She is still dead (2)
I knew Riana for three months. She stayed in my house, with her husband who is the General Manager here, and their two little girls, two years and six months old.
Abrie and Riana gave up everything to come to work here. It was a calling. This is a place of healing and restoration, and they knew it was where they needed to be.
That’s the way Abrie tells it. The Lord called them, he told us all again yesterday, standing up in front of everyone - getting through it by needing there to be a reason, why his beautiful young wife was lying in a box instead of sitting beside him, and why this is a funeral and not a wedding or a christening.
Babies don’t understand these things of course, how inappropriate they are, smiling at all of us. They play at his feet in matching outfits. They laugh. The eldest has a clutch of white flowers, perhaps pulled from some somber funeral bouquet while she played in the foyer as everyone arrived, and she steps on to the stage and offers them up to her father, smiling. He pulls her into his arms and props her on his hip. He is telling us to love the Lord, and he doesn’t cry although his eyes are shiny. He is telling us that he only loaned Riana, and that she was a gift for the time he had her, and he doesn’t cry. He tells us that every time you make love to your wife you need to do it like it is the last time, and his voice breaks.
I am in the second row off to the right. Why am I so close to the damn front? My make up is already fucked and I need to stop being so damn self indulgent… this is about Riana. If I can’t separate this celebration of her life from what happened, then that’s a disgrace on me. If he wants to love the Lord, then let him love The Lord.
Garth is on my right and I am holding his hand tight. James is on my left, but my left hand holds a tissue. Even in the church, even now, we can’t comfort each other. That’s not fair of course, he is the first one I called, when the police freed us from the bathroom. He was the first shoulder, the very very first. But it’s a week later, and by now we remember the rules. Mark is on my far right, and I respect how well he manages the exclusion. I think about the politics of this, even as I sit in this church, because its better than picturing her body in that coffin.
I haven’t held it together at all. I am normally so good at funerals, but I cannot separate, I cannot, even though I am trying damn hard. Jesus Fuck it. I can’t pretend this happened for a reason! Am I honestly expected to go along with the idea that a mother of two babies being shot in the head in cold blood in front of them while her husband was held down was for the glory of god?
When the Priest asks if anyone has anything to add, I have to hold on to my seat.
If Abrie wants to love the Lord, let him love the Lord.