Everlong

Life and What It's About

Some of us are people to toy around with life; taunting everything it's about. Pushing our luck with something that is so fragile is a recipe for increased strength, increased perseverance and a new outlook on life. 

Or, it's the your solemn escort to the funeral home. As you lay with your arms in front of you, wearing your best suit, with your body pumped full of formaldehyde, and your eyes shut, your brain sitting in your skull is useless. Your family will be behind you, lined up in their cars, wearing black attire, following your final escort vehicle to the funeral home or the graveyard. They'll have tears in their eyes and the best of things to say about you. 

There will be stories told, good laughs, and memories shared. Your family members and friends will kneel in front of your casket to pray. Some of your family members and friends will remain seated in the chairs lined up at the funeral home while others will walk outside to have a cigarette and talk about all of the rebellious things you did while you were alive. 

There will be a few small children seated on their parents laps who don't understand the concept of death and or what you did to yourself. They'll be told that you're in a better place now and that you were sick. They don't realize that at the age of 42, no matter the circumstances, you were too young to die. 

Those children have viewed 20 year old individuals as "old". They'll view you just the same when your age is stated to the crowd. They won't question the death of someone of that "old" age while they are so young.

Once they hit their teenage years, they will ask questions about you and they'll hear the real story. But as of now, their beautiful life as a young child is void of worry, assumptions and grief. They won't be hit with the idea of your loss until they grow older. The children now sit curled up on their parent's laps, sleeping, while the parent has a thousand thoughts rushing through their head about you. 

I'll tell you right now, those kids at the time were better not knowing as they held closely to the chest of their parent. 

I was one of them. Clinging to my father's shirt, fast asleep while stories of you echoed through the walls and ceilings of the funeral home.