The Final Hurdle

My name is Lloyd Anderson. I was married to the love of my life, Velma, for 25 beautiful years. We had five children. Our oldest, Emily Rose, had been left behind after her parents decided to leave town instead of facing a drug conviction. I’m getting to the point, I promise.

You see, I’ve been dead for the past 10 years. I’ve been watching over my family and the funeral home I left to my daughter, Emily. I caught her sleeping in my office once. I didn’t turn her in to the police; I asked her if she was a runaway. My wife and I took her in as a foster child and then adopted her when we learned her parents had died from an overdose. She’s absolutely kicking ass at running the place.

I got into the funeral business at a young age when my parents contacted my uncle, who had a psychology degree and owned his own funeral home. They had noticed I was doing some strange things with dead animals. I was nine at the time. When I saw a dead animal, I would bury it somewhere peaceful—under a tree or in the woods. If I could, I’d put them in a shoebox with flowers from my mother’s garden. I’d make a cross out of two sticks tied with string. I’d bury them, write a eulogy, and perform a funeral. Sometimes I used my sister’s old stuffed animals as the “family.” My uncle watched me with amazement.

I was named after my uncle. His name was Floyd. My mom didn’t want me to be named “Floyd,” so she just took off the F.

“Hey kiddo, what did you just do over there in the woods?” he asked, curiosity and amazement on his face.

“There was a dead bird. It was a baby, and I don’t know where the mom and dad were, so I gave it a funeral. Everyone and everything should have a funeral,” I told him.

My uncle hugged me and told me he was proud of my compassion. He asked if I was interested in working at a funeral home someday. My answer was an immediate yes. When I was old enough, he let me intern at his funeral home—helping with intake paperwork, learning how to order caskets and supplies, etc. Then he sent me to school after I graduated high school, and I interned with him again during mortuary school to get my hours and experience. When he died, he left me his business since none of his kids were interested.

That’s how I met my Velma.

Velma Walters was a counselor at a local mental health center in Sunbury, PA. They didn’t seem to care about the clients—just status. They only cared about what they could get from her, which was her time. She hated it there. She came into my office one day and asked if she could volunteer as a counselor. She explained the whole situation, and I told her absolutely. Their loss was my gain.

I helped her start her own practice. She was magnificent when working with the loved ones of those who passed. She understood the two parts of a funeral: the first part, when loved ones arrive in shock or numbness; and the second part, when reality hits—the funeral and after, when all the dirt comes out about… EVERYTHING. I introduced her as part of the crew and told families she was a counselor available to talk. If they didn’t want to talk, she asked if they wanted her in the room. If so, she sat quietly and held space. Otherwise, she politely excused herself and worked on paperwork.

There are seven stages of grief, but when it comes to funerals, there are two parts: the initial intake and shock phase, and then the funeral, when reality hits. This could be at the viewing, the funeral itself, or the burial. Not everyone is buried these days—people want natural funerals or cremation, all of which I could do, but now my daughter does. She fucking rocks it.

Anyway, I’m rambling again—one of the things my dear Velma loved about me.

I died 10 years ago from pancreatic cancer. It didn’t take long. It was terminal when they found it. I wasn’t diabetic. I exercised and ate right. Then I wasn’t feeling well. My sugar levels went insane. I passed out, and when I went to the hospital, they asked if I was diabetic. Then they did the CT scan and found it—a mass on my pancreas. The cancer had already metastasized. I made sure my family was protected. The life insurance my wife and I had covered the mortgage if one of us died. I also had other investments and insurances to make sure my wife and family would be taken care of.

While we were in the process of adopting, my wife learned she was pregnant with our daughter Kara. She had Down Syndrome when she was born. Emily Rose took her under her wing. They were inseparable for the longest time. All the kids protected Kara.

There was Andrew, our pastor. He had such faith—even when his family was being extricated from the vehicle after being hit head‑on by a drunk driver. The EMTs and firefighters encouraged him to keep praying. At least that way they knew he was conscious.

