by Beth Saadati
It was a gathering I’d neither expected—nor wanted—to host.
From 5-9 p.m. the Mackey Mortuary visitation line refused to
end. Truth be told, I didn’t want it to. In order to stand, I needed the
comforting presence of family and friends.
One after another they paused then passed by. From Miracle
Hill Ministries, where my husband worked. The places where I taught. City Church.
My daughter’s schools. Jenna’s extra-curricular activities—orchestra, Awana,
homeschool co-op, Upward and rec-league sports. And, at the end, the entire
Southside High School marching band.
Beautiful faces met my gaze with unspoken questions and
tears. With tenderness, “I’m sorry” was said again and again. A scent-blend of
perfume and cologne lingered on my clothes as I cherished the warmth of held
hands and hugs.
And I cried when a friend whispered the words I’d begun to
doubt: “You were a good mom.”
But the unexpected occurred when John Burdick—Sterling
School’s science teacher everyone loved, whom Jenna had confided in and
considered a friend—and his wife, Kathy, stood there.
