Condolences

The weather could have been better. In movies, funerals are held in the pouring rain where the tears and raindrops fall as one. The scene instantly becomes more dramatic and provoking.

That’s not the case here.

We all waited in the cold room. The beginnings of a blizzard swirling in the air outside. That might be why so few people showed up. Besides me, six other people occupy the funeral home. Although I wouldn't be surprised if many couldn't be bothered to fill their own precious time on this Earth with watching the end of another person's.

No priest spoke, none even entered the building, only a stranger who the kin appointed to carry out the final words about the deceased before they lay the casket in the ground.

I already know nobody is looking forward to standing at the gravesite with the frigid air snapping against their skin. They could have postponed, but in their defense the weather switched so suddenly it was as if somebody flicked a switch. Only a week ago I took a stroll in the park wearing a light jacket.

By the time they realized the snow would keep falling and the wind would keep blowing, too much had been done. Waiting would only mean putting it off and paying the funeral home more for the privilege.

They wanted to get this over with. I don't blame them. Let them get on with their lives. Nobody should be forced to perform at a funeral, least of all this one.

The ones that wanted to be here know their own reasons for attending. Just as I know mine. I couldn’t miss this. My guilt wouldn’t let me.

The faces in the chairs twist in their grief, a few shed tears. I did not know they cared this much about one person. I would have done things differently. I, at the very least, would have hesitated before handling a life so recklessly.

“She was a kind, thoughtful woman,” the stranger said, “her generosity will live on. A truly unselfish person we can all learn from.”

I hold in my scoff.

"Her gentle nature will be remembered by all those who knew her."

Gentle in the way a rabbit is gentle with a fox, they are too scared of being devoured.

"Penelope left a mark here on the Earth and she will be missed dearly."

Spoke the stranger who glanced down at the notes he made for himself so he didn't say the wrong name.

I wanted to speak out, to announce my disapproval. Then I had to remind myself this is not the place. This is where so many crave peace because they will have to face the opposite as soon as they leave.

It still makes my skin crawl. They only serve the pleasantries because they are easier to swallow. But the ones who know, know better.

They always paint the dead at their best, ignoring the splatters of flaws that ruin the whole picture. Kind and generous and bitter and stubborn and judgemental and petty, that is what should be said if they wanted to depict the whole truth. The part about being unselfish is almost laughable. They probably couldn’t find any other synonyms for kind and generous.

I don't know why I'm so angry. Nice words are a given in this place. They shouldn't upset me this much. But, then again, every nice words is a reminder of the shame that echoes in me.

When the stranger finished speaking, they announced that due to the weather they would not be conducting a ceremony at the gravesite. Another scene cut from the movie. They would let anybody with something to say have the floor.

How I wish I could gather myself enough to stand up. To bring up the last moments of a life that was far from perfect or complete. I was there, after all. I saw it end.

Nobody stood. Nobody spoke. A moment of silence shared for the departed. The least ceremonial way to be remembered. I couldn’t blame the others. Their grief kept their throats too sore to speak.

They had to proceed. Schedules to keep, people to bury.

“We will let anybody who would like to, to come up and share one last moment with the deceased before we conclude this service.”

Nobody moved at first. Statues sculpted into their chairs. I found myself similarly afflicted. Waiting for somebody else to flinch first.

One brave woman got up, approaching the casket. Bright blue eyes glistening with tears. Her beauty temporarily masked by her puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks.

The line forms behind her. The other people pull themselves out of their chairs, ready to lay eyes on the dead body in the casket once more before they cease to exist in the world anywhere besides forgotten photographs that might be regarded one day in the future.

I am the only one who can’t bring myself to move. I never liked the idea of an open casket. Looking at somebody’s lifeless form, knowing that everything they once were is gone. Knowing that soon the ground will melt away everything else.

In this case, I can’t look at what I’ve done.

I never wanted it to end like this. I let too many things slip from my control, convincing myself that everything would be fine.

It truly was an accident, but I could have changed the outcome. It could have all been different. All I had to do was care more about the life I was given. All I had to do was slow down. One second of careful thought and I wouldn’t be here.

How did I get here?

They all take their turns until all the goodbyes are spent.

I cannot follow them out the door.

I have to stay here. Motionless, lifeless, restless.

Once all the patrons depart, the same stranger that conducted the quaint ceremony slams the lid closed on the wooden box. Leaving me alone in the darkness.