The Bright Funeral

         The sun did not rise that morning. There was only a gradual lightening of the grey skies spanning far above on that equally emotionally dark day. The hearse drove toward the church that the family and friends had decided to meet in. The bleakly dressed family was dabbing their tear-stained eyes while setting up the reception hall for hordes of well-wishers dressed to the tens in gloomy colors. They were scheduled to come at 10 A.M. sharp. The elderly widow caressed the name upon the napkins in fine print,

"Jonathon C. Parker,

Beloved Husband and Father,

9/12/1933-11/14/2012"

         She began to see the visitors arriving through the chapel's large oak doors. Seeing the faces of friends and family was a comfort to the woman, knowing the attention she would get from them, the love and care from their friends. She was realizing slowly that everything that was his was now hers: money, friends, family. Her once-pitiful existence of solely serving her now-deceased stern husband were turning into the days of doing whatever she wished for herself; thankfully she feigned crying well. They all believed the predictable tears.

..........

         "Piece of filthy junk!" the man protested as he drove onward. The small rusty blue car was, in fact, a piece of junk, a cheap vehicle that he minister could buy with the little he earned as the leader of a church. He broodingly thought over his life decisions, his ideas of priesthood, and how he had wanted to be a musician, an artist, but was ruefully convinced to go into the Lord's ministry.

         His face became redder and redder as the car broke down little by little. With each cloud of exhaust he took sips from the pocket flask. Eventually he arrived at the foreign chapel; he needed the extra cash on the weekends to pay for the booze which helped him cope with the rest of the week. So he picked up a few funerals throughout the month, some on Saturdays like this dreary morning.

         He sat in the car a few moments and prayed to whatever gods may be that he would be able to ignore his hangover and keep a somber composure for the entire ceremony. He slowly stepped out of the vehicle and faced the forebodingly dark-clothed crowd standing in the reception hall awaiting the hearse.

..........

         The woman dressed accordingly for the day's festivities, purple dress, red sweater, and a white hat that mismatched perfectly. She adorned her dissimilar purple fuzzy scarf with cargo boots and with a quick touch of sparkly eye shadow, Ruth was ready to face the day ahead of her. She got into her '60s VW bug and drove to her favorite cemetery for the day's festivities. The day of funeral-watching had begun.

..........

         Mrs. Parker was told by her brother-in-law that both the hearse and the minister had arrived and were now ready to travel to the plot of land. Jonathon had specifically hated the idea of having a big service; just wanted the dirty deed done and for the family to get on with their lives. At least that's what she wanted, and the once conflicting mentalities were now one.

         The long line of darkness flowed through the bright grass and stone tablets sprinkled through the fields. Four men carrying the casket led the line, with Mrs. Parker close behind. She was impressed and delighted by the attention of the comforting people surrounding her and couldn't help from smiling through the salty lies around her countenance.

         Before the erratic intruder could make it into the midst of the crowd, the now-respectable widow looked ashamedly at the woman. Mrs. Parker could not believe that someone would show up to a cemetery in such disrespectful garb, and looked to her family to muster enough judgment to ward away the significantly older, obviously senile, woman. She became more and more shocked as the frizzled lady came closer and closer. Her grin was from ear to ear, and a furrowed brow above her eyes.

..........

         The teal bug was locked; her boots tied tightly, the scarf wrapped around her neck thrice (the only real way to wear a scarf). She strolled through the graveyard, enjoying the reminders that the men and women gave about life in their own decomposing ways. The beautiful familiar stones littered the ground, each with different stories; each lifetime was filled with dreams and unfulfilled desires.

         As Ruth, so filled with life, walked toward the crowd, energy and lightning in each sure step, the critical eyes of the mourning people creased and lips were pinched and pursed. This unfazed Ruth completely and she simply listened to the obviously drunken minister slur his way through the Lord's Prayer forgetting to remind them about the power and glory, and mispronouncing passages of Psalms in condolence.

         The lively woman wasn't deranged or perverse, but simply enjoyed to listening to how people changed others in a more positive way, she liked to hear that things change when someone is taken from the world.

..........

         Uncle Bob looked to his left and found a colorful, smiling, probably schizophrenic woman next to him. He felt that there was some mistake, wondered if she was some awkward unknown relation that skipped the last few reunions. He was disgusted and wanted to scream, to tell her to move along. The tone of the dirge being sloppily sang didn't allow for his wished responses. Obviously interrupting a priest, even a whisky-priest, that was speaking over your dead brother wasn't permissible.

         Though this woman didn't kowtow to the usual or typical actions required of her in the present setting, and that almost infected him to do the same. Why should he stand stoically when she was so obviously rejecting proper response and action? Maybe this was her purpose, to inspire discord, to inspire chaos, and creation, and hell, and anything but average. Maybe he wanted this too.

..........

         As the man of stained cloth finished the service the family dispersed from there and either conversed with one another or walked in small groups back to their cars. The tiny chaotic disperse of dark-clothed people was like a group of ants who had lost their purpose, lost their way The colorful woman stayed behind and watched as larger men filled the newly dug hole back up with the earth, restoring the ground, even playing the grass back on the bulging ground, like a toddler hoping no one would notice him hiding under the blanket on the ground.

         The rain poured in diagonal streaks and everyone but Ruth and Mrs. Parker had left, sprinted for the church like the same little black ants under a flood, struggling and antically racing. Even the diggers ran back toward the church to dry off and return home. The sky grew darker and darker while the rain came down in heavier and heavier loads.

..........

         Mrs. Parker's thoughts were speeding through her small skull, trying to formulate an opinion, an answer to this woman, why Why WHY? Why was she here? Why not leave us alone? Did she even know him?

..........

         Ruth was standing comfortably looking at the plot of land, another successful burial. Another saddened family member. She stood with an incredible sense of fulfillment and waited there with the widow.

..........

         "Why did you come?" Mrs. Parker asked while looking at the freshly covered ground. Trying not to think back to her husband, to their life together, to the good parts of the years they shared.

         The dampened white curls began to be weighed down as the woman responded, "Because people need people," she stated simply. Her words resonated as the widow crumpled to the ground and earnestly sobbed. The rain mixed with the salt as she wept for her love. For her true husband who had died when their son did. From that day she hadn't sen him, and hadn't been allowed to grieve until his body was as formless as his spirit.

..........

         "I know, I know," the old woman said, comforting the wife and mother as she was sprawled before the two stones before her. Ruth was comforted by the resilience of humans, something she could aspire to. She rededicated herself to life as each death passed around her.