She
was told to go into the funeral viewing; she wasn’t sure why she was there.
There really wasn’t a reason for her to be there, since she could not do anything
for the man that now lay in the casket. In the will, one of the people told
her, was the want for her to come to the funeral. So, she felt the slight
obligation to do so, even though she’d lost her feelings of love for the dead
man long ago.
In the funeral home, sat his body;
still, and filled with embalming fluid, there he was. She cried on the sight of
him, a tear rolling down her right cheek and making a small bit of her mascara
run. Her eyelashes fluttered above her eyes to bat away the tragedy of the
tears. There wasn’t a part of her that still loved this man, but there was the
part of her that still belonged to him, the part that he’d kept.
When they were together, he always
used metaphors, for he was a poet, a musician, and a writer. He loved putting things
into phrases that she always didn’t quite understand the first time, but always
had a deep, symbolic meaning. If he were to have had a nickname, it surely
would’ve been ‘Allegory’.
This funeral service that she
attended was small; only a few people were in the place. It was nothing compared
to the school’s memorial service, although, they did not have his body on display.
The school thought that it would scare people, so they closed the casket and
just put up a picture of him with flowers around the pine and oak box.
Elizabeth remembered seeing people
make the motions of the Christian, ‘father, son, holy ghost’ when they passed
by his casket. A few people cried; those few people did include Elizabeth, even
though she did not cry in public. In the crowd, she tried to hold back her
tears as much as possible. The people who were closer to him fared worse than
Elizabeth, balling their eyes out as waterfalls bucketed down from their tear
ducts. With the people doing the, ‘father, son, holy ghost’ motions, Elizabeth
didn’t feel exactly comfortable with that, mainly because she was still an
agnostic. Even when she’d mentioned to him that she wanted to believe again,
and he offered to help her, she declined and he understood. She didn’t know
that when people would do the hand motions as they passed by his casket, that
if he were there, viewing himself, he would’ve scolded any one of the people
who’d performed those hand motions. Since the time of the two of them, they’d
never spoken a word to each other. She had no idea that he’d changed faiths,
from Christianity, to whatever form of shamanism he performed. He probably
hated the religion, but under normal circumstances would’ve been tolerant of
it. But this was his funeral; he would’ve pierced a spear through anyone’s
chest who dared to bring that faith to his body.
Elizabeth remembered this all, and
was now reminded as to why there was a Native American shaman acting as a
priest would at a funeral. She watched the shaman perform whatever rituals he
was doing for the dead; there wasn’t a single one that she understood. Maybe,
if she’d known him a little longer, to see him become a shaman, she would’ve
been told the symbolism of the religion. But at any rate, the funeral
proceeded.
It seemed fitting for Elizabeth to
go up in front of the casket where the shaman had been and to say her own
eulogy for the man in the casket. She uneasily looked upon him and then to the
crowd. Her hand leaned on the oak box as a sort of base for her.
“I knew him…” Elizabeth said. “…we’d
dated, and he’d told me he loved me. If I had every single second in a year to
say how many times he said that he loved me, there wouldn’t be enough time…”
Her voice was normally weak, but somehow it carried a little stronger. The tone
of her voice seemed changed a little bit as well. “…I told him that I loved
him. And…” A tear rolled down her face. “…and, he was sweet…he was funny, he
was such a good writer…” Another tear fell from her face. “…and he was amazing.”
She lingered up where she was for a
while longer, and then sat back down. The funeral service proceeded as was
planned, and his casket was carried to a nearby cemetery. Despite his will to
be cremated, and for his ashes to be buried beneath the ground in Ireland, his
parents couldn’t afford to do such a thing, so they settled. The Native
American shaman warned the parents about not following the wishes of the dead,
but they seemed to ignore the shaman. Elizabeth was intrigued by this individual,
so when they were at the cemetery and he was leaving, she stopped him when he
was halfway out of the cemetery.
“Hey, um…” Elizabeth said.
“What is it that you want,
Elizabeth?” The shaman said.
“Wait, how do you know my name?”
“I am a shaman; we see many things,
and know many things. We know some things before they happen, and know some
information before we receive it; like how I knew your name, even before I’ve
heard it said.”
“Would he have been like you?”