Then there was Darla, who was 13 when she was taken away from her parents. She volunteered at a local pet rescue. On Adoption Days, she’d clean kennels, bathe the adoptable dogs, and trim their nails so they’d look good. A lot of animals were adopted because of her. Her parents sent her to grooming school after she graduated high school, and that’s what she does now. The kids are doing great, and I am so proud of who they’ve become.

I have three sisters: Anna, Marlena, and Deena. Deena was the one who let me use her old stuffed animals—after all, it isn’t a funeral without witnesses. She was seven. Anna was 13, and Marlena was 11. Anna always wanted the attention. If it wasn’t about her or under her control, she made it that way. This time, it didn’t work at all.

Before I died, I made sure everything was signed over to the right people. There was no estate for anyone to settle. My beautiful Velma was well taken care of. My kids were grown by the time she passed. They had their own families. Even Kara had someone—Kevin, who has Asperger’s Syndrome. They just clicked. Darla introduced them because he was looking for a dog. Kara helped him pick out Petey, their pitbull mix with a black ring around his eye like the dog from The Little Rascals.

Anna walked into the funeral home like she owned the place. Emily Rose stopped her flat. Anna didn’t know my children. She had no idea they were all adopted except for Kara—the child she once told my wife she should abort. She told Emily Rose she wasn’t “exactly family” because family is blood only. We didn’t want her in our children’s lives, and we made sure of it.

“I need to make plans for my sister‑in‑law’s funeral,” Anna said, wiping her eyes.

Emily Rose knew exactly who she was but went along with it until she said who the funeral was for.

“Okay,” Emily said, showing her into the office. “What’s her name?”

“It’s for my sister‑in‑law, Velma Anderson. She passed away last night, and her children asked me to come in and start the process,” Anna said, wiping another nonexistent tear.

“Well, miss, here is where I politely ask you to leave,” Emily said, pointing to the door.

“Well, I was only trying to help the family,” Anna scoffed.

“Did you not notice any of the certificates on the wall, as well as the dedication certificate when you walked through the door?” Emily asked.

“No. Why does that matter?” Anna huffed, hands on her hips.

“Because I’m her daughter. This was my dad’s funeral home, and now it’s mine. The funeral is taken care of,” Emily said with an irritated sigh. “Of course you’re invited to the funeral because you’re family, but everything is handled.”

“What about the estate?” Anna asked.

“That’s taken care of too,” Emily said, not playing her game.

“The estate and probate process is so complicated. I will be the one walking you through it,” Anna insisted.

Emily simply said, “We’ll see you at the funeral. Have a nice day,” and closed the door.

Anna was just like my mom—had to have attention, knew everything, clueless about most things. She loved being the center of attention unless she was in trouble. Then she used the rest of us as scapegoats. She’d get my siblings in trouble for things she did. So we set traps for her.

She liked sneaking out. She took our mom’s car to go on a date and told each of us something different so we’d cover for her. When Mom asked what was going on, we told her the truth. Mom called the police and reported her car stolen by her daughter. They brought Anna home in handcuffs.

She never forgave me. I didn’t care.

That same day, Anna went to a lawyer’s office to start probate, but without a death certificate, she was asked to leave.

Strike two.

The day of Velma’s funeral, it rained—hard. A series of storms rolled through. The good news was she was being cremated. We both chose smoking when it came to our bodies. Only Velma would produce that kind of weather. She loved storms.

I watched my family show up early to help Emily Rose with decorations, flowers, and seating. They did a beautiful job. Kara and Kevin brought Petey. They don’t have children because Kara has reproductive issues. Andrew practiced his eulogy in the office, trying not to cry. Elliot and his kids added pictures to the memory board. Darla kept the coffee and drinks stocked. They were the calm before the storm Anna was about to stir up.

Anna arrived in all black, weeping—performing beautifully, in the only way she knew how. She had a way of working a room.

My other sisters, Marlena and Deena, stayed close with Velma, especially after my death. I’m glad she had them. Deena arrived with her family, each writing something about Velma. Marlena, being her ginger self, showed up sunburned. They’d been on vacation when they got the call she was in the hospital. They knew Anna would pull something and were ready.

