Not Alone

      Last Friday I attended a funeral in Stanton, Texas, for Darlene Bristow Caffey. It was a grand celebration of a godly woman who, in the pastor’s words, lived well, loved well, and left well. For me, it was a convergence of the deepest longest roots of my life: family, church, and music.

      The Bristows (Darlene’s family) and the Haynes (my mother’s family) grew up together around Ackerly. It isn’t a big place. The most recent census count (2010) credited it with a population of 220. I assume there were a few more back in the Bristow/Haynes years.

      Darlene and my mom were best friends in school. And my uncle, James Haynes, went to school with Jim Bristow from the fourth grade on, and they both eventually served as Best Man in each other’s weddings.

      As for me, I remember the store near Lake Thomas owned by their family, where my grandfather – known to everyone else as Brother Haynes but I called Papa Roy - took me often to buy bait or fishing gear, but mostly to visit with his friend Vernard Bristow. I always drank a cold Coke in a green bottle with crimped metal cap while they talked grownup talk.

      My mission for the afternoon in Stanton was to find Jim Bristow at the funeral and visit with him. I wasn’t sure I would recognize him right away, so after the service ended, I waited in the church foyer watching the family file out looking for a clue. I didn’t need to worry. He found me first.

      As soon as we made eye-contact he made a beeline for me, charging through the crowd and pulled me in for a long hug. He then surprised me by saying, “I love everything you write. I’ve been reading your emails for years.”

      Then Jim drug his wife over, literally pulling Judy away from friends by her arm, and introduced me to her by tracing our family trees back through the Haynes bunch. Her eyes brightened and she said, “Oh, you’re the writer! Jim is always pulling me over and saying, look what Deane’s son wrote.” It was another reminder how people can be close without even knowing.

      We talked for a long time - Mostly, I listened - about family history and our intertwined roots. Judy nudged me and said, “He can go on about this for hours.”

      Later, as I was crossing the street to leave for home, I saw Paul Peterson, funeral director, who was a teenager in the church youth group when my parents were first married and living in Big Spring. My dad was worship leader.

      I told him my connection with the Bristow family, describing all the threads … “Our two families have meant a lot to each other for a long time.”

      Paul said, “And your dad meant a lot to me.”

      The Bristows and Caffeys came to Midland in 2014 for my mom’s funeral, and again in 2017 for my dad’s. And now I was in Stanton for Darlene’s.

      Brene’ Brown wrote, “Funerals matter. Showing up to them matters. And funerals matter not just to the people grieving, but to everyone who is there. The collective pain (and sometimes joy) we experience when gathering to celebrate the end of a life is perhaps one of the most powerful experiences of inextricable connection. It is a ministry of presence. These moments remind us that we are not alone.” (from Braving the Wilderness)

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32