A minister was asked to conduct the funeral of a man, aged 65, Harry by name, the last two years of whose life had been spent in the increasingly unequal struggle against cancer, and who, for the most part of these two years, had been nursed at home gently and devotedly by his wife Jean.
In preparation for the funeral the minister spent an evening chatting to the new widow, getting from her a flavour of their 47 years of married life. She told the story of a teenage romance; how when they married he was only 19 years old. He was an apprentice in the shipyards, she was just a messenger girl. Married life began in a room and kitchen in her in-laws house. They lost one son as a little child, but their other son had thrived and grown and prospered and given her and her husband the joy of being grandparents.
She told how her husband had loved his work (he worked in the shipyards all his days), he loved the camaraderie; he had been a good trades unionist. He enjoyed the simple pleasures of a pint, a wee flutter on a Saturday and going to the game with his mates. In his later years he loved watching the snooker on the telly. Most of all, she said, though he was no saint, none of us are, he was a good man and a good father. They told me I was daft getting married at 17, but they were wrong, I’d do it all over again if I got the chance.
Harry’s funeral took place on a Saturday morning and was one of these ‘good funerals’, thanksgiving was genuine and the dignity and worth of the deceased was evident to all.
After the funeral service Jean asked the minister if he was taking his boy to the match that afternoon. He said no, he couldn’t because he had a wedding to conduct at 3 o’clock. “A wedding,” she said with a sigh, “Aw, that’s nice.” Then after seeming to think about it for a while she said, “Would you tell the bride that I wish her all the best, and tell her if she’s as lucky as me, she’ll be all right.”
At the wedding service the minister told the young bride of the old widow’s wishes for her. The bride cried and afterwards said that she couldn’t imagine a nicer greeting on her wedding day. She then asked the minister if he would take her bouquet after the wedding up to the widow.
This the minister was delighted to do. Then it was Jean’s turn to shed a tear of joy. The bride and the widow, joined together in the shared joy of love. Even though they never met, they made each other’s day.
