"Hayden," Mrs. Butcher says, taking my hand into her tiny shaking age spotted hand. "I cannot thank you enough for all you've done."
I smile at her, gently squeezing her hand in return. "It's been my pleasure to work with you and your family." I say. "Mr. Butcher was so very loved by so many in this community."
Her eyes go wet and her tremors get a little stronger as her daughter puts her arm around her shoulders. "He really was." Her daughter agrees. "Please take these as a token of our gratitude." She takes a large bouquet of mixed flowers from her husband and passes them over to me.
I release Mrs. Butcher's hand and take the flowers, watching Mrs. Butcher blot at her red rimmed eyes with a tissue.
"It's really no trouble." I tell them all. "The service was truly beautiful."
"It was, wasn't it?" Mrs.Butcher whispers under her shaking breath. "He would have...he would have been proud of..."
I turn to set the flowers on the front desk behind me and I reach out to give her a hug, feeling her fragile body quiver in my hold. "It was all you." I tell her quietly. "Your love for each other is what was on display today and the life he got to live with you at his side. He'd be proud of what you brought to this day in remembrance of him."
Her little arms squeeze onto me and I sigh into her embrace. She is shrunken with age, her body bent into itself but the squeeze she manages to give is strong.
As she steps back I can still see the remnants of who she used to be. I see the young vivacious women I saw in all of the pictures from the slide show we'd put together to play at her husbands funeral service.
We spent hours piecing together the story of his life for everyone to admire and as I look at her, I swear I can see her young husband looking down at her with that same smile he had in the photo from their wedding day.
"He's with me always." She says softly, as if she can see him here with us too.
I nod to her and we say our goodbyes as her daughter and son in law help her out of the memorial home and out into the black sedan waiting out front.
I watch after them until they've pulled away before I finally let my shoulders fall and my mask of strength slip off.
I turn and look down at the flowers on my desk. They're vibrant pinks and purples and yellows. They're beautiful. Just like this day has been.
And just like this day, though beautiful, there is something about flowers that is inherently sad.
Like our lives, they're beautiful and striking and full of wonder. How they start as a tiny seed and slowly beat the odds to grow and change and bloom into this gorgeous display.
But all too soon, those soft petals will begin to wither and fall away. The stems will slacken and sink and the flower will become dry and eventually, give in.
Flowers have always struck me as beautiful in a cutting way. They remind me how short life can be, and how easily it fades away.
"They were very pleased with you." Shelia surprises me coming out of the funeral hall.
"They were pleased." I agree. It wasn't just me that made this day. So many hands went into making today something special for the Butcher family and all of their friends.
"You did a lot." Shelia reminds me, pursing her lips and looking at me over the top of her reading glasses with that knowing look of hers. "However," she says cocking her head to the side. "Aren't you going to be late?"
I still, searching my messy desk top for my phone.
I find it beneath a scheduling book and tap the screen to see she's correct. I also see a new text, but I don't read beyond the name of the sender.
