Is it wrong to have favorite moments from a funeral? Is it wrong to find small laughs and smiles amid the sorrows? We approach the “home” in a black clad seriousness, create small family clusters and murmur small talk about illnesses; it’s the weather’s fault. We all agree. Nod seriously. We want to avoid the real reason why we have gathered. Soon enough it is time to start. Quietly, we shuffle to seats and send furtive glances at the flower laden casket. So many flowers. Tissues and tears emerge in front of just-reminded, grief-stricken faces. We haven’t lost sight of why we are here, after all.
Funerals are for the living, of this I am convinced. It is our chance to praise, to love, to remember, to pay respect, to say goodbye. We may even realize or learn something for the first time. He didn’t miss a day of work. Made his girl pay her own bus fare home on their first date. He lost friends in the war and never, ever forgot their names or their faces. He was dedicated to worrying about family so you didn’t have to. He shared a love of Red Sox with his grandson. He had a Beloved Wife and shared over 60 years of marriage with her. He died of a broken heart.
At graveside the air is crisp, the sky a brilliant blue. Taps is played and suddenly a strong wind blows up, shaking snow from the overhanging tree. A saluting soldier is hit squarely in the face with a Mother Nature snowball, yet he does not flinch, doesn’t move – not an inch. Doesn’t move a muscle. A final joke played from beyond? We all glance at the flag covered casket in wonder. He loved to laugh, too.
But, that, I knew.
~*LunaSea*~ 