The family watched as Anna made a dramatic walk to the casket. She gently touched Velma’s hand and sniffed. Marlena looked at Deena and rolled her eyes.

“What is this bitch doing?” Marlena whispered.

“She’s performing,” Deena chuckled. “It might be her best yet.”

Emily Rose walked over. “Everything okay over here?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Deena said, trying not to laugh. “We’re just watching our sister’s performance.”

Emily smiled and put a hand on Deena’s shoulder. “It’s okay to laugh. My mom would’ve loved that. She loved you. She despised Anna.” She handed her a box of tissues.

They watched as Anna leaned over the casket. “Oh Velma, I’m going to miss you.”

“And here we go,” Elliot said behind her.

“What?” Anna sniffed. “I loved your mom.”

Elliot looked down and noticed his mother’s wedding band and engagement ring were missing.

Anna looked down, then at Elliot. “It wasn’t me,” she said, guarding her purse.

“Hey Derrick, can you come here?” Elliot called.

Derrick Winters, a police detective for Robbery Homicide, walked over. He’d been warned about Anna.

“She took my mother’s rings,” Elliot said.

“Are you sure?” Derrick asked.

“She was the first one up here, and she’s guarding her purse,” Elliot said, stepping in front of her.

Derrick showed his badge and escorted her to Emily’s office. Emily and Elliot followed. I followed too—I had to see this.

“Please empty your purse,” Derrick said. “Or I can take you out in handcuffs in front of everyone.”

Anna huffed and dumped her purse onto the desk. Out fell Velma’s jewelry—and several stolen phones and belongings.

“What’s the problem? She didn’t need it anymore. It’s just jewelry,” Anna said as Derrick cuffed her.

Strike three.

The police arrived, paid respects at Velma’s casket, then walked into the office and read Anna her rights. They escorted her through the funeral home to the cruiser outside, lights flashing.

I laughed harder than I thought a spirit could laugh.

When the police car left, everyone clapped and laughed.

Talk about breaking the tension in a room. DAMN.

Velma would’ve loved seeing that. I’ll have to tell her all about it when I see her again.

Velma had something called Broken Heart Syndrome after I died. My death didn’t just break her heart—it weakened it. I’d seen every kind of grief imaginable, but never what my own death did to her. All I could do was stay. Hold the pieces together from the other side. Whisper to Emily when she looked distressed. She didn’t hear me at first, but eventually she did. She’d smile, and her shoulders would drop.

At night, Velma would pray for me. I always answered by brushing her hair from her forehead and kissing her goodnight.

“Thanks for the help, Dad,” Emily would say, blowing a kiss into the air. She never saw me catch them.

I was there at the hospital when Velma took her last breath. I knew when she was ready, she’d find me. I didn’t see her soul rise like the others. I’d visited her days before. She had questions about how it felt to take that last breath. I sat with her for hours. She had congestive heart failure. Her heart couldn’t handle it anymore. She was 65.

I stayed to watch over all of them. Now that my sweet Velma is joining me, we’ll be going wherever people go when they die and no longer need to watch over anyone on this plane.

I just need to get them through one more hurdle. One more giant hill before I go—the funeral. The loss of their dear sweet mother.

If I had tears, I would cry. Both from laughter and grief. Can a spirit even grieve?

That beautiful soul was my life. And standing here now, watching her cross over, I finally understand something I never could while alive.

“I think I understand now,” I said.

“Understand what?” Velma asked from behind me.

I turned, and there she was—whole, steady, glowing the way she used to when she figured something out before I did.

“I think I understand how a person’s heart breaks when someone they love dies.”

Velma walked up and wrapped her arms around me, the same way she always did when I reached an emotional realization years late. She rubbed her nose against mine—that soft little nuzzle—and kissed me gently.

“I love you, Lloyd Anderson,” she whispered, “and I will love you for the rest of our eternity.”

She took my hand and intertwined her fingers with mine.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

***This story is dedicated to my dear parents. Love and miss you, Mom & Dad.***