What are you looking for?
Featured Topics
Select a topic to start reading.
Everyone has a first funeral. Mine didn't happen until I was 19 and my friend Emily was in a rollover.
Emily's casket was closed at the actual funeral, but was open for two days beforehand so her very close ones could say goodbye to her in their own way, and I was among them, so I walked into the funeral home, held her weeping mother, and was invited in to say goodbye, take your time.
I'd seen Emily in her soccer uniform dozens of times, running back and forth on a grassy field kicking a ball, but it was certainly a shock to see her wearing the bright red polyester shirt and shorts as I kneeled casket. She wasn't sweating. Instead of being tied into a ponytail her ash-blond hair had been tucked onto her right shoulder, falling to her breast. I took in the other details - the deep, boxy pillow cradling her head, the pleated casket lining, the pattern arranged on the lid that suggested either a rising or setting sun, the deep color of the polished hardwood. The lining gleamed in the light and was white silk, or maybe satin, I don't really know the difference. Everything about it looked like it was built for the body of a frail old person, not an athletic 19 year old who could sleep like a log anywhere and didn't need a silk pillow. The room smelled overwhelmingly of the flowers surrounding the casket.
Finally I focus on her face. Whoever worked on her face did a wonderful job. The makeup she had on brought out the real pale color of her face well enough, and her aquiline nose looked exactly like it had in life. Her expression was peaceful enough. Aside from her perfect stillness the biggest clue she was dead was the way the corners of her mouth curled down slightly in a way that no living person's would have. I thought about leaning forward and kissing Emily goodbye on the forehead. I decided that would ruin the illusion.
I started to tear up and wondered if they'd dressed Emily in her cleats to complete the uniform. I lift the sheet concealing the lower lid of the casket and am relieved to see that she's barefoot, tufts of the soft casket lining creasing around her toes. I suddenly felt that it would have been extremely disrespectful to bury Emily in her cleats or shoes of any kind, as if she were going to get up and kick another soccer ball. Wherever she goes next, she won't need them.
My eyes blurred out with tears. It hits me that the next time I'm here I won't see Emily, only this solid wooden box behind someone giving a eulogy. Impulsively, I do lean in and give her a quick, soft buss between her eyebrows. It's cold, hollow feeling, not a living person's forehead. It's Emily but not Emily. I cross myself out of pure habit and start marching to the door, not having said a word.
If you see a comment that is unsupportive or unfriendly, please report it using the flag button.
More Posts
-
Fear of mom dying and alone in the dark
I get a gloomy feeling sometimes that my mom is going to die, and I know she will, I mean, I don't take anything for granted, maybe I'll go sooner; but it's nor...
-
Grief
Like a normal human. Nobody live for an eternity. For exemple, my grandma didn't make it throu the cancer battle. It was too late to fight it because all the do...
This was beautiful in a awfully tragic way. I'm really surprised that you took in so many details, even the tiniest ones. When my friend died, the funeral was a blur for me: just snapshots of memories, and almost none of them included my friend. It was a closed casket (car wreck) so maybe that's why. It's hard to focus on a wooden box, so my memories are the faces of people there. His father mostly.
Thank you for this. You're right, everyone has a first funeral. Strange things happen to us, and I feel like we're never quite the same after.
Reply