The next few days were nothing special. It wasn't real, just a bad day. He's just on another bender and I was being a dramatic fruit. My fragile psyche buried it. Insomnia was prevalent in my life so I slept every other day like normal, however my stomach devoured my belly in an effort to press on. I gagged on pizza and winced at water. Only sour whiskey would accompany me.
On the day of the funeral I had rehearsed my piece. All the memories of late night drives and cigarette conversations. The hundreds of metal concerts we attended brought me a small semblance of bittersweet joy on the steps of the church until I was met by his family. I had never met any of them and was not aware he had siblings. They seemingly abandoned him long ago and Tyler's privacy was expectedly legendary. Hopelessness for closure is a prison of perpetual agony. Forbidden from speaking I took a seat with a good view. A great and beautiful urn was placed next to his picture. The contents of a good man and an even better friend placed in a bright church for those who ignored his life, but mourned his death, to respect and turn away from with self reflection. Next to me I heard a voice that I hope is the last sound to serenade me when I pass. "They didn't even know him." "He would've fucking hated this, it's wrong." All the intrusive thoughts grinding my tongue had come out loud. Only the words were not mine. A mountain of hot pink hair wrapped in matte black sat next to me hinking as I was. Too overwhelmed for small talk, I endured a memorable telling of someone else, not the free soul of my friend. Upon erecting I heard a sweet bitchy voice accusing me of being Merel. My eyes not moving from his urn I affirmed. "I'm Samantha. I was his friend and he talked about you all the time." Knowing he talked about me to others was unexpected. He had many friend groups for his many personalities just like the rest of us, however he was not one for jawing on from group to group. Surprised, I told her he was my best friend and because I am uncomfortable I would be leaving. It may have come off rude but I didn't care. The feelings of reality had set in with the visage of the urn and I needed to drown. With a swift goodbye, I left her not knowing the impact I left Or would later receive. Sitting down to eat with my mother afterwords food began to float into my gums. God did I eat. With a full belly and my tears dried, my mother asked if I had lost a lover. The concern in her eyes was one of the rare times in my life I truly felt like she was worried. It was so sudden and bizarre I began to bray like a donkey, laughing without breath. The humor of this moment was a turning point into healing. My first good belly laugh after losing him. I might be okay. If you can laugh then there can still be joy in pain. A load isn't too heavy if you can giggle under it.
