Tryggare kan ingen vara

At Trinity Lutheran in 56572, it's seat 1D where you will eventually get to sit. You are closest to the deceased. With your life jackets on you come up the aisle following the casket through this throng of people singing hymns and staring at you when Milo points you the wrong way. The boat sways to port. You are confused, not realizing the others in Row 1 need to get in first. Then 1D is finally yours. Jade leaves small Value-Rite packs of tissue at the ends of the pew. You are seated directly under the pulpit.

When you never live together with anybody, legally or otherwise, and you manage to live to the age of ninety-five, only a couple rows of pews will be needed for the family of your niece and nephew. They will have driven miles and will be strangers to the neighbors, caregivers, circle ladies, fellow teachers and ex-students behind. Hugs will be few.

The service will probably be on a Saturday to fit everyone's schedule, in the morning. Lunch will be served prior to interment because of the late afternoon wedding. The husband and wife pastor duo were to preside, but it was Saturday and she was running a half marathon, like pastors do these days, so he held down the fort.

She chose the same hymns her parents had. Plus Psalm 46: "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." Pastor strode to the lectern and pulled out a two page fax from a north suburban Twin Cities Lutheran pastor whose name many recognized as the son of Cecil, the only Trinity preacher ever to become Bishop. Timothy wanted to eulogize his seventh grade English grammar and his Senior High Latin teacher. "She could have taught Latin to the Pope." The deceased smiled inside the white alpha-omega sheet shrouded oak (Don't you dare bury me in a cheap box!) coffin. The Son of the Bishop, a former student, speaking at my funeral, using the skills I taught him.

Born in 56572 in 1909. Graduated in 1927, from Concordia in 1931, taught in Montana 1931-45, in Pelican Rapids 1945-74. The pastor knew this teacher. Feared her, as others did, for being the grammar cop. "She will not be happy that she will not see the Vikings opener tomorrow. Nor that she will not see the Twins make it to the World Series. She was even thinking about buying a computer so she could send and receive email at the age of ninety-five. 'You go girl,' I told her."

The white stretch limo arrived out on the hill west of town at high noon on this clear crisp Saturday followed by the family in Nissan Titans. The Wilbert vault was ready. The Wilbert tent was up to shield from the northwest wind. The undertaker even offered his suitcoat. We laid her to her rest next to her parents. Will the northwest wind rock this woman's boat? Chill her to the bone? This woman who taught school in Wibaux County Montana from 1931 to 1945? This woman's ultimate destination was never ever in doubt, not for a moment. She is in safe harbor. Nobody could be safer.