From My Journal

August 31, 1992

My grandmother, Thelma McRoberts, died on August 18th - two weeks ago tomorrow. Her death constitutes the first loss in what I will call my immediate childhood family.

My grandmother was meekness personified, and for a quiet person who possessed so little, she gave an incredible amount of love and service to her family and friends.

My brother, Matt... Gave the sermon at her funeral - and did a fine job I might add - and I was amazed that he could get through it without getting choked up. At the end of the service as we passed by the casket... I stopped to shake my brother's hand. He began to say something... But his voice caught in his throat. I wish I had hugged him... But that's something we don't do.

Bill, Andrew, and I... Along with three others... Carried my grandmother to the hearse... And later... Carried her to her grave site. But it is only today that I wonder... How many times did she carry me?