Oct 20 something Part 3

 Carolyn arrives...

    She arrives before the crowd shows.  Carolyn sits next to me.  She doesn't say anything but her presents is tolerable and comforting.  She's been through this before.  She has pain similar to this.  Her brother through similar devices is gone also. 

    The chattering of family members interrupts our solemness.  They come to mourn.  They come to pity.  They come out of respect.  They arrive together.  The seats start to be taken.  They leave a pew's distance to separate us from them for whatever reason.  Don't they know it's just us.  George and Pauline sit on Jackie's side.  Somebody walks up and bends down to talk to Pauline.  They agree on something.  The lights, already dim, turn lower.  A projection screen descends from over the casket.  It's a slide show of Patrick.  Yuck.  It opens with a picture him.  A social media picture of him.  Fades in a  date which resembles his birthday but is clearly not Patrick's because the person who put this slide show together is off by 2 years and 8 days.  Jackie snaps out of her stupor to yell out, "What the f**k?  His birthday is March 10, 1985!"  She says this to the screen.  This slide show was done poorly with haste.  Maybe it was done today.  Maybe this morning.  It continues with more social media pictures.  Apparently whoever made this production didn't know Patrick or bother to ask for older photos.  The music is disgusting and even worse than the situation.  Some early 90's ode to suicide with an Eddie Vedder knock off voice.

    This is all going to be hilarious one day.  The pictures continue.  Finally it fades to black.  A family member takes the podium.  Vague tones about loss and Patrick being too young fall out of their mouth and then George relieves them.  Thank God.  Wait.  Now George is introducing a pastor or reverend or preacher.  What the f**k is this?  It's no secret Patrick didn't believe in the Bible or whatever this guy is about to say.  He's a light skinned black man.  Glasses with expensive frames.  Rings of success on his fingers.  Maybe it's the tone of the situation.  But I immediately hate this guy and everything he believes in.  The man slides to the podium with a confidence of faith but more likely he was paid upfront.  I hate this man.  I look at Jackie and her scowl is as sharp as the man is dressed.  The fury is bubbling over.  Outrage and audacity are footnotes to the hatred we feel for this man.  It isn't the man's fault, he's probably honest and does good and blah blah.  His presence is unwanted.  Funerals are for the living not the dead, I know this now.

    There is tension in this place and it's coming from Jackie and I as we are determined to let it be known this is not what Patrick would've wanted.  It's all we have considering reasoning and understanding are on hiatus for the time being.  This integrity to keep "what Patrick would've wanted" doesn't make any sense.  Patrick didn't want anything, he didn't even want to be here, this is so other people can feel good about themselves and leave bad thoughts of where Patrick is or could be here, in the hands of a man who didn't know Patrick.  A thought inhabits me and I smile for a second.  If this were somebody else and Patrick were sitting next to Jackie and I, we would be laughing at the ridiculousness.  I can almost hear his laugh before the present moment wakes me up.      

   The Man leads in with:

"Now before I get started, I would like to say a prayer for everybody here.  Lawd, thank you for your blessings and thank you for this day.  We are here because Paul has brought us together with our love for him and Lawd, thank you for that.  Amen,"

 Room full of people. "Amen."

                         "Now everybody Paul was a good boy"

                                       Jackie and I, "It's Patrick you f*****g idiot!"

                         "Now, now we are all upset, now now, Patrick was a good boy and as he lay, you                                                         know Jesus has him in his heart."

                                       Jackie and I, "He didn't believe in that you f*****g idiot!"

                          "Alright now, now, we are all sad with the loss of this young man, now please don't                                                               yell out things, we are all sad here."

                                     Jackie screams out loud with no other purpose than to drown out this man's                                                                                       nonsense.

              "Okay everybody bow your head.  Lawd, please help this family in their time of need.                                                                                                        Amen."

                                          Room full of people. "Amen."

                            The preacher or pastor or reverend leaves the podium.  You can almost see him pull                                    his collar and say, "tough crowd."

   Now is the time for family members to say something, I guess, because a family member announces if anybody has anything they would like to say about Patrick to please come to the podium.  Only a handful of people seemed to muster up the courage to take the podium.  All family members, with nothing really to say, just trying to say something nice about him.  Keyword "trying".

   Patrick dealt in absolutes and so he himself was one also.  You either loved Patrick or you hated him.  Now to have a room full of people and half of them are there out of politeness?  Some of them with enough guilt to actually take the podium?  They said facts.  Just facts.  Things like " Patrick was my cousin and even though he had his ways, I'm very sad for his family"  or "Patrick used to pick on me growing up and was mean, but he really loved his family."  This is a circus.  This is a parade of awkward stumbles.  A just cause of the effect of how much of an a*****e Patrick is.

