Strangers at her funeral

The day of the funeral arrives and the relatives have all gathered, even though half of them didn’t know her, or any one who knew her. They just know she once lived and now she is dead. 

They never even bothered to know her, to know how she lived, or who she was. Just that they were related, that she lived, and now she is dead. 

We sit in the church, and sing a few songs. 

All those kids screaming and crying, maybe because they knew that something terrible happened, that she wasn’t coming back. Or maybe because their moms didn’t bring enough cheerios. 

A stranger gets up, crying about the sister she never knew, and tells us all the grand things she did. What she doesn’t say, and didn’t ever know, is the little things that mattered. 

About the bear that broke down the front door, or about how she was the first one to tell me I had hips, that she knew secrets, and held them above me with words of my youth. She doesn't know any of that and then the time for words was us and we are getting up, standing in a line. 

“To say goodbye.” Dad says to the baby when she asks. “Why, where did she go?” she asks the next question, not understanding. “She went to heave, but don’t worry, she is waiting for us there.” And then he is silent again. Not able to speak the words that weren’t said before. 

We parade passed her body, see her face, with the smile that says she knew more than we did, and walk on, not knowing what to say. Then my dad breaks, forgetting that he already cried, and for the first time, he is balling like a baby, as weak and helpless as a lamb. A cousin is being strong, holding my mom as she washes off her make up. The baby still didn't know what to think, she is among those who didn’t know her, and travels away to her own world. 

And then there is me, who doesn’t know how to be. Not knowing her well enough to cry, but knowing to much not to care. 

When she is gone, when the coffin has closed its ugly jaws around her and sealed her away, all tears are forgotten. 

We go back to the church and eat that meal. The same one we always eat when some one dies. Ham that is to sweat, salad with tomatoes, cheese potatoes that mush in your mouth. 

And people laugh, glad that the sad part is over and they can go back to their lives. 

She is gone, with no way of coming back, and those who knew her have to put her behind for now, and those who don’t care try to hide there indifference. After the meal there are lots of goodbyes to strangers who claim to know you and then we drive home.

We go back to our lives, saying we don’t have to dwell on the death because she is happier now than she was with us, and her children, and all those people who didn’t know her. She is in a happy place. Don't you know? Don't you have enough faith not to cry?

She was alive, and now she is dead, and even that only mattered for a minute.