Funeral for a Teenager

Today I went to a funeral home to visit the grand-daughter of some old family friends.  This young woman of 18 was a passenger in a jeep driven by her boyfriend and last week during an early winter's morning on an icy road he lost control of his car and hit another head on.  He was injured, the young woman was killed.  The driver of the other car was basically alright.  This is the second grandchild that our family friends have lost this year.  The other was an 18 year old grandson (whose parent is the sister of the father of this young woman) who died tragically after drinking too much and choked to death on his own vomit.

I met up with my mom outside of the funeral home.  It was freezing cold (literally) although the sun was out doing its best to provide some warmth, albeit minimal, to the blistering winds and the icy roads.  My mom and I embraced as we said hello and walked in together.  As far as funeral homes go, this one was rather pleasant (if there is such a thing).  There was a coziness about it, "good energy" in the set up, soothing colors, a seating area with a fireplace, soft lighting.  As we approached the viewing room I took a deep breath and prepared myself mentally for the experience ahead knowing that there were going to be tears, hugs, sadness, and all the emotions that coincide with walking into such a place.  My mom spotted the mother of the young woman, walked over to her and embraced her.  She introduced me and I embraced her as well telling her how sorry I was.  She and my mom conversed a bit as I studied her and thought about what she must be experiencing.  She look so drawn, yet she seemed so comforted by all the quiet activity that surrounded her.  Her eyes showed that darkness of shock but she somehow seemed to be grounded at the same time.  I looked around and noticed all the older teens clustered together in small groups consoling each other and feeling so awkward in this situation that was most likely the very first time in their life they had ever been to a funeral for a friend.  There was music playing but it wasn't the typical mundane stuff played traditionally in a funeral home.  This was pop, stuff that my nieces and nephews listen to.  Some of it I recognized and I thought about how wonderful it was that someone had taken the time and effort to put together this potpourri of specific music for this young woman.  Not like "the old days," I thought to myself.  Thank goodness.

As my mom and I continued to make our way through the crowd, I was re-introduced to many people that I hadn't seen in 25+ years.  A big smile came across my mom's friend when she saw me and I mirrored that smile.  We hugged, we spoke, and after several minutes, it was finally time for that dreaded, inevitable moment.  The viewing.  Although I had seen the casket from a distance when I first walked in (as everyone does but we all try to avoid looking at it), I wasn't really ready to approach it.  But, out of respect, I knew what I had to do.  As we were escorted by my mom's friend, I again took a deep breath to prepare myself.  It was a short walk that took a long time and when I saw her I was both stricken with immense sadness and curiosity.  She was a beautiful young woman, dressed in age appropriate clothing, her blond hair done up in a very trendy manner, and her makeup was done as realistically as it possibly could be.  Indeed she looked as though she were sleeping.  I couldn't help but wonder how exactly she had died and where were her injuries and what did they have to do to make this viewing possible (something else I think most people think but don't talk about).  My mom's reaction to seeing her was a quiet sob with tears and this made my heart sink in a way that only happens with her.  I supposed it's what a parent might feel when their child is in pain and they can't help them.  I stood there silently while my mom and her friend quietly spoke to each other in between their tears while holding each other's hand.  A lifetime of memories, heartache, pain, trust, love, and everything else that goes with more than 55 years of friendship, between them. 

After a few minutes I moved about the room, looking at the pictures of the young woman and thinking the same thing everyone does.  So young to be taken away.  After speaking to several people, I felt it was time to excuse myself so I asked someone where I could get a drink of water.  I was directed to a hospitality room.  Inside there was a small kitchen with a woman, about my age, who was busy preparing plates of pastries and snacks for the mourners.  I poured myself some water as I struck up a conversation with her and asked if she would share with me what it was like to work in such a place.  She seemed slightly surprised at such a direct question but she appeared open to it as well and replied that it was "a blessing."  I wanted to know how.  She basically stated that if she could offer some comfort to these people during a time that was filled with such sorrow, then she considered it to be a blessing.  I continued to ask her questions about her work and she continued to answer until I felt I had hit that line of socially appropriate curiosity that was lingering on weirdness at which point I thanked her for her time and then excused myself.

My mom walked in with her friend at that point and I offered to get coffee for us.  As they walked over to a table, I prepared my mom's coffee (cream, no sugar) and brought it to her.  She told me she had just seen my uncle and shared how they exchanged uninterested "hello's" with each other.  She invited me to go see him.  I said I had no desire to, although secretly there was a part of me that would have like to have seen him...solely out of curiosity.  He is my dad's brother whom I have not had contact with for many years and for various reasons but there was still a part of me that wanted to look at him, but within moments, I let it go.  I then shared with my mom how I was chatting with the "hospitality woman" and she half jokingly said I should see if they were hiring.  Funny, but I thought about and after we spent a few minutes sipping our coffees, I approached the hospitality woman and asked her just that.  This time she didn't hide her surprise as she told me that she really wasn't sure but would be happy to pass on my information to the right people.  I gave her my name and number, thanking her again for her time.

As my mom and I said our goobyes to everyone, I was both sad and relieved to go.  Relieved for obvious reasons but sad because I wanted to stay and converse with these people whom I have not seen in so many years.  I remembered them all from my childhood and we would spend time at their house and they would ocassionally visit ours but they are a part of my past and we all yearn to reconnect with that perceived magical charm from that time so long ago.  It's an illusion really but we all want it even if it's just for a moment.  As I stood there looking around at all the people, all there for one purpose, I wished we could all be together somewhere else under different circumstances, a summer picnic perhaps where everyone would be laughing and sharing memories and stories of "I can't believe we actually did that" scenarious from something that happened way back in the day.  I wished the young woman could be sitting there next to us, joining us in our laughter about the crazy things her grandmother and my mom did as youngsters.  I wished I could have heard how that young woman laughed and seen how her eyes must have lit up with love while she sat with her family at a picnic table, creating moments that would later become more memories.  I wish I could have met her...when she was alive.