The Homily
Did you ever imagine that a single Sunday homily could plant such a deep seed?
It all started with an All Souls’ Day Mass. As our priest closed his homily, he left the congregation with words that landed like a gentle reprimand: “And if you have family members’ ashes in your closet — shame on you. You need to do the right thing and have a proper burial.”
As we filed out of church, Mike turned to me. “Where are your mother’s ashes?” I paused. “I believe Norma has them. And she has Myra’s too.” “Well,” he said, “we need to fix this.”
And so the journey to properly inter Mom and Myra began.
The Options for Burial
We met with a representative from Hermosa Cemetery and were walked through several burial options for our loved ones. In the end, we chose to purchase a single niche — one with enough space for two urns — and split the cost between us.
A Tribute to Myra
Fifteen years ago, we said our final goodbyes to our beloved sister Myra. Though her remains were cremated, the service we held for her was truly beautiful.
Because Myra was single and without children, the responsibility for arranging her funeral fell to our mother. She was wheelchair-bound — and yet she rose to the moment with a profound act of love, making every major decision for Myra’s service with quiet strength and grace.
Our family came together, unified in grief and purpose, to organize the details — including choosing who would speak. When the service concluded, I rode with my sister Norma. She carefully placed Myra’s ashes in the back seat of her SUV, securing them as though she were still watching over her. It was a comforting sight — our sister, entrusted with bringing Myra home, handling her remains with all the respect and dignity Myra deserved.
Mother’s Tribute
Five months after Myra’s passing, we lost our mother.
Once again, we gathered — this time at a different location — to make the arrangements and honor her well. Our mother loved Mariachi music, so we brought in a trio to play some of her favorite songs. That evening, family surrounded her memory with celebration, laughter, and love, honoring the legacy she had spent a lifetime building.
She, too, was cremated. And once again, Norma took on the quiet responsibility of watching over her ashes — faithful to the end, as she had been for Myra.
The Journey
In early November 2025, Mike and I began the process of having Mom and Myra interred at Hermosa Cemetery in Colton — the same place where our oldest brother Robert had already been laid to rest. It mattered deeply to us that we could visit all three of them in one place.
The first task was to bring all four of my siblings on board. Since Mike and I had initiated this undertaking, the coordination fell to me — setting up meetings, gathering the family, and requesting the proper documents. The process was not without its challenges.
The Challenges
What looked like a single act of love quickly revealed itself to be a process with many moving parts. Every step required documentation, coordination, and patience.
Re-Permitting Remains An appointment had to be scheduled with the Vital Statistics Office in San Bernardino to re-permit both sets of remains for transfer and interment.
Obtaining Death Certificates Death certificates were required for both Mom and Myra. Fortunately, Jo had a copy of Myra’s on hand. Our mother’s certificate was another matter — it had to be requested from Mariposa County, Arizona, which added both time and distance to the process.
Document Submission Requirements A notarized, certified letter was required for submission, along with supporting documentation that included a copy of my driver’s license, a copy of my birth certificate, a copy of our mother’s birth certificate, and credit card information for payment. As with every step in this process, there was a fee.
The Setback
As the December 12th deadline from Hermosa Cemetery approached, a letter arrived from Mariposa County with unwelcome news: the credit card had not been charged, signaling a complication in the process. The journey had hit a wall.
The source of the delay turned out to be a name discrepancy — an unexpected typo buried somewhere in the paperwork. At that point, the weight of it all felt crushing. A new deadline was requested, this time for January 15th.
Typo on the Death Certificate
The letter from Vital Statistics flagged a name discrepancy but offered no further detail. Whose name? The question opened an unexpected door into personal history.
The spelling “Lynda” hadn’t always been the spelling. Back in sixth grade, best friends made a small and memorable pact — swapping the vowels in their names. “Linda” became “Lynda,” and Nancy became the other half of that exchange. It was the kind of childhood moment that leaves a quiet mark on a life.
Could the discrepancy be tied to that change? After multiple attempts to reach the Vital Statistics office, someone finally answered. When asked if it was possible to guess the issue, the answer — surprisingly — was yes.
The misspelling wasn’t on Lynda’s name at all. It was on her mother’s death certificate. Her mother’s name had been recorded incorrectly.
