Ben's funeral
Usually I'm rather articulate, but for the last few days I've found it hard to find the right words to describe the funeral. Nothing seems to sound right. It was beautiful. It was sad. Normal words for a situation that was anything but.
The family held together well. I think Harry is just waiting for a quiet place where he's alone to break down. Up the mountain somewhere. Ben always went tramping with him, was always ready to go up the mountain with his dad.
One of the officers from the Aero club gave Ben a set of wings to wear. They couldn't find Ben's. They'll be in the forest somewhere, or in the wreckage, torn from his sleeve.
It was more of a wake, than a funeral, only minus the booze. Ben was remembered fondly, and with exasperation, tears, giggles and nods of understanding. A few fingers were pointed in jest, loudly proclaiming so-and-so guilty of encouraging Ben's tinkering with things, or accusing so-and-so in getting him interested in planes. But none of it was malicious, or guilty. Ben loved what he did, and died doing what he loved. There's nothing wrong in that, save that it could have been prevented.
If only...
If only...
It was cold out at the cemetary. The skies were clear, and there was the barest hint of a breeze. Ben's plot was the only one being used in the line. As he was being laid to rest, the New Plymouth Aero club preformed a fly over. Two planes appeared over the cradling hill, dipping low over our heads, then disappeared over the trees. A simple, small glimpse of a missing plane in the formation and most of us were broken.
Tiffany started singing then. I think perhaps that was the only way she could keep herself under control. The youngest of them all, holding strong for the oldest brother. Harry said something along those lines at the commendation.
"It's only fitting that the first to come into our lives, is now the first to leave."
I love you, Ben. But you know that already. We'll meet again. 70 or 80 years on Earth is nothing where you are now. Merely blink your eyes, and all of us will be there.
See you soon.
The family held together well. I think Harry is just waiting for a quiet place where he's alone to break down. Up the mountain somewhere. Ben always went tramping with him, was always ready to go up the mountain with his dad.
One of the officers from the Aero club gave Ben a set of wings to wear. They couldn't find Ben's. They'll be in the forest somewhere, or in the wreckage, torn from his sleeve.
It was more of a wake, than a funeral, only minus the booze. Ben was remembered fondly, and with exasperation, tears, giggles and nods of understanding. A few fingers were pointed in jest, loudly proclaiming so-and-so guilty of encouraging Ben's tinkering with things, or accusing so-and-so in getting him interested in planes. But none of it was malicious, or guilty. Ben loved what he did, and died doing what he loved. There's nothing wrong in that, save that it could have been prevented.
If only...
If only...
It was cold out at the cemetary. The skies were clear, and there was the barest hint of a breeze. Ben's plot was the only one being used in the line. As he was being laid to rest, the New Plymouth Aero club preformed a fly over. Two planes appeared over the cradling hill, dipping low over our heads, then disappeared over the trees. A simple, small glimpse of a missing plane in the formation and most of us were broken.
Tiffany started singing then. I think perhaps that was the only way she could keep herself under control. The youngest of them all, holding strong for the oldest brother. Harry said something along those lines at the commendation.
"It's only fitting that the first to come into our lives, is now the first to leave."
I love you, Ben. But you know that already. We'll meet again. 70 or 80 years on Earth is nothing where you are now. Merely blink your eyes, and all of us will be there.
See you soon.