The Ritual of Closure

" His smile walks in in woolly socks and suspenders 

and asks to borrow the funny papers." 

- Tom Robbins

Today I went to PJ's funeral.  Dad and My Mother saved me a spot as I was racing from a class.  I was dressed in black because that is usually how I dress.  I realized as I ran up the hill towards the church  that I was wearing my combat boots with glow-in-the-dark Skull shoe laces.  Ooops.


My Mother said they were left of the altar.  My theatre mind pondered "Stage Left or Stage Right" but I didn't trouble her with that question.  I found them and slipped into the pew - making an extra effort to tuck my feet under the thingie so My Mother would not be mad at my footwear. (Frankly, PJ would have been amused.)



Funerals are for the living, in my opinion.  The living need closure.    And ritual is a major part of this process.


Oh - and singing.


I liked the singing part.  Cuz everyone sang or mouthed the words.  The songs were not familiar to me but I did my best.    And I think it is pretty cool for a whole group of people who may or may not care for singing to stand up and sing together.

I just didn't like the sadness part.

I didn't like looking at the back of his lovely wife's head while she stoically held it still or the sight of My Mother's bony hand clutching a kleenex or the thought of how many people hadn't yet had the opportunity to feel the REASSURANCE that this man exuded.


And how ironic it was to be at this sad celebration without the ONE guy who would have quietly lowered his eyes and lifted his smile and would have INSTANTLY made you feel like  it was all gonna be okay.


Stupid cancer.