07/12/2013

   There were six of us who walked into the mortuary office at our scheduled appointment time: myself, my wife, her sister, my mom, my best friend, and our 10-year old daughter, Carly, who had insisted on going with us. She said she wanted to make sure we did things in a way that Curtis would have liked. I'd always called her my little rosebud, but she would prove through all of this terrible time for us to be the toughest flower I'd ever seen-a true steel magnolia. She later said it had helped her to feel like she was a part of things-to feel like she was there for her brother. We all entered the office and were greeted  by a mortuary counselor. He asked us to tell him how he could be of service. We briefly outlined our circumstances. He was very sensitive and caring, yet businesslike at the same time. I kept looking around to see if anyone would notice if I went screaming out of the room. I really did not want to be doing this, but sometimes in life we aren't given a choice about things. This was certainly something we would never in a million years have chosen to have happen to us, but here it was. As we were discussing the many things we needed to consider and what our many options were, I remember thinking that if this was truly to be the last thing we could ever do for our son, I wanted it to be done right. If he was really gone, that meant he would never have a graduation ceremony, or a wedding or another birthday party. I wanted his funeral services to be memorable. I wanted them to match the kind of blazing personality and spirit that had marked his life. I wasn't really sure at the time what that meant or exactly how to do it, but I hoped it would all somehow come together as a fitting tribute to our wonderful son.