(no subject)
The funeral was so strange. I woke up that day dreaming of him, crying. I think he was trying to comfort me, and when I looked in the mirror that day, I felt beautiful, and I felt his eyes looking back at me through mine.
I knew I’d be a wreck, but I guess I knew I’d have to be there for other people too. Evan didn’t come - he didn’t want to. i'm not sure how i felt about that, considering i broke my "no funerals" policy for his mom. He dropped A & I off and right off the bat, A could hardly walk. He kept backing up every time we took a few steps forward. He Didn’t make it to the casket before collapsing. Craig's dad & I picked him up, and eventually we made our way up to look.
why did i have to look? i know how he looked in life, and nothing could compare to that living beauty & vitality. My analytic curiosity took over at first. How did he look…did they get his color right, his hair right, his lips right? Nope. He looked small & green. Frail, and narrow. So unlike the big dark beautiful Viking I knew & loved & touched & memorized every opportunity I got. His face was pale & sunken, he had no cheekbones. His lips were full but so pale. his jaw was nonexistant. Later I noticed his eyelashes were pointed all over the place - not curled on his cheeks like I remember.
I cried. I hated looking but couldn’t look away. I clenched my fists, I touched his cold hard hand, the only part of him that was the right color, but it was so much harder than i expected. he was a death manequin. I had to walk away, but I also knew I’d have to go back up with so many other people. The next time I went up, I touched his thin hair (without life everything looked wrong), messing it up to get rid of the comb lines. He didn’t even own a comb or a brush. i wanted to twist his beard tighter, i wanted to fix him...as if making him look right might break some spell keeping him dead. I walked up & back so many times, but I was never satisfied, even though I was crying constantly. I decided I just needed to sit near him, look, and talk to him inside my head. Make some peace in this surreal situation with family I’d never met & all of his ex girlfriends, no pictures of him & I around, & the wrong death date on the memorial book.
Funerals are always strange…this one especially so. The night he died, he family asked me if I believed in god. I answered truthfully, no. then they asked if he did. I didn’t know what I should say besides the truth, so I said no, he didn’t either. But they had a ridiculously religious funeral anyway. I know, funerals are not for the dead, they’re for the living, but this one felt so wrong to anyone who really knew him. Even though the family was really nice to me, and offered me a place to stand & receive by them and to sit with them at the funeral, they were less accommodating to his friends, people who knew him longer than I did. Some whom probably knew him better than I did. Lauren & casey & I sat a row behind the family, in an otherwise empty pew. ushers stopped anyone from sitting next to us - “that‘s reserved for family.”
I didn’t stand at all for the service, I just bent over & cried. I think it was partly a defense against the inappropriate impersonal religiousness of it all. Part was definitely protest. Lauren kept crying & whispering “this is wrong, this is all wrong.” she didn’t know about the Viking funeral the LU students had given him on Tuesday. While the pastors read scriptures & told college stories about his dad (!?!?!?), I whispered to her how they’d built a longboat, had a meeting to speak & share memories of him, wrote down all the memories and wishes and warm thoughts & advice on paper, then set it in the fox river, lit it on fire, and watched the light disappear. She was so glad to hear about it. We hugged each other & cried & sat in solidarity.
The interrment was harder, more final. His dad told two beautiful stories that were so craig. One was about how he was worried he didn’t have any friends when he was younger. At the time, his dad said not to worry, that a few good friends was all you needed, and pointed out that then craig lived his life to make an impact on everyone. it was amazing so many friends turned out for the funeral, and that this was only a fraction of them to boot. He also told a story about finding what he thought was a bong in craig's room accidentally one day. He confronted Craig about it & found out it was a bubble blower, and craig thanked him for coming directly to him. level-headed, honest, trustworthy, whimsical.
I would have had no words to say, or i would have babbled for hours as i tend to o now. I cried when I had to throw a flower on the casket. I cried the whole time they lowered him down & he was gone. I cried on & off at the light lunch (they kept calling it that), as pictures of memories we made together flashed in a slideshow with the same pictures I looked at to get to know him, the same pictures that made me fall in love with him.
Funerals are for the living. I think he’d have wanted his ashes scattered, for he loved the outdoors, nature, and travel. I think he’d have wanted his friends to speak, for he loved all of us and knew exactly how much we needed him, how much he gave us, and how we all loved him for it. plus we knew him better than family. he chose who to share things with, and it wasn't them. It’s kind of a bitter fitting cosmic unfairness that one of the good guys who was taken too soon has to have his molecules trapped to reside in Neenah, wi forever, under soil, sun, & snow. Maybe that will make him restless. Maybe that will make him haunt me. Who am I kidding - he will always haunt me.
the gods take too soon the ones they miss the most.
