Funeral Reflections

Wear the cross, she says.
It's just a piece of metal. It means nothing.
I feel like a liar. Like a fake.
Fake like my grim smile.

She tells me the words to say.
I feel like her puppet again, but this time I need to be.
I don't know what to do, what to say.
She feeds me the words.
"I'm very sorry for your loss."

Swallowing tears because you never even met him.
But it hurts to see their faces.
It hurts to see how it hurts them.

They're all strangers. All the names.
All the people.
All their words to say about a man who only existed in words to me.
But I'm the real stranger here.
Paying my respects to a stranger who seemed like he would've been a neat guy.

It's funny how when death devastates, we run to pretty things like
Flowers, and songs.
Cover up comfort things.
To cover up how scared we really are.

I think that a funeral isn't so much an occasion to mourn a death
Or an occasion to celebrate a life
As a moment of closure.
A moment to say, "He's gone, and this is over."
A moment to make everything real to ourselves, and to everyone around us.
A moment to surround ourselves with real, living people who love.

Moments like these make me wish for faith.
For total belief that this isn't all we have.
And sometimes,
When they say things like, "What are you going to sing at your grandfather's funeral?"
Or, "You can have the piano when he dies."
Or, "Dad only has a month left. Might as well let him have a glass of wine if he wants it."
I feel a surge of faith and guilt come back to me.
And I whisper a secret, reluctant prayer.
Just in case God's really there.
And really cares.
And will protect me from what's coming.

And just in case you're reading this, God, I'm sorry for doubting you. But this is me, and I don't know how to do it any other way.