A trip of remembrance

This morning I stood in a sandy graveyard covered with spotty patches of grass, and the normal N.C. pine trees in the distance, seeing few familiar faces and wondering if I made the right decision to travel 2 hours away on my day off. My brother had met me at the Bojangles in Lillington at 9am and he brought the directions to the country cemetery outside of Bladenboro.

Our cousin Graham died Sunday of a heart attack. He was 56 years old. Mark and I have probably seen him less than ten times in his adult life, so our memories of him go back to our childhood. He was the youngest of four sons born to our daddy's youngest brother J.E. Uncle J.E. and Aunt Nona and the boys lived with our granddaddy in a big, unpainted, rambling house surrounded by moss-covered trees, a magical place to us.

Graham was a special kid. I'm not sure we children ever heard the words mentally handicapped, but he fell into that category. His brothers and mama watched over him, protected him (Uncle J.E. worked in construction and was away from home often), and we never thought of Graham as being different. He certainly didn't believe he was:)

Today we heard how, as an adult, Graham ministered to so many people. Graham loved everyone:) He was loved in return. He worked with a group in Elizabethtown comprised of special people and they came to honor their friend whom they loved. He was loved by his church family. He loved God. He rang the church bell every Sunday morning. He was an usher. He loved his church family and was concerned for every person.

He loved Power Rangers and Transformers as well:) And I believe Graham was a super hero to his mama, his brothers, and all those who cared for him.

I came away knowing it was worth hearing how well Graham lived; encouraging, comforting words, powerful words.

Loving others, loving God, and being loved, are the highest tributes to be said about a person's life, aren't they?