Ell
Well-Known Member
This piece started out as this:
Cold, wet, shivering
What a forlorn bunch we must look.
Like a scene from a clichéd movie.
Huddled under the white canopy
Sagging under the weight of accumulated water
Slowly dripping off the sides
Until a gust of wind sends a huge slosh over the edge.
A collective gasp as everyone jumps
To avoid the inevitable splash onto an already sodden ground.
Quickly we regroup,
Clinging to each other for warmth, support and whatever else our souls need
And became this:
Cold, wet, shivering. What a forlorn bunch; like a scene from a clichéd movie: Wide-angle shot, dark grey mountains in the background, sky slate grey, distant drone of a single-engine plane. Camera slowly zooms in towards a white tent-like structure and small cluster of people gathered on a hillside. The sound of driving, torrential rain increases. Camera finally closes on one face . . .
Huddled under the white canopy sagging from the weight of accumulated water. The water slowly drip, dripping over the sides until a gust of wind sends a huge slosh over the edge. There's a collective gasp as everyone jumps to avoid the inevitable splash onto already sodden ground.
She clutches her husband's arm a little tighter as though it will make her warmer, safer; take away the chill and the growing knot at the pit of her stomach. She can't tell if she's numb from the cold or is beyond feeling.
- The past week had been hectic. Plans, decisions, keeping emotions in check, sometimes getting annoyed but always in control - in control until one innocuous remark about the wording of the obituary sent her running into the bathroom to sob uncontrollably. When she finally came out, her brother was there. "It's okay." "I'm not usually like this." "I know. But it's okay". A big bear hug, a few more tears and she was ready to face everyone again. –
Well, here they are. She looks around to see her sons; somber and so grown-up; the oldest with his girlfriend clinging to him in much the same way she is clinging to her husband. Brother and his wife, the same. The circle of life? Who knows. But there's at least one person with no one to cling to anymore. Shouldn't she be thinking some deep philosophical thoughts, her life flashing before her eyes – no that's when you die yourself, silly. All she feels is a profound emptiness. Maybe the deep thoughts will come later.
A few words are spoken. People file past and sprinkle sand. Finally, she gets up and joins her sisters in placing single roses on the coffin. Others leave now, but she remains with her family to watch the actual interment. The bulldozer and mechanized crane seems out of place, but real gravediggers have given way to modern efficiency. After a few misalignments with the lowering straps, the coffin scrapes and bumps its way down and the first clumps of dirt fall thudding on the coffin lid. It all really comes down to this doesn't it? The end of a life. The finality hits her.
Yet, as she walks back to her car she remembers where she is going: a celebration of life memorial. Yes, memories live on. Remembered kindness and good deeds live on. The legacy of a warm gentle philosophy passed onto sons and daughters live on. Not so final after all. And just like in the movies, it's stopped raining.
Cold, wet, shivering
What a forlorn bunch we must look.
Like a scene from a clichéd movie.
Huddled under the white canopy
Sagging under the weight of accumulated water
Slowly dripping off the sides
Until a gust of wind sends a huge slosh over the edge.
A collective gasp as everyone jumps
To avoid the inevitable splash onto an already sodden ground.
Quickly we regroup,
Clinging to each other for warmth, support and whatever else our souls need
And became this:
Cold, wet, shivering. What a forlorn bunch; like a scene from a clichéd movie: Wide-angle shot, dark grey mountains in the background, sky slate grey, distant drone of a single-engine plane. Camera slowly zooms in towards a white tent-like structure and small cluster of people gathered on a hillside. The sound of driving, torrential rain increases. Camera finally closes on one face . . .
Huddled under the white canopy sagging from the weight of accumulated water. The water slowly drip, dripping over the sides until a gust of wind sends a huge slosh over the edge. There's a collective gasp as everyone jumps to avoid the inevitable splash onto already sodden ground.
She clutches her husband's arm a little tighter as though it will make her warmer, safer; take away the chill and the growing knot at the pit of her stomach. She can't tell if she's numb from the cold or is beyond feeling.
- The past week had been hectic. Plans, decisions, keeping emotions in check, sometimes getting annoyed but always in control - in control until one innocuous remark about the wording of the obituary sent her running into the bathroom to sob uncontrollably. When she finally came out, her brother was there. "It's okay." "I'm not usually like this." "I know. But it's okay". A big bear hug, a few more tears and she was ready to face everyone again. –
Well, here they are. She looks around to see her sons; somber and so grown-up; the oldest with his girlfriend clinging to him in much the same way she is clinging to her husband. Brother and his wife, the same. The circle of life? Who knows. But there's at least one person with no one to cling to anymore. Shouldn't she be thinking some deep philosophical thoughts, her life flashing before her eyes – no that's when you die yourself, silly. All she feels is a profound emptiness. Maybe the deep thoughts will come later.
A few words are spoken. People file past and sprinkle sand. Finally, she gets up and joins her sisters in placing single roses on the coffin. Others leave now, but she remains with her family to watch the actual interment. The bulldozer and mechanized crane seems out of place, but real gravediggers have given way to modern efficiency. After a few misalignments with the lowering straps, the coffin scrapes and bumps its way down and the first clumps of dirt fall thudding on the coffin lid. It all really comes down to this doesn't it? The end of a life. The finality hits her.
Yet, as she walks back to her car she remembers where she is going: a celebration of life memorial. Yes, memories live on. Remembered kindness and good deeds live on. The legacy of a warm gentle philosophy passed onto sons and daughters live on. Not so final after all. And just like in the movies, it's stopped raining.
