A Stranger's Funeral
I went to a funeral today for a man I didn't know. He and I had never spoken to eachother and the only interaction we had was when he had a conversation with the driver of a vehicle I was a passenger in.
However, two of my brothers, a guy I consider to be a brother, their father, his brothers, my girlfriend, and her sister were all very close to him. I did not go to say goodbye to the man I hardly knew. I went to help in any way I could because it felt like the thing to do. Most of the people who were grieving were close to me, and it is pure chance that I never happened to speak to the buried. The rest of them were familiar faces that I had seen before at least once or twice.
Yesterday was the viewing, and I walked to the casket with Sean, Danica, and Christina. (Quasi-brother, girlfriend, her sister, in order.) Sean lost it almost immediately and Christina soon followed. Danica was a bit more resilient but I think that's because she was trying to be strong for the other two. Eventually, though, I ended up doing what I had intended. Comforting all three of my friends.
Today was the service. I sat behind Christina and Danica and spent a portion of the event with a hand on each of their shoulders, another bit of a time with a hand on Sean's-who was seated to my right- and a moment outside with my brother Glenn, smoking a cigarette. Why did I feel the need to stand up and leave a funeral service? Because someone from the clergy stood up and began his self-righteous speech with the words, "I never knew Kent."
For those of you who haven't been to a funeral with me in the past; that is the point at which I leave. Someone who did not know me has no right to speak over my body nor to use my death as a platform to force his opinions down my family's throats.
At the gravesite, I saw my brother cry for the first time in my life. As I recall, it was the first time I had ever seen one of my brothers cry. Aside from childish "Mommy I hurt my knee" shit when Chaz and I were too short to ride that ride.
Being the loving, caring, and supportive brother that I am. I immediately informed him that he 'cries like a sissy.'
With the utmost respect, of course. (Don't cut my internet, Joe.)
Ok now that you're done laughing, I'll ruin the humor. I didn't tell him that until way later and he thought it was funny. What I really did was do my best to comfort him as well. People say that they don't know what words can help at a time like that. After today, I think that there are none. All you can do is stand there, make some form of physical contact, and help their body support the emotional weight until it is lifted. I circulated through most of the people I knew, like some incompetent, powerless angel of mercy bumbling through the first day on the job.
The hardest part was seeing Kent's son placing the first flower on the coffin. I knew neither of them, but the look on his face is one that I doubt I will forget. Despite my neutrality, I felt my eyes well.
There are no words to describe the pain I witnessed at that moment. It would be sickeningly disrespectful for me to even make an attempt.
I intended to end this post on a lighter note, but I have an eight hour drive tomorrow and I'm tired. Just go reread the thing about my brother being a sissy. That was funny.
However, two of my brothers, a guy I consider to be a brother, their father, his brothers, my girlfriend, and her sister were all very close to him. I did not go to say goodbye to the man I hardly knew. I went to help in any way I could because it felt like the thing to do. Most of the people who were grieving were close to me, and it is pure chance that I never happened to speak to the buried. The rest of them were familiar faces that I had seen before at least once or twice.
Yesterday was the viewing, and I walked to the casket with Sean, Danica, and Christina. (Quasi-brother, girlfriend, her sister, in order.) Sean lost it almost immediately and Christina soon followed. Danica was a bit more resilient but I think that's because she was trying to be strong for the other two. Eventually, though, I ended up doing what I had intended. Comforting all three of my friends.
Today was the service. I sat behind Christina and Danica and spent a portion of the event with a hand on each of their shoulders, another bit of a time with a hand on Sean's-who was seated to my right- and a moment outside with my brother Glenn, smoking a cigarette. Why did I feel the need to stand up and leave a funeral service? Because someone from the clergy stood up and began his self-righteous speech with the words, "I never knew Kent."
For those of you who haven't been to a funeral with me in the past; that is the point at which I leave. Someone who did not know me has no right to speak over my body nor to use my death as a platform to force his opinions down my family's throats.
At the gravesite, I saw my brother cry for the first time in my life. As I recall, it was the first time I had ever seen one of my brothers cry. Aside from childish "Mommy I hurt my knee" shit when Chaz and I were too short to ride that ride.
Being the loving, caring, and supportive brother that I am. I immediately informed him that he 'cries like a sissy.'
With the utmost respect, of course. (Don't cut my internet, Joe.)
Ok now that you're done laughing, I'll ruin the humor. I didn't tell him that until way later and he thought it was funny. What I really did was do my best to comfort him as well. People say that they don't know what words can help at a time like that. After today, I think that there are none. All you can do is stand there, make some form of physical contact, and help their body support the emotional weight until it is lifted. I circulated through most of the people I knew, like some incompetent, powerless angel of mercy bumbling through the first day on the job.
The hardest part was seeing Kent's son placing the first flower on the coffin. I knew neither of them, but the look on his face is one that I doubt I will forget. Despite my neutrality, I felt my eyes well.
There are no words to describe the pain I witnessed at that moment. It would be sickeningly disrespectful for me to even make an attempt.
I intended to end this post on a lighter note, but I have an eight hour drive tomorrow and I'm tired. Just go reread the thing about my brother being a sissy. That was funny.