The funeral
A high school friend of mine passed away the other week. He was 24.
In the handful of school years (both in elementary and in high school) we found ourselves sharing the same section, he was always my seatmate - with students arranged alphabetically in the class list by surname, he always came immediately after me.
The funeral the day before yesterday was the first time I saw him in four years. About half of the class attended. It was the most surreal experience I've ever had. On top of the initial shock of hearing about my friend's passing, it was utterly jarring to see the rest of the class - a class known in the entire batch to be the most ruthless with its antics, pranks, jokes, and humor - all somber and serious for once.
I will never forget the sight of some of them carrying our friend's coffin. It finally sunk in. He was really gone.
The mass, the hearse convoy, the burial - the entire thing bespoke of melancholy.
When the proceedings were over, the family and relatives were able to get their composure back. Water bottles were given out and snacks were provided to the guests. Slowly, people started to leave, giving condolences to the family as they piled into their cars.
Eventually, the time came when we too had to leave. We gathered around our friend's grave to pay our final respects.
A camera man and two of our friend's sisters carrying digicams with them hastened to the scene, asking us to stand at the other side of the grave for a picture.
"Last picture with his classmates," the mom called out calmly, a hint of a smile shown on her face.
"Compress," said the photographer. We did. "OK. Three! Two..."
Someone in our group cracked a silly joke.
"One!"
The camera man and the sisters took shots with each of us caught laughing out loud.
"What the--?" someone from the class quipped sarcastically. "Guys, c'mon. No smiling! We're at a funeral!" At which even more laughter and innocent cheer ensued - the irony of it all stretched even further. "Aye aye ayeee..."
The sisters and the parents smiled at us, amused with our silly antics. Their dry eyes teared up once more as they started chuckling quietly to themselves as well.
"Sir!" another person from the class called out to the camera man. "Sir, one more picture! Everyone was smiling! C'mon guys! Serious this time! Aaagggh."
The camera man nodded with a laugh. "OK. Again. Three. Two..."
Another joke issued. More laughter. More pictures were taken, one after the other, both by the camera man and the sisters.
We had come full circle. The spell of grief was gone; life goes on.
A funeral is not meant for the dead, they say, but rather, for the living.
In the handful of school years (both in elementary and in high school) we found ourselves sharing the same section, he was always my seatmate - with students arranged alphabetically in the class list by surname, he always came immediately after me.
The funeral the day before yesterday was the first time I saw him in four years. About half of the class attended. It was the most surreal experience I've ever had. On top of the initial shock of hearing about my friend's passing, it was utterly jarring to see the rest of the class - a class known in the entire batch to be the most ruthless with its antics, pranks, jokes, and humor - all somber and serious for once.
I will never forget the sight of some of them carrying our friend's coffin. It finally sunk in. He was really gone.
The mass, the hearse convoy, the burial - the entire thing bespoke of melancholy.
When the proceedings were over, the family and relatives were able to get their composure back. Water bottles were given out and snacks were provided to the guests. Slowly, people started to leave, giving condolences to the family as they piled into their cars.
Eventually, the time came when we too had to leave. We gathered around our friend's grave to pay our final respects.
A camera man and two of our friend's sisters carrying digicams with them hastened to the scene, asking us to stand at the other side of the grave for a picture.
"Last picture with his classmates," the mom called out calmly, a hint of a smile shown on her face.
"Compress," said the photographer. We did. "OK. Three! Two..."
Someone in our group cracked a silly joke.
"One!"
The camera man and the sisters took shots with each of us caught laughing out loud.
"What the--?" someone from the class quipped sarcastically. "Guys, c'mon. No smiling! We're at a funeral!" At which even more laughter and innocent cheer ensued - the irony of it all stretched even further. "Aye aye ayeee..."
The sisters and the parents smiled at us, amused with our silly antics. Their dry eyes teared up once more as they started chuckling quietly to themselves as well.
"Sir!" another person from the class called out to the camera man. "Sir, one more picture! Everyone was smiling! C'mon guys! Serious this time! Aaagggh."
The camera man nodded with a laugh. "OK. Again. Three. Two..."
Another joke issued. More laughter. More pictures were taken, one after the other, both by the camera man and the sisters.
We had come full circle. The spell of grief was gone; life goes on.
A funeral is not meant for the dead, they say, but rather, for the living.