Karen sat on the red and white couch in the back of the room. She was nervous. No one spoke and the room was quiet, still. She wondered how long this was going to take. She didn’t know the procedure, what to expect in situations like this. She’d only heard about it in passing.
The others were afraid to be near her, she was sure. Instead of the usual joviality, she was greeted with small smiles and slightly turned backs. No one seemed to have enough courage to greet her normally. What could they have said? She wondered. The right side of her brain kicked into overdrive as she thought of ways she might comfort a grieving widow. At twenty-six years old, she had thought she was years from this pain, years from having to bury her husband.
Kevin thought he had more time. He’d even planned a ski vacation for them this winter. She’d never been to Vail and had wanted to go ever since she’d overheard her high school classmates talking about the “super awesome slopes” they had there. She’d barely remembered her desire when her sister brought it up. He’d included Hannah in the planning and left the information at her house in case Karen discovered it by accident. Now she wondered who she’d go with. She didn’t have the heart to cancel the trip when Kevin had so meticulously planned it.
He’d been in remission for the past two years and without warning, he was back in and out of the hospital again. This time the cancer was stage three. It wasn’t responding to the chemo. Three months later, stage four hit and the doctor said he had less than two months to live.
“Karen? It’s time.” Hannah broke her from her reverie. It was time for the grand march. She called it that ever since she was a small child. To her, a funeral procession looked much the same as a parade’s marching band, complete with costume hats.
She stared straight ahead. She’d toyed with the idea of having a closed casket ceremony— Kevin was always a private person— but decided against it. God forbid someone should think, years later that he died in some horrible plane crash because she kept the casket closed.
She was here now, standing in front of him. She couldn’t help but wonder how the funeral home determined the height at which one should be shown off. She thought he was a bit too low, that he might scare his nieces and nephews who didn’t understand the difference between the lie their parents told them and the reality and inevitability of death. For a split second, she smiled as she pictured little Imogen poking at him. “Wae up, Unca ’Evin. Wae up. ’Ap time is ’ova.”
She hadn’t cried yet. She’d thought it premature to grieve while she could still see him, touch him. She wouldn’t cry tonight either. Too many people around. She thought that the best time to start her grieving would be the day after tomorrow. When people stopped calling her to determine her mental state or ask whether or not she was sleeping. She would not grieve like an old woman. She would grieve quickly and quietly. There would be none of this no showering business. She would continue to wash her dishes and eat her vegetables. She would not let herself go. She would go back to work in two weeks. No more, no less.
She was standing again, Hannah’s arm around her shoulder. She’d closed her eyes for the entire service. It was time for food and fellowship, the upside to funeral services. She took one last look at the casket, at him. Kevin would be cremated tomorrow as he wished. It was a decision with which she did not agree, but chose to acquiesce in this final act as his wife. It was the least she could do, she thought.
This was kool. I'm not a writer really, so I don't know what to say. But it was kool.
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