The end
Murky skies, murky mood. Going home is expected for these kinds of events. Somber, bitter exhibitions held for the living to perform grievous posturing, outdoing hired mourners.
Firstborn son, blessed girl-child – she is the twin of you! – coming together telling stories, feigning good memories, lying to keep the vultures in check.
Do the ebony suits, the filigree veils, hide their deceptions from onlookers or themselves?
Hymns, sung with befitting sorrow betwixt bogus sobs, solicit guilt-ridden tithes to overflowing collection boxes, their penitence for indifferent negligence.
The stern eulogy is the most inopportune time for one lone giggle to slip out.
My family . . . with me firmly in the lead . . . would be the gigglers – and it would not be just one. I am trusting that when I go my loves will have a raucous time, knowing full well, that were I to be the one on this side of the veil I would be leading the laughter. I am sorry for your loss, Tara.
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Okay, this reminds me why I really should have a thesaurus at my side while writing. Amazing!
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Not being able to use any A’s demanded I get creative with word choice. I didn’t know there was a specific name for hired mourners until I had to find one.
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Yes. I’ve been there too many times. Once, at a relative’s funeral service, our small group of mourners sat on one side of the aisle. On the other side? A bunch of total strangers, weeping copiously. Go figure.
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The service I attended this week was very sweet, but I can absolutely see this drama unfolding at some of my other family funerals… life imitates art?
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