Funerals and Fruitcake

Funerals and Fruitcake

The funeral procession marched on like a line of dreary ants. The coffin bobbed up and down along with her uncles' footsteps as Sarah watched them pass. Their drawn faces were a picture of grief, weary and worn around the edges. They walked past her without looking up, each pallbearer lost in his own world of loss. They were burying their brother today; her father.



It seemed important that she notice every detail of the procession. So she took in the faces of her uncles, the rhythm of their steps, and the way they gripped the cherry wood casket till their fingers were white. She took it all in with a type of cool detachment. Nothing would touch her. The only feeling that had crept through her walls today had come when she noticed the sky. Sarah was getting out of the limo, something she had never done before, when she looked up.



It wasn't what it was supposed to be.



The sky should have been gray and blanketed in purple clouds, veiny with lightening. There should have been thunder booming in the distance, threatening to overtake them.



The sky should have been in mourning like the rest of them.



But it wasn't. It was disgustingly perfect, like a post card. Puffy white clouds floated over an ocean of blue and she could swear she heard blue-jays singing somewhere. It was official. She was in a Disney movie. Next, the mourners would break out into choreographed dance numbers.

She dug her fingernails into her palms, little commas in her skin like pauses of pain to break the grief.



Things just aren't the way they were supposed to be.

That was what her mind kept muttering to her that perfect Sunday morning.

This shouldn't be. This shouldn't be.



Sarah followed the sad marching men at a distance watching people she barely knew, gathering in the distance; a sea of black.



The viewing was already over. Respects had been paid. It was time to bury the dead. These people were here to do that. They were here so they could finally say goodbye and then move on with their lives. She would never be able to do that. This was a farce that she had to play along with in order to convince the rest of them that she was moving on to moving on. She wasn't, though.



She would cry later when tears didn't signal the family to ask her if “everything was okay,” once again. Of course everything wasn't okay.

What a stupid question.



Finally they reached the crowd of mourners and Sara was immediately surrounded by clucking women who all had to mention how pale and tired she looked. Sara merely smiled a small, thin smile and somehow escaped from the hens before they decided to roost. She found her way to the back and leaned against the trunk of a tree as the pallbearers released the coffin up front. Father Hannely detached from the mourners and smiled benignly at the group.



“We are all here today to put to rest our friend James Morsterson.” He said a few more meaningless words and began his sermon. They were meaningless because this man had never met James Morsterson. He only knew him from the memories of others and the small piece of paper in front of him.



But the recycled words were still comforting somehow.



God our refuge and strength, close at hand in our distress;



Sarah listened to it all distractedly as she searched the people surrounding her.



Aunt Patrice was going on about four hours of weeping now and didn’t show any signs of stopping. Her step-mother hadn’t shed a tear since the news came and seemed to be on some type of mission to blind everyone with her smile and unflappability.

Meanwhile, Grandma was dressed in an ancient black dress coupled with a huge round hat and an actual veil. She appeared to be alternating between screaming “why god, why” and eating everything in sight. Thankfully, she seemed to be targeting the fruitcakes which seemed to be the universal token of grief. It would have been comical if it wasn’t so sad.



meet us in our sorrow and lift our eyes

to the peace and light of your constant care.



A few of her father's friends from work were there, as well as his fishing buddies. There were the ladies from church and most of their other neighbors spread throughout the crowd. They were all strangers sharing a grief that should belong only to her.



Help us so to hear your word of grace

that our fear will be dispelled by your love,



Why couldn't her father have waited at least ten more years before having his stroke? When she didn't still feel like such a child. She glared at the casket, gleaming harshly in the sun. Why did he have to leave her?

our loneliness eased by your presence



A tear escaped and traveled down her cheek. She wiped it away, furious at herself for showing emotion. One of the hens looked over at her and clucked, “It's going to be fine sweetie. It's all going to be fine.”



and our hope renewed by your promises.



Sarah ignored the words, knowing them to be a lie as she watched her father get lowered into the ground. She knew she’d never look at holes the same way again. Now they were all just graves waiting to be filled.



She smiled grimly and went to eat the surviving fruitcake.