The day we buried him was darkened by an overcast sky. The cold, December air was broken only by a slow steady drizzle that quickly became a downpour. The scene was more than fitting for what we were about to do.
Dressed in our Sunday best, my family and I shut the doors of the Jeep to begin the five-minute drive to the school’s auditorium for the funeral. Within minutes we had pulled into the parking lot across the street. What happened after that still remains a blur all these years later.
As I walked to the street’s edge to cross, I paused. There was a rushing stream of rainwater that ran along the roadway’s edge. Strange that on a life-changing day like that I would remember something so insignificant. I stepped across the water’s line and kept walking. My family and I crossed the street to the high school’s auditorium. Inside, John’s family and friends found their way to empty seats. I started to follow my family in, but I was asked to stay behind and sit with my classmates. Through the open doors I could see down the aisle to the front. What I saw made me sick, and I turned away.
As my classmates and I made our way to the seats reserved for us, I did my best to avoid looking at the scene at the front of the auditorium. Somehow in the confusion I was separated from my close friends. I simply followed my fellow students and sat in an empty chair by the far aisle. The girl in the next seat turned and began talking to me. I suppose that she believed she was making this easier for me. Nothing she said in that moment made any sense to me, but I tried to answer out of politeness. Suddenly, something she said brought me back to reality.
“So, what do you want for Christmas?” she asked.
I stared at her with a blank look on my face.
“I…I don’t know,” I managed to stammer.
I couldn’t believe what she was asking. My best friend was dead in a box a few feet away, and she was asking me what I wanted for Christmas.
The room boasted a solemn reverence that hung stiffly in the heavy darkness. I slowly drew a tissue to my eyes to slow the steady stream of water that ran along the sides of my face. I clenched my fists in an attempt to steady my composure. Whether anyone knew or even noticed, I would face that day with both dignity and grace. Of all his friends, it was me who had to stand strong. As I turned to face the crowd, I memorized the faces of those who had come that day to honor my friend.
Softly, music accompanied by a voice began to play through the air. The words…those words…they were the words of his favorite song. Those words were the anthem of our friendship. Those words were his heart. The voice sang, And, friends are friends forever / If the Lord’s the Lord of them / And, a friend will not say ‘never’ / ‘cause the welcome will not end / Though it’s hard to let you go / In the Father’s hands we know / That a lifetime’s not too long to live as friends.
When the song had ended, John’s pastor and youth minister stood to speak. I heard few of the words they spoke, and those that I did hear I took little comfort in. I found it nearly impossible to focus, simply casting short glances to the scene at the front of the room.
When the song had ended, John’s pastor and youth minister stood to speak. I heard few of the words they spoke, and those that I did hear I took little comfort in. I found it nearly impossible to focus, simply casting short glances to the scene at the front of the room.
When the service was over, six men and boys wheeled the box that held my best friend into the foyer. The family stood and followed behind. I cannot remember if the entire room stood next, or if my class rose to leave. I just remember standing in the foyer; feet from where he lay. The tear-stained faces of the people were matched by muffled-sobbing. Somehow I made my way outside. I remember standing there thinking, “It’s raining. It’s raining…it’s raining.” Close friends came up to hug me. I wanted to shy away, but I didn’t. All I could do was simply stand and take it.
No comments:
Post a Comment