Reflections At A Funeral

Reflections at a Funeral
by Inordinate Allen

         There was a wind blowing. With his eyes closed, he took a deep breath and listened as it blew through the trees. He desperately wanted to be anywhere but here in this place, on this day. The piper needed to be paid, though, and the family needed him. They relied on his strength, and he was loath to let them down. For all the times his father had favored him, given to him, been so proud of him, Jack had to be the one to give the eulogy.
         This was it. This was the time to tell everyone how great his father was. His father’s strength, his wisdom, his ability to look at his children and make the world right and alive; it was something everyone thought he had, too. So they looked to him as he entered the tent and walked, not too fast, not too slow, all the way up through the rows of people and to the podium.
         He had no notes to pull out. He had sat, blankly staring at his computer screen, for half of the night trying to think of what to say. He had given a sardonic laugh as he pictured himself standing, hands in pocket, with a deer-in-the-headlights look. He knew he’d think of something, though. He always did well in a crunch. It might be short, but it would be there.
         He looked up from the podium at his mother. She was hiding it well, but he could see the signs. Grief is such a short word for such a bitter time. And it came to him.
         “My father-”
         A pause and a breath, ostensibly for effect. Really, though, he was having a hard time remembering to breathe at all.
         “-died at the age of forty-six. And after twenty-three years of marriage, he left a grieving widow behind. She grieves because the world is less bright today. Food has less taste. Smells are duller, music is discordant, and every touch is just a numb bump in a darkness that is the void left behind by my father. I know how people are, I know there’re arguments, disagreements, mistaken actions and words, but I have never heard my father raise his voice to my mother.”
         He looked at his brother and sisters.
         “My father’s resume didn’t look so good. There wasn’t a list of credentials or degrees. He knew all about volcanoes, though. In fact, after each and every one of his children decided they would out-do the last’s volcano display for the science fair, he probably knew more about volcanoes than any three people with bachelor’s degrees. You see, that’s how he was.
         His children gave him joy. He didn’t need any counselor or public service announcement to tell him to spend time with his children. He did that because he loved us. He taught us about God. He tried his hardest to be there for us. He gave us everything he had, and sometimes more. He could be demanding, but he wanted us to be good at whatever it was we did. He wanted us to have a purpose, to do something that we, not he, could be proud of. He wanted us to be happy.”
         Finally, Jack looked at the friends and neighbors sitting in the audience.
         “He wasn’t happy with the way the world is. He told us he remembered his parents saying that people were getting worse, and he saw it in his lifetime too. He wondered, if it’s only gotten worse since before he was even around, how long can it go on?
         He appreciated his friends, though. His neighbors and the neighborhood were always being watched over by him. He cared for people, even when they didn’t care back.”
         He looked down at his hands. They weren’t shaking anymore.
         “Goodbye, father.”
         Jack walked to his family and sat between his mother and brother. He would never stop missing his father, but it was better now. Everywhere he looked his father was there. In a way, he would live on for a long time yet.
         He sat and thought, “I hope I live as long as he will.”