A Mormon Funeral

'This isn't how he would've wanted it,' I thought to myself as I finished following the words across the hymn book page. The smell of a musty hymn book that spends it's days in a box on the back of a pew is unmistakable. The organist finishes playing "He Walks Beside Me," with their mechanical key strokes, and lack of passion.

I put the book back in the box before looking to my mother who is drying her eyes with another pre-packaged tissue from her over sized purse, which began a sinking feeling in my chest. I sat back on the faded orange cushion of the bench to take in the beautiful array of floral sprays and casket flowers. White roses and hydrangeas, with his favorite shade of yellow. I wasn't close enough to take in the scents first hand but the entire room is filled with the unforgettable aroma of 'funeral.' I remember the first funeral I've ever been to, like everyone else, and I am sure I will never forget it.

The picture of him in his police uniform, was of course placed on the large easel to the right of the casket. Even in this run of the mill photo you could see the pride and passion in his eyes. Brian always had the passion in his eyes for anything he did. My favorite picture, however, that my mom let me choose is sitting beside it on a much smaller easel, black with ivy. It depicts him and I on the old rusted porch swing, with cake in hand celebrating his acceptance to the force. I chose this one, because it is the way I always want to remember my big brother. I think it was the happiest day of his life.

I have sat on that same swing many mornings since that day, cup of coffee in hand, imagining what my nieces and nephews will look like...what I might buy them and what kind of aunt I would be. I guess that will, now, be just a distant and fading memory. I looked to the row in front of me, to his girlfriend Libby, sobbing constantly in the arms of her father who is gently brushing back her hair with his fingers as many fathers do for their little girls. I imagine she is feeling more like a little girl now than she has in years. Vulnerable, and lost. I am not the only person who has lost my other half today.

The overall feeling in the room was sorrow, deep and dry. I listen to speaker after speaker who would pretend they knew him well. The Bishop gave a talk about the first time he met Brian, but left out that he hasn't seen him since he was sixteen, when Brian made the choice that he didn't want to spend every Sunday for the rest of his life serving his "faith." The Bishop also left out that the last time he saw him, Brian was throwing a book in his face denouncing this church and all that follow it, and yet here we are...in this room of brick and mortar, "House of the Lord." The last place Brian would want to spend his final moments on this earth.

As the service dwindled to a close and the organist began to play the exit music we herded out not unlike a cattle drive and were guided to the gymnasium. The most impersonal room in this building. Row after row of casseroles in all shapes and sizes lined long white tables framing the walls of the room.

"You need to eat something Charity," my mother mumbled under her breath to me, "You haven't eaten in days.

"I'm not hungry," I told her with a nervousness to my voice. My mother picked up a plate and forced it into my hands along with a plastic fork and napkin. Plastic silverware is so informal. Twenty-two years of life just lost, and the best you can do is plastic silverware? I pass by each dish, most of them unrecognizable to me. Half are topped with fried onions and the other half crushed corn flakes. All, I'm sure, included cream of mushroom soup. The Mormon staple to any food. I did take a small serving of funeral potatoes, They're the only thing here that slightly resembles food.

I pass the line of crock pots, which no doubt include several different kinds of meatballs marinated in different flavorless sauces. I passed to the other table which included the desserts. Red Jello, and four different platters of green jello, in different shapes and sizes filled with different kinds of fruits. Some were covered in whipped cream. I paused for a moment and gave a real hard look at one of the dishes. Pineapple chunks, it is filled with pineapple chunks. At two dollars a box I am taking a heart felt look, in my most vulnerable moment, at ten dollars worth of dessert. The relief society must be left-brained.

I walked over and took a seat beside my mother who was sitting with brother something or another.

"You didn't get any Jello?" she asked with bewilderment on her face. The biggest thing on her mind is whether or not I got Jello? I wish Dad were still here.

I ran my fork through the potatoes trying to pick a few bites out before pushing the remainder around on the plate to create the illusion that I had eaten more before downing the rest of my drink. Fruit punch mixed with sprite. Yet another left-brained concoction.

The room was filled with people eating and mourning, chatting with their reverent six inch whispers, but I cannot pick out any conversations specifically. I got up from my cold hard folding chair and carried my plate to the trash can, before deciding I didn't want to mourn along side the faceless bodies I didn't even know. I walked through the swinging door running into a woman I had never seen before in her best Sunday dress. She lightly puts her hand on my shoulder before saying, "I'm so sorry to hear about your brother."

I tried not to be rude but couldn't help myself from pulling back a little. "Thanks," I said as I gently moved around her and back into the steeple where my brother's casket was being prepped for the Paul Bearers to carry it to the hearse. The two random men in suits must have realized I wanted a moment alone because they quietly carried the two arrangements from either side of the casket out the door and closed it behind them.

I sat on the bench slowly and again slumped back in my seat with a sigh. I could feel a tightness in my throat before my eyes began welling with tears. "Well, Brian. What am I supposed to do. You were my best friend, my everything." I felt my voice raising as I stood and placed a hand on his casket, before letting out a loud cry and dropping to my knees. This is the first time I had let myself feel it, the overwhelming feeling that he is really gone. I felt it wash over me, sicken me, and completely succumbed to it. I gasped for air as sob after sob escaped my lips and the tears fell from my cheeks to the colorless value brand carpeting. Just as I felt myself begin to calm I heard the doors beginning to open and I quickly pulled myself to my feet, drying my eyes. I stopped at the picture of my brother and I, running my fingers down the picture before deciding I was taking it with me.

I walked back out to the foyer and opened the two sets of glass doors to go outside. The sun felt hot on my face and the wind felt warm and soft, like a single arm embracing me, telling me everything would be alright...something I have yet to experience. I walked down the two concrete stairs, slipped off my shoes and pushed myself onto the moist grass in front of the church. I rolled over quickly to see endless sky for miles, and in this moment I realized I'm all I've got, and everything was is defined in this moment. Blue skies for miles.