Relief. Real, exhale-to-the-floor relief.
To resolve it, the mother’s birth certificate was needed. Providentially, sister-in-law Mary had a copy — a small but timely blessing that kept the journey moving forward.
Overcoming Obstacles
The following day, the entire process had to begin again — notarizing, certifying, and mailing the documents back to the Vital Records office in Arizona. It was exhausting and disheartening, and the tears came.
In that moment, a phone call to sister Jo made all the difference. She listened, offered steady emotional support, and without hesitation sent the funds needed to redo the paperwork. It was the kind of quiet generosity that holds a family together when the weight of doing right by the dead threatens to become too much for one person to carry.
Another week passed before the corrected death certificate finally arrived. From there, one more appointment was scheduled with the Vital Records office in San Bernardino to obtain the final permit. And then — at last — the drive to Hermosa Cemetery. To put it all, literally and lovingly, to rest.
Transporting the Ashes
The human body does not cease to matter at death. The body of the deceased brings forcefully to mind the Church’s conviction that the human body is, in Christ, a temple of the Holy Spirit — destined for future glory at the resurrection of the dead. This conviction shapes everything about how cremated remains are to be handled and where they are to rest.
The cremated remains of a body are to be treated with the same respect given to the human body from which they come — including the manner in which they are carried, the care taken in transport, and their final disposition. They should be buried in a grave or entombed in a mausoleum or columbarium. Scattering cremated remains on the sea, from the air, or on the ground, or keeping them in the home of a relative or friend, is not the reverent disposition the Church requires.
This practice is inseparable from the faith it expresses. Burying the dead in a sacred place expresses the Church’s faith in the resurrection of the body and shows the great dignity of the human body as an integral part of the human person whose body forms part of their identity.
In the United States, the Postal Service is uniquely equipped to handle the transport of cremated remains with care and reliability, ensuring they arrive at their final resting place with the dignity they deserve. Jo generously contributed $140 to cover the shipping costs — one more act of love in a long journey of love.
The Service
Jo had already made arrangements to fly in from New Orleans, and at last — the day arrived.
The family gathered. My brother George came with his wife Mary and their adult children, Robert and Gina. My brother Mike attended with two of his sons, Rong and Nick, and his grandson Michael. Our nephew Mario was there as well. And my own family — Mikos, Sonja, and Russ — surrounded me with their presence.
And of course, Mike — who had been by my side through every step of this journey — was there at the end of it too.
Honoring Mom and Myra
We took turns sharing stories about “Ma” and Myra — stories threaded through with love, sacrifice, and the particular tenderness that only family carries.
Jo recalled the many trips she made from Louisiana with her four sons to visit us. After the long drive, our mother’s first instinct was to send Jo straight to bed to rest — while she took over watching the boys. That was Ma. She gave before anyone thought to ask. Jo, in turn, made arrangements for our mother to come visit her in Louisiana, ensuring the love traveled in both directions.
Myra was a wonderful aunt — and for some of her nieces and nephews, she was far more than that. She helped direct their lives at pivotal moments, offering guidance with a steady hand and a generous heart. To those who knew her best, she was the sweetest, most selfless person in the room — and always the one willing to speak the truth, even when it was hard to hear. Myra set the tone for joy wherever she went. Her laughter was simply contagious.
Our mother worked early morning hours in the food service department at San Bernardino Valley College, catching a bus before the rest of the household was awake. But she never left without first putting on a fresh pot of oatmeal. As the boys grew old enough to work, they stepped in to help carry the financial weight of the family — a quiet inheritance of her example.
Even now, it is easy to believe that Ma is still holding this family together. She looks down from heaven with that broad smile of hers, knowing that we are all doing well — because of the love she poured into us, and the way she chose to raise us.
My Prayer
Dear Lord,
May the story shared here give others the courage to do what love requires — to finally bring their loved ones home, to lay them to rest with the dignity and reverence they deserve.
Thank You for the gift of family, and for the grace that gathered us together on this day. Thank You for a mother who loved well and a sister who laughed freely — and for the mercy that now holds them both.
May Mom and Myra rest in Your peace, forever.
Amen.