I knew I’d be a wreck, but I guess I knew I’d have to be there for other people too. Evan didn’t come - he didn’t want to. i'm not sure how i felt about that, considering i broke my "no funerals" policy for his mom. He dropped A & I off and right off the bat, A could hardly walk. He kept backing up every time we took a few steps forward. He Didn’t make it to the casket before collapsing. Craig's dad & I picked him up, and eventually we made our way up to look.
why did i have to look? i know how he looked in life, and nothing could compare to that living beauty & vitality. My analytic curiosity took over at first. How did he look…did they get his color right, his hair right, his lips right? Nope. He looked small & green. Frail, and narrow. So unlike the big dark beautiful Viking I knew & loved & touched & memorized every opportunity I got. His face was pale & sunken, he had no cheekbones. His lips were full but so pale. his jaw was nonexistant. Later I noticed his eyelashes were pointed all over the place - not curled on his cheeks like I remember.
I cried. I hated looking but couldn’t look away. I clenched my fists, I touched his cold hard hand, the only part of him that was the right color, but it was so much harder than i expected. he was a death manequin. I had to walk away, but I also knew I’d have to go back up with so many other people. The next time I went up, I touched his thin hair (without life everything looked wrong), messing it up to get rid of the comb lines. He didn’t even own a comb or a brush. i wanted to twist his beard tighter, i wanted to fix him...as if making him look right might break some spell keeping him dead. I walked up & back so many times, but I was never satisfied, even though I was crying constantly. I decided I just needed to sit near him, look, and talk to him inside my head. Make some peace in this surreal situation with family I’d never met & all of his ex girlfriends, no pictures of him & I around, & the wrong death date on the memorial book.
Funerals are always strange…this one especially so. The night he died, he family asked me if I believed in god. I answered truthfully, no. then they asked if he did. I didn’t know what I should say besides the truth, so I said no, he didn’t either. But they had a ridiculously religious funeral anyway. I know, funerals are not for the dead, they’re for the living, but this one felt so wrong to anyone who really knew him. Even though the family was really nice to me, and offered me a place to stand & receive by them and to sit with them at the funeral, they were less accommodating to his friends, people who knew him longer than I did. Some whom probably knew him better than I did. Lauren & casey & I sat a row behind the family, in an otherwise empty pew. ushers stopped anyone from sitting next to us - “that‘s reserved for family.”
I didn’t stand at all for the service, I just bent over & cried. I think it was partly a defense against the inappropriate impersonal religiousness of it all. Part was definitely protest. Lauren kept crying & whispering “this is wrong, this is all wrong.” she didn’t know about the Viking funeral the LU students had given him on Tuesday. While the pastors read scriptures & told college stories about his dad (!?!?!?), I whispered to her how they’d built a longboat, had a meeting to speak & share memories of him, wrote down all the memories and wishes and warm thoughts & advice on paper, then set it in the fox river, lit it on fire, and watched the light disappear. She was so glad to hear about it. We hugged each other & cried & sat in solidarity.
The interrment was harder, more final. His dad told two beautiful stories that were so craig. One was about how he was worried he didn’t have any friends when he was younger. At the time, his dad said not to worry, that a few good friends was all you needed, and pointed out that then craig lived his life to make an impact on everyone. it was amazing so many friends turned out for the funeral, and that this was only a fraction of them to boot. He also told a story about finding what he thought was a bong in craig's room accidentally one day. He confronted Craig about it & found out it was a bubble blower, and craig thanked him for coming directly to him. level-headed, honest, trustworthy, whimsical.
I would have had no words to say, or i would have babbled for hours as i tend to o now. I cried when I had to throw a flower on the casket. I cried the whole time they lowered him down & he was gone. I cried on & off at the light lunch (they kept calling it that), as pictures of memories we made together flashed in a slideshow with the same pictures I looked at to get to know him, the same pictures that made me fall in love with him.
Funerals are for the living. I think he’d have wanted his ashes scattered, for he loved the outdoors, nature, and travel. I think he’d have wanted his friends to speak, for he loved all of us and knew exactly how much we needed him, how much he gave us, and how we all loved him for it. plus we knew him better than family. he chose who to share things with, and it wasn't them. It’s kind of a bitter fitting cosmic unfairness that one of the good guys who was taken too soon has to have his molecules trapped to reside in Neenah, wi forever, under soil, sun, & snow. Maybe that will make him restless. Maybe that will make him haunt me. Who am I kidding - he will always haunt me.
the gods take too soon the ones they miss the most.