Outside on the lanai, under rented white canopies, mason jars filled with sun-brewed sweet tea sit untouched on the table. Tears of condensation roll down the glass, leaving wet circles on the old linen cloth. Gran’s tatted lace doilies, yellow and wilted with age, hang forlornly from the backs of the chairs.
The stifling gloom even makes the honeysuckle blooms weep nectar. Great drops of amber syrup fall from the vines as the mournful drone of bees fills the air.
The sadness is palpable. I want to scream at them all. Tell them this wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted a party, she wanted laughter and music, she wanted to be remembered with rowdy tales from her remarkable life. I almost expect her to sweep down the main stairs, whooping and hollering loud enough to wake the dead.
I suppress a giggle, hoping the others will assume my shaking shoulders are from my overwhelming grief and not a swallowed laugh. Hidden meaning in her pre-planned service still fresh in my memory, brings on another wave of laughter.
I mean to respect Gran’s wishes. No maudlin funeral, she wanted a celebration.
Standing, I raise my jar of tea high over my head, “to Gran, I’ll miss you, you old broad. Do you all remember that time when she got arrested for solicitation on her 90th birthday?”
More stories are told. This time the tears are happy ones. Finally the spell is broken, and the laughter and her party can begin.
For Trifecta. This week’s prompt is: Weep [transitive verb \ weep] 3: to exude (a fluid) slowly: ooze
My father, still alive and kicking, has warned me that he does not want a funeral. He instead wants his family and friends to celebrate his life. He would approve of me laughing during any memorial service we may hold for him.