“I did not know him in this life…at
least, to the point where I could shake his hand. But, at some point, I did
pick up his energy. He was quite strong in that area…although, he was near a
vortex, so that added to how well I could sense him. But as for how much he was
like me, I don’t know. I know that he could sense spirits, and that he could
use a dousing pendulum, and performed his own interpretation of my people’s
magick, but I do not know how similar he and I were.”
“Can I ask you something…?”
“You want to know about the
afterlife, correct?”
“This, knowing what I want to say
before I say it thing, is getting a little weird…”
“I know that…most people do not
react the best to it their first time of encountering anyone likened to me. He
believed in the Summerlands, which would be like a heaven, a place where you
can do all that you wish to ever do. But when you are ready to leave the Summerlands,
you will be reincarnated. I just believe in a spirit world, I call it the
Otherside; he called it that too, sometimes, if I remember correctly. But take
this note…” The shaman handed Elizabeth a note. “…it was from him to me. I
managed to channel his spirit to write this for you. It is even in his
handwriting; mine is much different from his, so I know that it was him. And
besides, you would recognize his handwriting. One more thing I may add, as it
is very important…” The shaman got down onto one of his knees to look into
Elizabeth’s eyes, as he was very tall, and she was rather short. “…tonight, you
will feel His Breeze. It will come from the Otherside. I cannot tell you when
you will feel His Breeze, because it will be a surprise; but you will know when
it happens.” The shaman returned to his feet. “May good spirits be upon you,
Elizabeth.”
“I guess, the same to you?” She
replied. The shaman just smiled.
“One day you may discover some of
the same things that I have.” He turned to walk away. Elizabeth wanted to ask
him what that meant, but she knew he wouldn’t answer her question. So, she
turned to her parents, and they took her home.
She cried some more on the car ride
home.
Night fell upon her home, and she
readied herself for sleep. She decided to read the note given to her by the
shaman before she would go to sleep. She became comfortable in her bed, and
opened up the folded note, and began to read it. It read,
“Lizzie…
I’m
having the shaman write this, as I’m sure that he’ll tell you. I knew that you
were going to attend my funeral, and I had contacted that shaman to perform my
death ceremony. I was annoyed at the memorial service, and of how informal that
it was, so that’s one reason I had the shaman. Anyway, this is sort of a, ‘hello,
how are you?’ type of scenario. I didn’t exactly intend it to be like this…I wanted
us to talk at least one more time before this had all happened, but I just didn’t
have the courage to do it…
Truth
be told, I’m scared of you. I’m scared because you hurt me so badly…when you
said our love was over, and you didn’t give any reasons other than, ‘it just
ended’, that’s what broke my heart the most. I would’ve been able to let go of
you if you told me why we couldn’t be together anymore. I always suspected that
you did it from peer pressure…I had some of my friends tell me that was what
happened (I won’t mention names). And then someone did say that you thought
that you might marry me…I was enthralled at that statement, but you denied that
you said it (I still think you said it). But, I’m a dead man…and dead is dead.
The
truth is, I never got over you, and I’m sure you know that. I never truly loved
again because of the scars you gave me. It was like someone took a blade and
carved out my arms and expected the removed flesh to heal again.
But,
I do have to say…you gave me the best moments of my life. I’d never felt more
alive, and I’m glad you were the person to make me feel alive. You sparked
something in me that ignited a colossal fire within my writing and my
creativity. I could never thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me, and
all that you’ve given me, whether you think that you were responsible for it or
not. And still, most importantly of all…
I
love you.”
Elizabeth felt a wave of warmth run
through her body; it was almost like she could still feel him next her, his
warm hand in her ever-cold palm. She heard something drop on the floor, and
looked to where the noise was. There was a pendant on the floor, and
immediately, Elizabeth linked that pendant to the dousing pendant the shaman
spoke of earlier. She picked it up, and straightened it out so that it stayed
as still as possible. Then, it started to spin in a circle for her, and she
heard his voice say, “This is yours now…figure
out how to use it. I know you will.”
She kept the pendent in her jewelry
box; a safe place for any of her belongings. She went to sleep, and turned out
the light in her room. That night, she dreamt of him; how his lips felt, how
inviting his embrace was, the amazement she held him to. But then, she was
awoken by a chill in the middle of the night. She sat up in her bed, and felt a
breeze.
She smiled and said,
“I guess that was His Breeze.”
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