The Piercing Cries
Together they walk into sombered silence, a group of black cladded individuals who could care less about who they impressed tonight. A lone man points them toward the other room, a sea of tan chairs dotted with black bodies with heads bowed toward the floor.
A cry pierced his heart, a sharp sorrow filled wail of one lone girl. Her face is buried in the palm of her hands, other girls hold her, half trying to comfort her, half trying to keep her standing. An open casket lays before the crying girls. He notices a face. Between the sharp heart wrenching cries of the girl and the open casket, he freezes still. He doesn't want to walk any further into the funeral home. He doesn't want to turn around.
"I don't want to see her up close" He whispers, fighting back the pain rushing to his heart. The pain of everyone's sorrow, the pain of Death in front of him, the pain of seeing another person lost from this world.
The others with him begin to walk, his feet move in unison with theirs though he doesn't want to see what he knows he's going to see if he doesn't stop. Before he can realize anything, he is there, facing the girl gone from this world. She looks peaceful like she's sleeping the most peaceful slumber in the world. Her mother is there, she puts his hand on hers. It's warm.
It's a joke, it must be, how can her hand be warm? He bites back tears and walks away, noticing the Mother standing there, rubbing her child's hands in hers.
He finds a seat amongst the rows of tan seats. Sniffles come from all around him, like crickets on a brisk summer night.
The preacher speaks, they sob in unison. The family speaks, they begin to wail. He begins to cry, not because everyone else is, not because it's the right thing to do, but because he had to. Because if he didn't, he wouldn't feel right. He had to for the parents, he had to for his friends, he felt all their sadness and cried for them.
He hates funerals.
Together they walk into sombered silence, a group of black cladded individuals who could care less about who they impressed tonight. A lone man points them toward the other room, a sea of tan chairs dotted with black bodies with heads bowed toward the floor.
A cry pierced his heart, a sharp sorrow filled wail of one lone girl. Her face is buried in the palm of her hands, other girls hold her, half trying to comfort her, half trying to keep her standing. An open casket lays before the crying girls. He notices a face. Between the sharp heart wrenching cries of the girl and the open casket, he freezes still. He doesn't want to walk any further into the funeral home. He doesn't want to turn around.
"I don't want to see her up close" He whispers, fighting back the pain rushing to his heart. The pain of everyone's sorrow, the pain of Death in front of him, the pain of seeing another person lost from this world.
The others with him begin to walk, his feet move in unison with theirs though he doesn't want to see what he knows he's going to see if he doesn't stop. Before he can realize anything, he is there, facing the girl gone from this world. She looks peaceful like she's sleeping the most peaceful slumber in the world. Her mother is there, she puts his hand on hers. It's warm.
It's a joke, it must be, how can her hand be warm? He bites back tears and walks away, noticing the Mother standing there, rubbing her child's hands in hers.
He finds a seat amongst the rows of tan seats. Sniffles come from all around him, like crickets on a brisk summer night.
The preacher speaks, they sob in unison. The family speaks, they begin to wail. He begins to cry, not because everyone else is, not because it's the right thing to do, but because he had to. Because if he didn't, he wouldn't feel right. He had to for the parents, he had to for his friends, he felt all their sadness and cried for them.
He hates funerals.
posted by Allen M @ 3/30/2004 12:16:00 AM
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