The Fun in Funerals
Another addition in the lives of The Haés | Read time: 5 min
A warm static washed over her as the mourner's words sank in. Their sad sentences permeated her skin right through to her core. From every corner, Magema could hear sniffles. Subtle gasps caught in throats. The room breathed sorrow while those around the table she shared held their breath and listened to the tributes. Communal catharsis soothed her soul. As emotion rose so did a familiar, guilty thought. i love funerals.
Sentiments spun while Magema absentmindedly toyed with her jewelry. A scorching tear cracked down her cheek, warm and wet. Summoning all her strength to appear unbothered she made no effort to wipe it. Magema wore the passion like a badge amongst her necklaces, bracelets, pendents, and rings.
From the podium the speaker's voice cracked as she spoke of her loved one passed. Of Joy, their shared blissful laughs, tender talks, honest hurts and difficulties, of a profound gratitude for time together despite all of the hard hours that she struggled to describe. The weight of her loss, however, was not. It was written in every pause. A stark sob escaped from across the ballroom. Gema took the opportunity from the interruption to reach over and give her friend Deidre's thigh a supportive squeeze, and met a look of thanks distorted from glassy eyes with reassurance
The moment Magema stepped into the hall her friend's facade broke. Her entrance more powerful than she'd expected. Shock that dear Gema made time to honour an auntie that had been more like a mother froze Deidre in place, the gravity of her appearance only underlined the dead's worth. The ripples poured over her eyelashes.
Gema's affinity for funerals was well camouflaged. A tradition she loved, and an opinion she guarded close. It wasn't a morbid or grotesque draw, but an honest, though perhaps, unexpected one. A sacred, momentary museum of a life come and gone, the galleries ripe with meaning, the hours irresistible. The pull undeniable. By no means did she move like a tourist, her presence always sincere. While the odd occasion may be draped in obligatory illusion, most grief only highlighted a profound love. The rooms felt anything but empty. The care illustrated as deep as it was real, a reminder of the fragility and enormity of life that was impossible to ignore. Leagues beyond birthdays, anniversaries, retirements, or graduations. It was a celebration of someone's life. Their essence. Their impact. Their spark.
Shields came down, allowing attendees the comfort to speak things from the heart that under normal circumstances they may hold back from even private conversation. A rare, authentic vulnerability that was an honour to witness, to the point of spiritually nourishing when displayed in public. Hours of towering honesty. Big laughs liberated the weight, frustration purged through tears. It was community with merit, gathering around the vast palette of life. Hands clasped, fingers threaded, smiles shared through tearful eyes. It all contributed. Every aspect a component that constructed what she loved about these tragic events. The mirrors, the bubbling recognition, the memories. It was a privilege to stand by those shaking in their grief, their love unbridled, and overwhelming. A generous and courageous look into the humanity within. A paramount reason why Magema loved her job so much.
Seeing others tend to one another inspired her. As difficult as it could be, it was an honour to spend her professional life supporting people as they navigated the hardest times of their life. Undiluted reminders of compassion filled her, recharged her energies, and quieted any cynical voices within. Many people had come to confide in her over the years, and she expected many more would throughout the day.
The tears were hard for everyone. Not even courageous Magema could escape feeling self conscious while she wept. Worse than the shyness was the admission of humiliation that someone in her profession still felt uncomfortable crying in front of others. Only practice, brutal practice, held her hand at bay. Remembering the comfort she received seeing others empathize with their own unembarrassed tears gave her courage. Yet shame sat. After all her hardwork, Magema still felt like she needed to apologize for her emotions. Social pressure a hefty force. Irrational, but there it was. Human, flawed, in good company with the lost aunt resting in the cedar box.
As the eulogy continued she didn't feel a cavernous void in the room, rather a heavy, beautiful, blanketing weight. Under its magnitude, she was struck by that recurring, alienating thought. That she was out of place, alone, in the crowd. Magema knew that many of her quiet musings were not shared, that most felt uncomfortable at the ceremony. She let the old resurfaced realization unpack itself. Its unfolding only amplified her appreciation, and solidified the stances she had. Magema knew the lengths of her gratitude may veer on the absurd to some. But she had so much to be grateful for. Thankful that she had the safety to be alone when she chose. For her life, community, family, and home, where even when she wasn't fully understood, she was always accepted and adored. That her support was stable. That this afternoon she was protected by her other half in the abstract, and at home tending to her children in the physical, exactly where she needed him. That she was free to be. Be there for others, be there for herself. To absorb the expansive pauses of the speeches, to share memories old and new, to witness a wider scope of a person she'd known affirmed. That in the quiet of the night her conversation and secrets were welcomed across their pillows.
Like many, she wondered about her own funeral. Who would come, who would speak, what they might say. Her heart ached, tearing at itself unable to bear the thought that on that day, her words or gentle touch wouldn't be able to comfort a single one of those she cherished. In a quiet prayer Magema wished the deceased an equal abundance of love that she experienced. Open eyes answered, the room teeming with evidence that Joy had.
Magema felt the guilt rise again. Critical internal dialogue berated the falling from an oath that she'd promised herself many times over. To tell those held dearest how much she loved them as often as possible. To verbalize aspects of their character she adored, and share fond memories she treasured. The Haés said their relentless i love you's throughout the day, but never enough. In the dark of her eyes she remembered those that weren't always in her life, important souls whom she'd only had short intersections with, be it schooling, old workplaces, travel, and chastised herself for not making regular contact. And though she knew that the likelihood that she'd ever feel that she'd done enough was slim, that her feelings leaned on the irrational, the spotty remorse wouldn't yield. Not when the inevitable clock was set so short.
As hard as she could, she tried to alleviate the thought and the fear that came in tow. Knowing that the fact that she had these quiet pledges to herself was not nothing. Somewhere, somehow, it meant something. She prayed so long as she kept them in mind, in between the words, the feelings and sentiments would be passed along. That her efforts, large and small, silent and loud were heard and felt. The harder her mind raced, the easier it was to pretend.
Another speaker rose under soft rolling applause as the speech concluded. They cleared their throat, and spun another cycle of memories. Their words incited flashbacks, and unearthed interactions between Magema and Deidre's aunt. From nothing, there was Joy. Joy in memory, peaceful and laughing filled her mind's eye. Her physical embodiment may have passed but the love that filled her yesterdays remained. Though Magema never looked forward to saying goodbye, she revealed the sensation of remembering, watching the translucent film of the past layer over the present. As if she was walking between two worlds. In that space she found the essence of Joy rippling love like oceanic waves, cascading across the sombre shores of the bereaved, rinsing their wounds. Gracious Magema embraced the channeled enormity, and wished she could do more to help guide the mourners to the same place of peace, comfort, and gratitude she'd circled back to. While Magema worried her opinions separated her from the crowd, she knew without question that not only did she belong as a puzzle piece in Diedre's-and by extension Joy's life, but a good one. And that that, like Joy, mattered, in that moment, every moment before it, and every moment after.
Thanks for reading! Be sure to check out the rest of the The Haés’s chronicles.
-Mr. Write