Sydney Blue
It was about 6 years ago when we received an out of state call about a young girl, 13, to be exact, who died. She would be flown into Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport and then we would handle all of the funeral arrangements.
I remember very vividly her mother and the photos she brought with to plan her baby's funeral. Her daughter had been ill off and on most of her life but as she shared the photos I saw a very spunky and full of life girl. She liked to dye her hair all sorts of colors and paint her nails blue; blue was her favorite color. She had the most beautiful smile and spirit for that matter. "Nothing slowed her down," is what her mother had said. When it came time to pick out her casket, we came across "Sydney Blue," an 18 gauge metal casket. Batesville casket company probably didn't do much planning when they came up with the description. They didn't know that one day a beautiful girl named Sydney, whose favorite color was blue, would be buried in it. All of the irony struck me like a head on collision.
Every time I flip through the Batesville catalog and thumb through the 18 gauge metal caskets, I think of Sydney Blue. I see her face and remember her mother saying that the whole thing didn't seem real because she looked like she was asleep; she didn't look dead.
Little could I tell her mother at the time that I agreed. A complete stranger, a child, someone I never knew, is a part of me now. Sydney Blue.
I remember very vividly her mother and the photos she brought with to plan her baby's funeral. Her daughter had been ill off and on most of her life but as she shared the photos I saw a very spunky and full of life girl. She liked to dye her hair all sorts of colors and paint her nails blue; blue was her favorite color. She had the most beautiful smile and spirit for that matter. "Nothing slowed her down," is what her mother had said. When it came time to pick out her casket, we came across "Sydney Blue," an 18 gauge metal casket. Batesville casket company probably didn't do much planning when they came up with the description. They didn't know that one day a beautiful girl named Sydney, whose favorite color was blue, would be buried in it. All of the irony struck me like a head on collision.
Every time I flip through the Batesville catalog and thumb through the 18 gauge metal caskets, I think of Sydney Blue. I see her face and remember her mother saying that the whole thing didn't seem real because she looked like she was asleep; she didn't look dead.
Little could I tell her mother at the time that I agreed. A complete stranger, a child, someone I never knew, is a part of me now. Sydney Blue.
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