  This all comes to an end.  An announcement is made telling people to line up and see Patrick one last time.  Most people don't.  A few stragglers make their way up to the casket where I see Patrick is almost smiling.  Some, gay men, perhaps lovers, friends, crying and touching Patrick's hands before turning and walking straight out.  Women, girls, lovers perhaps friends, again crying and touching Patrick before the heaviness forced them to exit as well.

  This charade is over.  The closure is in everybody's pocket and they will take it home.  Except for George, Pauline, Jackie, myself, everyone else is satisfied.  A collective sigh is at the door waiting for the audience members.  Jackie and George stay seated.  Pauline and I make it to the outside hall before most of the on lookers make their way to exit.  We make our way to the two grand chairs poised near the ledger.  The ledger where people sign in and write kind words to the dead or surviving family.  Again funeral keepsakes.  A year book signing idea.  So we can look back and see who signed Patrick's death book.  I hate society.

   Pauline sits and loses herself to a thousand yard stare.  I'm watching people as they leave.  Some smiling and laughing, others trying not to stare at Pauline.  Others quickly leaving to other obligations.  Michael weaves through the crowd and makes his way up to Pauline.  Michael is Pauline's nephew from her younger brother Peter.  Michael's small stature invades our space.  "I'm so sorry for your loss Tia."  He says this as he bends over and touches Pauline's arm.  This makes me uncomfortable.  I know he's about to say something awful or stupid.  Sure enough, without fail, Michael continues "So, like, I had to take off of work for this, so do I get a note from you or from somebody that works here?"  This would be hilarious if I wasn't in this moment.  As Michael says this he looks at Pauline, then me, then back to Pauline.  Pauline never makes eye contact and turns her head away from Michael.  "Mikey get the f**k away from my mother."  Everybody knows Michael works at McDonald's.  Everybody knows this because he tells everybody how great it is and the benefits.  It's McDonald's and they'll need a note for his absence and he thought it would be a perfect time to bother his grieving aunt who was barely able to dress herself for this occasion.  He has a straight face the whole time.  "I was just asking Georgie, you don't have to be a jerk."

"Get your stupid a*s away or I'm going to break your neck."  Michael gives a look of defiance before he walks away.  I hate him. I hate McDonald's.        

   Everybody leaves finally except us.   At last silence is free to consume the building minus the sounds of footsteps as they echo throughout the halls.  The side doors open to the chapel.  A silver van with no windows backs up to the doors just outside.  Workers have us step out as they put Patrick in a card board box and load him into the van.  His body is something to be moved now.  Not a person or even fragile.  Just a job people have to carry out.  We are to follow the van now.

   The van leads us to San Fernando Cemetery III.  It's a long drive on the other side of town but it feels like short minutes when we arrive.  We enter the cemetery passing large weathered black iron gates.  It's another long drive to the back of the cemetery.  We pass other funerals along the way.  People holding one another and you can see flower stands with long colorful ribbons.  The patterns of fresh cut grass.  The sun not holding anything back.  We pull up to a small old stone house.  It's gray with black shadows in the corners.  The van pulls in and backs up to the side of the house.  We step off the car to another entrance parallel to the van entrance.  The van opens its back doors and Patrick in the card board box is hoisted on a rolling belt like he's a package.  The garage doors to the van's entrance closes behind the box.  The van takes off.  Maybe to fetch another package.  The entrance we walk through into the house has a counter on the right side center and a large window showing the garage area where Patrick is being handled by a worker.  George goes to the counter where there's a lady posted.  Words exchange.  The garage worker guides the box of Patrick into a large burnt iron oven with another flame kissed window so you can witness.  The worker exits the garage area and walks through another door separating  the two rooms for safety.

    George walks back and says that we can watch the cremation and the ashes will be available at the funeral home in 3 days where we are to pick them up.  Without any warning.  Flames ignite and engulf the box of Patrick.  The flames make it hard to see anything.  I walk outside.  It will take an hour to burn Patrick's body to ash.

    We decide not to stay.

I hate sunny days.  I hate people.  I hate October.  I hate family.  I hate McDonald's.  I hate the fact Patrick doesn't know my daughter or Jackie's son.  I hate holidays.  I hate this time after Patrick.

 

     I wrote this for me.  Memories fade and after 8 years time is catching up to me.  It's hard to remember Patrick's voice.  It's hard to remember his laugh.  It's hard to remember his pain.  Only glimpses of images come into view when I'm alone.  Some memories keep replaying constantly so as not to forget his smell or his smile or his walk.   This is for me.  Forgetting is a terrible human trait.  You can forget pain along with happiness as life moves forward.  Always moving forward.

Thank you for reading this and if you got anything out of it, good for you.