We sat in the viewing room funeral parlor, my little cousin Georgie and I. Staring, waiting, watching the old man laid out before us. He hadn’t always been that still. He used to be so full of life, so energetic, so animated, so boisterous. The funeral director greeted us solemnly with a kiss to the cheek. The kiss stung as Judas’ must have upon Jesus’ cheek. Fitting as it was the 13th of December in New York, and the only reason the old man was lying in the casket was due to an act of betrayal.
The great room smelt of flowers and that terrible, nauseating scent of formaldehyde, the kind of stench that I know I would be hard-pressed to forget. My hand clutched desperately to my other as I dug my jagged nails harder and more forcefully into …show more content…
My little cousin and I sat still, more still than the body laid before us. A hot rush of tears threatened to overcome my façade of tranquility. Only children cried, my parents had informed my earlier in the day before gallivanting off to another business trip, in no way affected by the elderly man’s demise. I glanced hesitantly down to the little boy beside myself. He stared at the casket, tears flowing hot down his chubby cheeks, looking bewildered. Only children …show more content…
We genuflected on the kneeler before the copper casket and bowed our heads. Georgie bowed his head to pray as little children had been taught in our family. I couldn’t bring myself to lower my head as I stared at the man before us. In life he had been made into some sort of fabled hero to those who had known him, larger than life and divine in being. In death he became more and more like Lucifer to me, as God had kicked Satan from heaven, in my eyes my grandfather had fallen from Grace.
The more I stared at the old man, the less imposing he became. Before I had only known to look up to him, to treat him only with respect in spite of the misdeeds I knew he had committed. Previously, I had chosen to ignore what others said about the old man, about what this man had done for an organization that many believed was no longer in existence. Childishly, I had vehemently disputed what he’d allegedly done, and childishly, I pretended that it was all make-believe. But if it had been make-believe, why was I standing before the casket of a man murdered by a so-called ‘friend’ of the
The great room smelt of flowers and that terrible, nauseating scent of formaldehyde, the kind of stench that I know I would be hard-pressed to forget. My hand clutched desperately to my other as I dug my jagged nails harder and more forcefully into …show more content…
My little cousin and I sat still, more still than the body laid before us. A hot rush of tears threatened to overcome my façade of tranquility. Only children cried, my parents had informed my earlier in the day before gallivanting off to another business trip, in no way affected by the elderly man’s demise. I glanced hesitantly down to the little boy beside myself. He stared at the casket, tears flowing hot down his chubby cheeks, looking bewildered. Only children …show more content…
We genuflected on the kneeler before the copper casket and bowed our heads. Georgie bowed his head to pray as little children had been taught in our family. I couldn’t bring myself to lower my head as I stared at the man before us. In life he had been made into some sort of fabled hero to those who had known him, larger than life and divine in being. In death he became more and more like Lucifer to me, as God had kicked Satan from heaven, in my eyes my grandfather had fallen from Grace.
The more I stared at the old man, the less imposing he became. Before I had only known to look up to him, to treat him only with respect in spite of the misdeeds I knew he had committed. Previously, I had chosen to ignore what others said about the old man, about what this man had done for an organization that many believed was no longer in existence. Childishly, I had vehemently disputed what he’d allegedly done, and childishly, I pretended that it was all make-believe. But if it had been make-believe, why was I standing before the casket of a man murdered by a so-called ‘friend’ of the