by James Hollis Smith
Son, I understand you're feeling a bit jaded by these proceedings. Your parents thought that I should speak with you...alone. Just to make sure that we're all on the same page, as it were. They tell me that the church is going to be the biggest obstacle for you, and I don't blame you. All those people looking at you, a lot of them strangers—who wouldn't feel uncomfortable? But son, remember the three P's I spoke to you about during the wakes? They apply for the funeral, too, with interest. Especially, and I do mean especially, when we make that initial march down the church aisle.
Now when the big moment comes, I need you to remember, walk slowly. I realize you're distraught and feeling very disconsolate at this very...trying time, but remember these people are not here for you, they're here for your sister. So when her casket is wheeled down the aisle, remember what I said, "Poise, Pacing, Pathos."
Sure you can, sure, that would be fine. But do us all a favor. Make sure that you don't start crying until we're at least halfway down the aisle. Trust me, I've concelebrated a thousand funerals and, more often than not, once the tears start they do not stop. So I'd like you to at least give me half the length of the aisle before you start crying. This way you're only within a few arm-pulls of the front pew. Also, I'll be dousing the casket with holy water intermittently, so just be on the lookout. I wouldn't even mention it, but you'd be surprised how many people I catch unaware with the water benediction.
Oh, also, and I know it's not that big a deal but, it would mean a lot to your mother if you could find it in your heart not to wear the Misfits t-shirt to the funeral. I know you did, I realize that, but that was the wake and this is the funeral. Well, It would mean a lot to your sister, I'm sure.
I didn't mean to.... I'm sorry, here's some Kleenex. This hasn't been easy for you, has it? All the reporters and the questions, you probably haven't had a moment's peace, questioning every single move leading up to your sister's death. I'm sure that you've even listened to some of those mean people talking about negligence, and placing blame. Now regardless of what those people say, you just have to buck up and put your best foot forward at the funeral. Remember there's only one chance to make a great funeral. You're fourteen now...a man, in most respects. You'll just have to suffer the slings and arrows, with dignity, grace, and verve.
To that end, I have a couple of things to go over with you. As far as seating, I'm sure your mother has told you that you'll be in the front pew. Now...there's going to be a team video taping the funeral. You know, since your sister was a mini-celebrity and all. So just...well, try to give them a few longing gazes into the camera if you can. To augment your sister's memory on video, you know? I wouldn't have mentioned it, but better safe than sorry. I mean if it doesn't turn out OK, it's not like we can just call everyone back here a week from Friday for another go at it.
Oh, and looking here it says that during the liturgy you're going to be reading a poem by Anne Sexton? Right—let's see.... Here it is...hmmm...
Gone, I say and walk from church,
Refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
Letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.
Etc., etc.—I'm sorry, but we just can't. You can understand why. I realize that, but it's really out of my hands. Church policy and all. However, I've taken the liberty of choosing something a little more in keeping with the occasion. Have you ever heard of The Memorare? Well, it's written in honor of the Virgin Mother, and I think it's probably closer to what you're trying to say. It goes like this...
You know, O Mary, that never was it known
that anyone who ever called your name,
or sought your intercession went unaided.
To thee do we cry. To thee do we send up our sighs,
mourning and weeping in this valley of tears.
Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy
towards us. And after this our exile, show unto us the
blessed fruit of thy womb Jesus.
Oh blessed, oh holy, oh sweet, Virgin Mary.
Isn't that great? It says it all, doesn't it? I'll write it down for you, so you can read it at the funeral. Believe me, you don't want to have to memorize anything in this...trying time. And it really is trying, isn't it? I was young once too. But you must remember that we're all here for you, your mother, your father, me, even the Virgin Mother. She's here for you, more than that thing on your t-shirt. But you have to speak her language. Now...have you given any thought to being one of the pallbearers? It would mean a lot not only to your sister, but also to your mother, not to mention really important to the video. So please, just consider it.
Well, that's your prerogative but I must tell you, ten, fifteen, twenty years from now, you may start wishing that you had grabbed an oar and rowed. I speak from experience. There's nothing worse than burial regret, it lives on. Also, your mother wanted me to let you know that if you weren't a pallbearer...there would be no summer camp this year.... I know it's not. I know. But it wasn't fair that your sister died either, was it?
Oh, I'm sorry. Here—no, just blow your heart out. There's plenty more tissues. You do miss her, don't you? You're a good boy. I'll never understand people, those hateful, insinuating people who've insinuated things. All those insinuations, they're just not fair, are they? I mean, to think...them blaming your father. And the things they say he.... Ah, well, it's best not to dwell on it. Why, you don't even know what "rape" means, do you?
Copyright © 2000 James Hollis Smith.