Funeral Wear
I have trouble thinking these days. I feel my brain is a blur. I try to recall things, but it is hazy; like muddy water. I have trouble keeping attention, listening, letting go. I have trouble, and I need help. I always go to the outside for help but rarely consult myself. When I do I hear my truth, I forget it, let it pass without taking action. How do I remember? Make a plan? Follow my truth? My instincts? My inner voice? It gets buried. I get buried. Buried in the dirt.
It was her final resting place, the grave beside my grandfather.
They began to lower her down. I didn’t feel much, except maybe regret. It was cool, not cold out, for a spring day. Clouds coming and going, sun peeking through, impending rain. There were many people there. Family. My mother in her usual three-piece suit. Black, even if it wasn’t a funeral. Her face with its layers of makeup, not overdone, that she never left the house without, and glasses to hide the age around her eyes. She didn’t cry. I can count on my hand the times I’ve seen her cry in my life. In fact, I’m not even sure I’d need one finger.
No one in my immediate family showed their emotions unless it was anger — happiness hidden behind a straight face if there was any happiness at all. Sure there was an occasional smile, a daily nonchalance, but true joy was something I’m unsure they experienced. I guess that’s what happens when you get old.
The other people surrounding the rectangular hole shed their tears. There was a tent to stand under while they spoke, if it rained, but I thought the outside was more fitting. Maybe the rain would cover for the tears that had forgotten to fall.
A man with a long reddish-brown beard speckled with gray, wearing a leather jacket, wept openly. The old woman in the purple coat, who was once her neighbor, sobbed on the shoulder of her daughter who drove her there.
My grandma became friendlier in her old age, talking the ears off of anyone she met. Maybe emotions return as you get older?
The gravestone next to the spot she was to lie in had a single flower lying at its front, a yellow carnation with the stem broken at the base.. I wonder if anyone had ever visited it before this day. My family was one to forget about their sadness rather than remember it. Joke’s on them, it’s always there whether they deal with it or not.
The sun shone through the clouds at just the right moment—her glazed box now settled into the earth.
Flowers tossed down to join her. I wondered if they would make her smile.
I bury my feelings like those who came before me. I pushed them so far into the soil that I had almost forgotten what they were. I wonder if I’ll ever remember to dig my way out.
