  That one photo spoke volumes about the closeness between them . . . of the comfort and ease they found in each other’s presence.  It seemed so natural that I believe reaching for one another had been a constant throughout their time together. That time stretched just a few months beyond 39 years.  Then Death separated them for almost another 28.

When the video ends we always watch for just a minute more, to be certain it will loop and begin again.  I did . . . and it did . . . so I reached for the mouse to stop the story, and pushed the button on the drive so the door would pop open and release its prisoner.  And then I sat, quietly looking at the monitor, thinking about this woman I’d never met.  Her relatively normal existence on this planet seemed quite remarkable to me.  Through all of those pictures, representing all of those years, her time here seemed to have been filled with love and laughter, with family and friends, with hard work and good times and serving those around her . . . a remarkable life lived by a remarkable woman.

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.

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