"Still, words are inadequate. Maybe that's the point. Maybe neatly wrapping up a life in a few moments is unjust. Maybe their inadequacy allows Count to remain alive within and amongst us. I take consolation that words distinguish but do not define our feelings. Somehow finding those lost words would snatch from us the meaning he worked so hard to attain and for which he gave his life. Despite this, I still can't help searching for the missing words."
Shannie cast her head down, her eyes glancing at the aisle in front of Count's casket. She smiled - it was a quite smile, not loud enough to break the church's silence. She stepped down, stopping to embrace Flossy and Bear before returning to our pew.
***
A breeze drifted across Fernwood. The season's first warmth embraced Count's mourners. The boisterous morning settled into a calm afternoon, nearly a bird stirred; nature seemed to be watching. Looking past Count's casket, I studied the budding trees standing between my house and the cemetery, half expecting to see myself sitting high in the limbs, watching, like I have so many times before. Through the bare limbs I caught glimpse of the sun reflecting off my bedroom window, peering at the canopied grave.
"In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through the Lord Jesus Christ," the good reverend crooned, "we comment to Almighty God our brother Leroy, and commit his body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the Lord bless him and keep him…"
The voyeuristic sunbeam caught my attention again and I glanced towards my bedroom window, thankful for the distraction. Glaring at the reflection, I imagined an earlier incarnation of myself peering from behind darkened windows. I'd much rather watch, I thought as my mind returned to the task at hand.
Summer days spent hurtling tombstones or autumn nights carting Shannie's coffin through Fernwood never prepared me for it, could anything? Who was ever prepared to literally bury a friend?
Earlier in the morning I opened the grave, soon, I have to close it. I am of the mind that opening a grave is much easier. No wonder I latch on to each passing second with desperation. The determination to see the process through withers with every rose tossed atop Count's casket.
This morning, opening the grave came as a relief, something to occupy my time. I didn't have to sit around waiting for the funeral service, or attend the horrid wake. As horrible as I feel for Bear and Flossy, I can't stand being in their presence. Since Count's death, I feel guilty. I told her that Count would be fine, "he's a professional doing a professional's job."