Growing up in Newnan if it was your time to take the midnight train to glory, not Georgia (sorry Glady's and pass my apology along to the Pip's, won't you) your choice was clear. Hillcrest or Mckoon's funeral home. Both establishments were known for their high quality of service and were housed in some of the most iconic homes the region had to offer. In fact, some would say, at night if the moon was full, you could see on their porches Rhett, Scarlett, and even Miss Daisy if Hoke had not picked her up yet for a drive, rocking in their chairs, drinking sweet tea, and talking about the recent unpleasantries.

Well, at 13 years of age, for a summer job, I was hired on at Hillcrest to do a little of this, that, and the other. During that summer I also played on a little league baseball team sponsored by Lindsey Realty. I played catcher because I was short, chubby, and not the quickest of humans. All you have to do as a catcher, my coach said, was stop the pitch with your open glove as the ball comes over the plate. I learned from experience you could also stop the pitch with your chest protector, mask, shin guard and protective cup. The latter is not highly recommended.

One Saturday with our baseball coach out of town, I invited our Lindsey's baseball team to practice on the sprawling front lawn of Hillcrest Funeral Home. Permission was given and at the appointed time nine of us showed up to play. A mix-up meant we only had one baseball to use but we were excited about the day and proceeded to rearrange the lawn of Hillcrest into a baseball diamond that would make the groundkeeper at Ponce de Leon Park weep. Without permission we borrowed 3 pillows from the couch in viewing room number 3 to be used as bases. Took the yellow cushion off the chapel organ stool Ms. Mills sat upon to play "In the Garden" hundreds of times a year to be used as home plate. Then carefully removed the small shelf in the entry way which held the "Burning Candle of Perpetual Light" so we could use the shelf for a pitching rubber. All was set. Play ball!

The first batter fouled a pitch sending our only ball bouncing up the driveway where it eventually rolled into the casket barn whose door had been left slightly ajar in anticipation of a delivery later that day. Immediately, the team began running after the ball because to lose it meant we were through. Weighted down by a chest protector, mask, shin guards and cup along with a genetic disposition towards heaviness I was the last to arrive at the barn. Aristotle once said, "We become brave by doing brave acts." But I bet Aristotle was never faced with the challenge of having to go inside a dark barn full of caskets to retrieve a baseball.

Channeling my experienced mortuary employee side, I said, "okay, I need 3 volunteers to go with me to get the ball. " They were not familiar with Aristotle, so no one wanted to go. After a good minute of silence one teammate said, "I'll go if you let me wear your mask". Another, 'I will go if I can wear the chest protector". "If I can wear the shin guards" another said, "I will go as well". So now armored up, and me with a cup, the four of us entered the dark barn in single file line like a stack of Navy Seal's from the movie, Zero Dark Thirty.

As the darkness enveloped us and our hearts relocated to our throats the mask one yelled "lets crawl in case there are bat's." Shin guard responded, "what if there are snakes"? Chest protector screamed "lets duck walk." So that's what we did. And it was a decision which would prove to be a disaster. For in order to duck walk we had to utilize the caskets as handles to help push our way through. The problem was each casket was sitting atop a four wheeled dolly meaning every time we touched them, they would begin to roll.

Well, it didn't take long as we pushed through for all the caskets to begin moving like a wave from a Tsunami. Fearing we would be crushed I yelled to the boys outside, "open the door"! The good news is the door to the barn was immediately opened. The bad news is that when it opened a casket in full roll caught the threshold of the barn and rolled right on out, catching the downslope of the driveway and took off down the dogwood lined lane.

Hastily emerging from the barn, we armored ones witnessed the horrific scene firsthand. Five frantic 13-year-old boys in pursuit of a casket rolling down the driveway of Hillcrest Funeral Home.

Fortunately, the casket missed the mailbox, skirted a magnolia, and rolled over a pothole which slowed its momentum just enough for the boys to catch up with it and stop its roll. I was the last to arrive at the bottom of the driveway because my husky pants had actually ripped during the duck walk in the barn and I had to hold them together while running.

All of us were panting now. Breaths were hard to come by while the ramifications of what we had done began to slowly overwhelm us. I said, "Guys, we have to put everything back or I am in real trouble."

Now, they all could have scattered at that point. They all could have left me alone to take the heat for what had taken place. But they didn't leave. In fact, not one of the 8 budged.

They all stayed.

"Let's get to work" the one with the mask said and so we did. Choosing to work together, the pillows were returned to viewing room number 3. Ms. Mills cushion found its way back to the organ while I personally returned the small shelf to the entry way and placed the "Burning Candle of Perpetual Light" back in its sacred position. We then rolled the runaway casket back up the drive to the barn and placed it inside with its other caged friends. So, after all that, you may be wondering if we ever found the baseball. No, we did not, we actually found something far more valuable. We found out what true friendship meant. We found that being honest and admitting we contributed to a mess was freeing. We also found that choosing not to blame, point an accusatory finger, or yell with toxic venom directed at another was life sustaining. Sure, it didn't turn out perfect and we did get in trouble. There was a big scratch on the casket, more than a few grass stains on the pillows from viewing room number 3 and the inseam of my husky pants was blown. But no one walked out on the others. Took the cowardly road home. We faced the situation together and made it through. Now, I happen to believe, that the lesson we learned 53 years ago in the driveway of Hillcrest Funeral Home is a lesson that would still be beneficial for us to remember today as we face division, discord, and toxic rhetoric all around. For the truth is, like those mortuary boys of days gone by we have all contributed to this mess we are experiencing right now in some way. And we can't' abandon each other at the bottom of the driveway. We can't simply blame the other for believing differently, or looking different, or having a more progressive or conservative view of important issues and then run. We are all better than that. We need to find a way to stay to together, united, caring for one another, having each other's back, because that very well may be the only way for us to make it through.

So, thanks Lindsey Realty teammates for teaching me this lesson years ago. Thanks for not leaving me to face the circumstances of a runaway casket all by myself. Thanks for being my friends. I hope you remember what we learned that day also and it has served you spiritually and emotionally down through the years as well..And if I may ask one more thing. Since I don't live in Newnan anymore. If one of you Lindsey Realty sluggers happens to be passing Hillcrest in the next few days, would you run in and make sure I re-lit the "Burning Candle of Perpetual Light" when I put it back in 1968. Because for the life of me, I cannot remember if I did. And one more thing. While there if you do decide to go into the casket barn, don't duck walk! For you will split your pants and all manner of problem will rain down upon you. Trust me. I know!