A few months ago I was perusing the obituaries in the Washington Post.
I know....I know...but it was the only section of the newspaper I had during a very boring lunch. It was on one of those stressful days where I was hiding more than anything during my lunch hour.
As I ate my lunch I turned the page and lo and behold there I was on "that" page.
You know the one.
The one with "those" pictures.
Those pictures of the people who have passed on....who were born in say, 1927...and the picture looks like they were 22.
I digress.
As I scanned the names of those who had recently departed, my eyes fell upon a familiar name.
"Surely not," my mind thought as I read the notice for more details.
The name was right. The wife's name was right. But I didn't know his children. Then came the name of a stepson with a very unique surname.
"Yep, that's him!" I told myself.
So I decided to show up for the wake the following evening at the funeral home listed as across town -- way across town from where I live.
I left the office early that day so that I would be sure to arrive at the designated place and time. Gee, I didn't even know that there was a funeral home in that place. Sure enough, there was.
I arrived early to see a somewhat large group of people that all looked unfamiliar to me. The mortician who reminded me more of Santa in black greeted me at the door.
"These people are also here for the viewing," he said somberly, with a smile. "We're not allowing people in until the widow has had an opportunity to view the corpse," he continued. "I suppose she is stuck in traffic."
So I looked around the room and found a very discreet place to sit down to wait.
As I settled and got all comfy, a few more people came wandering in -- none of whom I knew. The mortician appeared again at my side with a candy dish.
"Would you like to have one of these?" he asked?.
"Thank you" as I reached for a mint.
"The wife of the departed is still not here," he said eyeing the assembling crowd nervously.
"I'm sure she will be here just as soon as she can," I said. The viewing was listed as 5pm, but when I looked at the clock, it was very close to 5:30.
More people arrived. This time there were faces I recognized from almost 30 years ago. Thirty years does make a big change in people.
Others just never change.
Several clergymen had now appeared. Other than for a few more gray hairs....and a sagging jowl here or there, and age lines, they were the same as I knew them in the day. One of them, who I had not had any dealing with in decades seemed to recognize me.
He approached me and I addressed him by name and told him who I was.
"Frank, Frank, Frank!" he said in a condescending tone that seemed to begin in heaven and by the third Frank, had reached hell. I knew something wonderful was about to be emitted from his mouth."
"Frank...how are YOOOU?"
But before I could answer, he continued.
"I heard you got a divorce! What happened? You and your wife used to be such fine Christian people!"
"I'm doing fi---------" but before I could finish he had already leaped five giant steps to another ministerial colleague he had not seen in a while.
Thankfully, other people arrived that I knew....who didn't know the fat, middle aged guy I had become, and they left me alone. I was happy they didn't know me. There was the formerly demon-possessed woman, the convicted child-molestor, the microbiologist, the lobbyist, and other assorted people.
Suddenly, the Santa in black returned to stand by my side.
"She's here", he said cheerfully. "There was a horrible accident on the beltway that had delayed her."
"Oh," I replied.
It was only 45 minutes past the beginning of the viewing time listed in the Washington Post.
After a few more minutes, we were all ushered into the viewing room.
The beautiful wooden box was closed.
1 comment:
Very sad.
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