There it was, an ignorant car horn followed by an abrupt yell from mum, “Hurry up would you! Don’t want to be late now do you?”
Door opens, I hop in the car, half dressed, pull socks on, put shoes on.
I glance out the window as we speed off; I see my reflection reminding me that I am trapped in this mess. Thoughts rummage through my head. Radio flickers in and out between static.
We continue to travel further, I feel lifeless, empty, almost non-existent.
Tires screech.
Door opens, am greeted by faces, family, friends an abundance of people. All dressed in neutral colours sharing no emotion, very dormant clothes. They persist on being comforting, I push them away, any consolation seems in vain. More people, more faces, more grieving.
Surrounded now, a sense of togetherness; however together for all the wrong reasons. Wind bustles through the nooks and crannies, whispers like a ghost.
Everyone’s silent now, jokes aside, no talking, no conversing, just remembering.
We move towards the entrance now, combined as one. Nature life is booming all around, birds tweeting, trees growing and rain falling.
Door opens, I step inside the empty hall, the walls a dark tinge of grey, empty rows of chairs, these walls are like faces just staring at you waiting for you to crumble within them.
I find a seat in the front row, off center to the left a little, I receive a pamphlet I can almost bare to look at. I glance outside to the birds; still chirping. The hall starts to fill, family front row, friends’ further back. To the left of me sits Uncle Charlie, to the right Mum. I knew I had to be with mum, something just wasn’t sitting right with her.
Distressing music is heard over the speakers as we wait for the hall to fill a little more. I glance around looking for him, still not here. Maybe he didn’t see it in the paper? Maybe he’s running late?
I survey the hall, on the northern wall, there’s ceramic glass, a cross. Down the sides’ sheets of glass, quite a tall building, so much air space, but I feel so confined. On the southern wall - the one we entered from - a large timber door and more glass. It’s as if the hall is a large viewing gallery, a game as such as to who will breakdown first.
I sit here in silence now; this prolonged wait for the service to begin is painful, as if driving a knife into my brain. I sit here in this place of forgiveness and I cannot even look to the heavenly father for guidance, I truly am alone.
The minister struts up the hallway now, how he can be happy at a time like this astounds me, what gives him the right to be happy and this luxury that he indulges in, something I’ve had to live without. He reaches the stand, arrogantly leans against it, reaches for his folder and tears out a piece of paper and commences the service.
His opening words make me shudder, memories clutter in my head, my hairs stand on end. I’m living on his words, each one like a bullet to the body. I sink further and further into my chair. I feel my blood pressure rise, its building within me. I reach boiling point, no longer able to control the emotions. A trickle makes way for a torrent of water... flooding down my face.
The service continues I’ve dried my eyes now; we begin the eulogy everyone recalling their favourite memories, a sense of happiness buzzing around. A few comments actually bring a smile to my face and even a little giggle. Together we recall the good times, the bad and even the ugly, but they all make up for what we are today, all contribute in some way or another.
The minister concludes the service with a quote “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” The inevitable has arisen; it’s time for a final goodbye.
I stand, and begin to approach the fine mahogany coffin fitted with golden handles, covered in beautiful flowers. There was a plate of glass over the head, a viewing panel. I dared not look upon it though curiosity got the better of me, I shifted my body weight forward and lent over the coffin. There he was so stiff, so lifeless; his face bore a faint smile, as though it was seemingly painless. My ears began to ring, a stiff smell fills my nostrils and then is bettered by the fragrance of the lily’s; his favourite flower, and I burst out again.
I bend down, grip the golden handles and lift the coffin along with my other family members, we move as one out of the chapel, carrying death itself on our shoulders. We make it outside and place the coffin in the hearse. I lean forward and stroke the glass panel, “Goodbye Granddad,” I whisper.
Doors Close.
