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honor of being asked by families to be a pallbearer at a loved ones funeral. As I was with Cora, the honor was to be asked, but there’s no honor in dying so horribly or so young. Cora was only 63 and could’ve lived may more years. I’ve lost not only a cousin, but a friend. We’d often talk two hours or more on the telephone or when I’d visit. She was constant, never loud or boisterous.
She, though, never a member of any church, attended and held to the doctrines of the Primitive Baptist. In her last hours, racked with pain, actually all during her last days, she bore all with grace. I never heard her curse or rant. Her words on Wednesday, constantly, were Lord have mercy. I feel He did when He took her from her horrible disease and pain.
Moments before the final words were spoken ‘er you lay upon the bier,
On that sultry August day,
There came a cooling, gentle breeze across the hill,
Pausing ever so quickly as it blew as quickly away.
Then there was short of silence, no, a pause—so quiet and still,
And echoing all about so everyone could hear,
A hawk, circling above, it’s call eyrie and shrill.
An impression came to my mind,
That this could be nothing but your spirit released from its Earthly confines.
Sailing now heavenward, calling out from on high,
Oh! How sweet to die.
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