Today I went to a memorial service, for a woman who died at age 49, quite suddenly. She was the daughter of a friend. She was also a pillar of the community – played in the local concert banb – 39 instruments, was a member of the Butte Fire Department, and worked for the Mat-Su Borough Planning Commission.

I wasn’t going to go to the memorial service, but my friend Cathy Stone, who is the BLBP artist in residence, called and said she was going to go, so I decided to go with her.

My teacher Donald Murray lost a daughter and told those of us in his class that a true sign of a writer is that this individual (and he was thinking of himself) in their heads, take it all in when something like this happens.

I thought of this when I entered the Lazy Mountain Bible Church. I put my mind on record. I did not foresee writing about this event because as is often the case, it seemed like it would be too difficult. There were too many details and the prospect of putting these details together in a coherent fashion seemed to me to be an impossibility.

I still feel this way. But in this dispatch, I can take a stab at this. The Lazy Mountain Bible Church congregation is evangelical. And so is the family of the woman whose daughter died. So the belief is that when you die, you join Jesus and life ceases to be a struggle. It is also believed that if you accept Jesus as your lord, God, and savior, and you die, that you are now free of earthly pain and suffering.

You are also buried, the white coffin with the gold handles attested to this. The deceased tenor saxophone rested next to the coffin – the light bounced off the shiny metal.

There were hymns. A sister spoke first – she was a good writer and took us down memory lane. She too believed her sister was now with Jesus, and repeatedly said this. Then the woman’s brother spoke. He was tall, used a lot of arm gestures, and spoke as would an evangelical. He went on and on and on, about his sister, her love of Jesus, her incredible focus. At one point, I closed my eyes because I was tired and hoped to get a nap in, and he actually said that, “We all need to open our eyes. “Was this a coincidence?

I became more attentive when he talked about the why, when, where, and how of the upcoming rapture, and made a mental note to ask Cathy if this was something she believed in.

After singing more hymns and listening (again) to the Mat-Su Concert Band play “Oh When the Saints Come Marching in,” all ate lunch in the fellowship hall. There was a lot of food, but the carpet was such that it was hard to pull the chairs away from the table. The long table that I sat at had a Lego table piece, of a guitar and flowers.

When, finally, we got outside, I let Cathy start the conversation. She quickly answered my unspoken questions, the first being what did she think about the brother’s performance? She thought what I thought, that he’d gone on a little long. And no, she does not believe in the rapture.

I returned to the hotel. The high schoolers were cleaning and very excited about the books that belonged to the deceased. I told them they could take as many as they wished.

There. I could, but most likely will not, add additional details to this dispatch.