Friday, October 22, 2010
Funerals
I walked through the chipped white door, one black shoe following the other, into what appeared to be nothing but a family home. The air was cold and stagnant, infused with the scents of flowers and a wide variety of perfume, out of place in the room full of furniture and impatient children. As a piece from a popular opera collided with the sound of hushed apologies, I braced myself for the visual that I was unlikely to forget. Without the intent of rudeness, I glided past the lifeless remains of a loved one, in a hurry to pay respects to the tortured family and make my way out of the uncomfortable situation. The tears of the persons in black caused my throat to hold back the words of sincerity. Then, making my way out of the building and into the parking lot, I saw a most poetic scene. A few of the young girls, most likely driven by boredom, were circled around a small pond to the side of a gazebo. One after the other, they peeled away leaves from various looted flowers, and tossed them into the water. I was almost jealous, reflecting on a time when it was acceptable for me to distant myself from the sadness, the way these little girls had. To them, today was another day, and the pond was a way to pass time until they could go home and play dress up, but to me, somebody had died and today we were all forced to focus on the misery.
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My family tells a story...I was 4 or 5, and I fell asleep at my Grandmother's funeral. They laugh at me snoring; they revel in my tired head falling abruptly to each side until finally settling onto my Mom's shoulder. I laugh when they laugh--a little kid unaware of the real world probably dreaming of a new toy. But now I just feel too awake, too aware that I never knew my Grandmother, too aware of the surrounding death. I get what you are saying--sometimes, and probably just sometimes, it would be nice to be naive again.
ReplyDeleteI really like this. It is an interesting change from the stories where the main person is sad. i also think that it shows how sometimes all we want is too be young and naive again.
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of my grandmother's funeral. I was about 10 and it was my first funeral. The whole time I didn't know how to act. Out of the corner of my eye I see one of my uncles try and hold back tears. When I go over to see him, it turned out he was laughing at my cousin, who was crying because of the organ music. Everytime the music stopped, my cousin stopped crying. My uncle, trying to be respectful, had to hold in the laughter, making it look like he was crying.
ReplyDeleteThe point is, I think people should try and find something somewhat amusing when you go to funerals, because you still get that naive feeling when you're laughing at something that makes you so sad.