I slept…through the night…peaceful, restful sleep. When I awoke naturally, I felt momentarily discombobulated. Then I remembered.

Less than ten hours ago, Daddy had gone home to heaven and I was there to see him depart. There was no grief spilling out from my emotions; but there was still an aura of wonder. I closed my eyes and replayed in my mind every second of Daddy’s home-going. I was still in awe. “Thank you, Lord, for allowing me to be there; to see Daddy entering Heaven.”

I got up, showered and dressed. The sisters were coming over, along with a representative from the funeral home. Details of the service would be arranged. There were telephone calls to make and receive; friends and family to greet. A kind man from Hospice came mid-morning to remove the hospital bed and other caregiving equipment that had made the last month so much easier.

As I looked around the newly uncluttered bedroom – the same room where Mama had died eight years earlier – I decided then and there it was to become our family room. Positioned at the front of the house, just off the main entry, it was in a good location. One window looked out over the front porch; the other over Mother’s ancient but still blooming lilac bush. 

There would be no morbid memories or silly illusions about it being a room of death; oh, no. My dear parents, both of whom had expressed their desire to live out their last days at home, had done just that in this room. That it was where they left their earthly lives to embark on their eternal ones rendered it a place that would be filled with joy!

To begin the room’s transformation, I rearranged the furniture, moving in an extra dining table and opening it up for guests for the after-funeral meal. Later we added French doors and a screened porch off the south side of the room, being careful not to encroach on the lilac bush. My only regret was that I had not been able to do this when Mama and Daddy were living. Each Wednesday when our family crowds into our family room for prayer and Bible study, I always think of how pleased Daddy would be to know we are using our home well.

The funeral was scheduled for Thursday morning at 11:00 a.m. The record-breaking snowfall began late Wednesday night. We woke up to almost blizzard conditions and considered postponing the funeral.

Edna Holshouser, the former pastor’s wife who had been such a blessing to our family, was Daddy’s choice to speak and sing at his funeral. When we were notified she was on her way after hiring a driver to bring her from Roanoke, Virginia, a one hundred twenty mile stretch of snow-covered highways, we decided the funeral would be held as planned. There had been numerous visitors at the viewing on Wednesday night, but far fewer friends and relatives were able to attend the funeral because of the weather. That Sister Holshouser was there with her eloquent tribute and home-going message as well as to sing Coronation Day to her own accordion accompaniment made everything okay.

Our son Benjamin and his wife Jessica had arrived home from Missouri on Wednesday evening. They sang Daddy’s unofficial theme song, I Love to Tell the Story. The congregation joined together in What a Day that Will Be and When We All Get to Heaven. In other words, as the title of the program read, this was truly A Celebration of the Life and Home-going of J. Boyd Wright.

Interment was to be at South Fork Friends Church, a twenty-five mile drive from Daddy’s Wesleyan church in downtown Burlington. Here he would be laid to rest beside Mama. The gravestone was already in place, with their names, dates of births and Mama’s date of death. All that was lacking was the date, January 20, 2003. 

The roads were in terrible condition, so we encouraged guests not to try and drive to the cemetery. When the immediate family arrived after an hour or so of careful maneuvering on the mostly two-lane country roads, we were greeted by the news that Daddy’s body had already been placed beside Mama’s. To this day I am not sure what happened, but I recall someone telling me that there was miscommunication; the funeral home thought no one was coming to the cemetery, so they went ahead with the burial. Our family gathered and prayed, then returned to the home place for one of those indescribable after-funeral Southern dinners. Sister Holshouser spent several hours with us before her driver suggested they return home before dark.

Fatigue must have been setting in that evening…I have few recollections. However, two memories are distinct. My heart was at peace. Before going to bed, I looked into Daddy’s room – our new family room – and thought to myself:

“I am no longer a caregiver. What now?”

Following is the biographical information from the program at Daddy’s celebration:

J. Boyd Wright was born September 30, 1911, to Julius Clay and Sallie Murchison Wright. Three of his brothers – Leland, Wink and Joe – preceded him in death, as did his two sisters, Netttie and Grace. His youngest brother, J.C., and his wife Sara, still live in the home-place near Liberty.

He accepted Jesus Christ as his Savior at an early age. His mother died in 1920, and his father later married Mattie Elerick, who had been a missionary to India. After her death in 1932, his father married Gertrude Jones.

He graduated from Sylvan High School and went to work in the Belmont Hosiery Mill where he met Olive Rodema Zachary. They were married on October 18, 1936. Their only son, Wilbur Boyd, was stillborn on November 6, 1937. In 1939, Boyd and Olive bought a 200-acre farm with an old farmhouse and outbuildings in Southern Alamance County for $4,000. Later he would tell his family that the first time he saw that house, while riding down a dirt road (now Boyd Wright Road) with his brothers, the Lord spoke to him and told him he would live there someday. Boyd and Olive reared their five daughters – Elizabeth, Rodema, Rachel, Anna and Ruth – on that farm.

When he was laid-off from the hosiery mill in 1957, Boyd began farming. He raised pigs, cows, and produced bountiful vegetable gardens, but his main farm interest was chickens. Before retiring at age 75, he had built three large chicken houses that enabled him to keep 20,000 chickens. He was always a hard worker and generous with the fruit of his labors.

He was a charter member of the First Wesleyan Church and since 1954 had consistently supported and attended the church. He attended until December 2002. He served on the church board in the 1950’s and as secretary of the Men’s Bible class for many years. Perhaps his greatest contribution was his godly life. He exhibited a quite and gentle spirit, yet was bold in his testimony, both at church and to the lost and dying.

Boyd was a kind and loving husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and friend. He never regretted the sacrifices he made to send all of his daughters to Christian school. He loved reading the Bible and led his family in nightly devotions. He enjoyed visiting shut-ins where he would read the Bible and pray. In doing this, he lead at least forty people to the Lord.

After Olive died, he often expressed the desire to “go home to heaven.” He lived a full, wonderful life of ninety-one years and three months.

Thank you for joining us today as we celebrate the godly life and home-going of J. Boyd Wright.