The White Carnation

The White Carnation by Leo

It was pouring down with rain. The sky was dark and threatening. The path was lined on both sides with what seemed like hundreds of flowers. People stood in any space they could find. They huddled together under tiny black umbrellas. Time seemed to have stopped as we gathered outside the house. Nobody spoke, just the occasional nod in somebody’s direction or the odd muffled sob from a person too scared to be the one who breaks down first. Children were playing across the street, smiling and laughing as they chased each other around. They were oblivious to the grief that was surrounding us all on this, the hardest day of my life.

I walked silently into the house, looking desperately for a familiar face amongst the sea of strangers in black. It still smelled like Mom in the house. I looked longingly at the door leading to the stairs hoping she would walk in and say, “ Surprise!” or, “ What are you all standing around looking so miserable for, has someone died?” Which is something I could imagine her saying. I made my way to the kitchen where I found myself alone. But time to yourself to think is not always the best thing when you are waiting for a hearse to arrive carrying your mom. I began to imagine all the worst-case scenarios I could and worked myself into such a mess that I was almost sick. I managed to compose myself just as my Dad walked in. But obviously not that well, as his first question was, “Are you alright?” Now how you are supposed to answer this question I don’t think I will ever know. I was asked it several times that day and I never did manage to drum up a decent reply. Dad was on cup of tea duty. By this time I am sure he was on autopilot and we really didn’t know what to say to each other so we resorted to polite conversation. “Nice turn out.” I said, “Yeah”. He replied, “She would be pleased”. And off he went carrying mugs of tea to people who didn’t even know his name.

Now call me cynical but I really don’t think anyone could honestly say they would be pleased that lots of people were at their funeral. I am pretty sure they would much prefer to be alive and not be having a funeral at all. But through the day I learned to bite my tongue at such comments. They seemed to make the people who were saying them feel better in some way.

I looked through the window and saw the hearse pulling up outside and the men with the black top hats and tails were making their way up the path. They carried themselves with such dignity and strength that I was rooted to the spot for a moment. They seemed to be about seven foot tall and as they walked through the door it was as if death itself has walked in. All my composure had gone. The sight of the coffin had now reduced me to a sobbing, shaking wreck. My legs somehow carried me out the door as I followed my brothers and my Dad to the black funeral car, which was to take us to the crematorium.

I couldn’t feel the rain although I know it was there. I walked in a daze down the path, passed the flowers and the strangers in black to the car. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and spoke to me but I couldn’t understand what they said so I just nodded and walked on. We sat in the car and I watched them load the hearse with the flowers. People started to walk off to their cars. I didn’t realise till my brother put his hand on my arm that I was still crying. I will always remember that simple gesture. No words were needed.
We drove silently to the crematorium. Slowly making our way through traffic, unsure of what to say to each other. Making small talk just didn’t seem appropriate. I looked out the window and saw people lowering their heads or averting their eyes. One old man even took of his hat. It was comforting in a way, I liked seeing people showing respect to the last journey my Mom would ever make. I didn’t want to look in front of me. I could see the hearse and the coffin and it made me feel very ill. I couldn’t get it from my mind that my Mom was there inside that horrible box. I felt it was taunting me. It was stopping me from being with her.

We pulled up outside the crematorium and everyone was stood waiting for us to get out of the car. They were staring at the hearse with solemn dignity, waiting to see Mom carried into the building. My legs were still barely working as I stumbled out of the car and followed behind the coffin. I was gripping onto my Dad’s arm for support.

As we walked into the crematorium I heard the song start to play and couldn’t help but grin. People must have thought I had gone mad, but I hadn’t. I knew the song as my Dad has told me a few days before what she had asked for. We walked down the aisle to the slow intro of the song and just as everyone was about to be seated BOOM! The guitars kicked in and the rock music rang out. The whole room looked at each other stunned. It was perfect.

We were sat right at the front, which I was grateful for as it meant I could forget the rest of the room. I wouldn’t have to look at the sadness and could concentrate fully on getting through the service myself. Now I know that sounds selfish, but I am one of those people who cry at other people crying, so it would have been like a yawn. I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself if I saw others breaking down. Unfortunately it also meant we were closest to the coffin. I did everything I could to avoid looking at it. The room smelt odd, it was a musty old smell mixed with a strong smell of flowers.

The Vicar in charge of the service walked to the front and began to tell us everything we already knew about Mom and some things that surprisingly we didn’t. His words were mingling one into the other and I found myself staring at my feet for the rest of the service. I leaned over and took my brother’s hand because I could see the tears falling down his face, he wasn’t making a sound but his whole body was shaking and I knew he needed me to be strong at that moment. I smiled at him and squeezed his hand. This seemed to do the trick as he stopped crying.

The service had finished and I could hear the sniffling and sobbing behind me but I didn’t look. I sat staring straight ahead as the Vicar said the words that meant the coffin was about to be rolled behind the curtains. The words that meant I would never ever see my Mom again. This was it. This was goodbye. I wasn’t ready. I wanted to shout, “Stop!” but I didn’t. I just sat there, tears rolling down my face as the huge red velvet curtains dramatically closed. Marking the end of the service. “Safe journey Mom” I whispered, “ We’ll meet again one day”.