Poem: "Gathered Here Today"
This poem came out of the November 5, 2013 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from kelkyag, wyld_dandelyon, mdlbear, rix_scaedu, labelleizzy, and Dreamwidth user Rosieknight. It also fills the "diversity" square in my Wordsmith Bingo Card. This poem belongs to the series Monster House. It features characters introduced in " Unspoken Noise," so it will make more sense if you've read that one first.
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WARNING: This poem centers around a funeral and touches on difficult family issues. Think about whether that's something you want to read right now.
Gathered Here Today
I sat in the front row of the funeral
with the rest of my family,
wife and daughter and son
all clinging to me.
At the far end of the row
my little sister stared at her husband's coffin
and tried not to cry herself sick
while her daughter bawled on her shoulder.
Between us,
with an empty chair on either side,
my nephew sat unmoving.
The words pattered down from the pulpit,
as clear and meaningless as rain.
"We are gathered here today
to celebrate the life,
and mourn the passing ..."
The windows rattled,
although there was no wind.
My sister flinched.
My nephew didn't move,
and it would have been too conspicuous
for me to cross the open space between us.
I racked my brain for a solution,
but couldn't think of one.
The lurking shadow slipped out
from under my scarf,
glided across the floor
where no one was looking,
and reached up to take hold
of my nephew's hand.
He startled at the contact
and looked sidelong at me.
I gave him a tiny nod
and looked down at his hand.
Slowly he turned it palm up
and the shadow pooled there,
silent comforting touch of a friend.
They stayed that way
through the entire service.
Sometimes human contact
is more than you can bear,
but you don't exactly want
to be all alone either.
The lurking shadow was the only one
of our special family visible at the moment,
but I knew that the little old lady ghost
was hiding in thin air, and that
the monster in the closet
had probably found a place to listen in.
They gave their care where they chose,
and my nephew had caught their attention
on his occasional visits.
The funeral was gently done,
the minister considerate
to people of other faiths.
Only afterwards did sharp words come out,
my sister squabbling with her in-laws
who had sat across the aisle.
Once again my nephew stood a little aside,
hugging himself and the lurking shadow.
I took a step toward him,
but as soon as I did,
he backed away,
and so I left him alone.
At the grave we all gathered together
under the flimsy pavilion
to throw flowers and dirt down on the coffin.
My nephew flung a clod so hard
that it boomed off the hollow box like a rock.
Everyone stared.
He walked away then,
fast and stiff,
and his mother let him go.
After the end of the graveside ceremony,
the other mourners broke apart
into little clots of sorrow or gossip,
depending on how much or how little
they had known my brother-in-law.
"Car accidents are so jarring,"
someone said. "It's worse
when you have no time to prepare."
"No, no, terminal illnesses are the worst,"
another voice argued. "It's harder
to watch someone you love fade away slowly."
As if pain could be weighed
like so many apples in the pan of a scale.
I resisted the urge to snap at them
and instead murmured a reminder
that it would be polite to stay focused
on the funeral at hand.
My sister and her son were arguing.
They did it quietly, but I could see
the trouble in the taut lines of their shoulders.
"Shall I extend an invitation?"
I asked my family,
and they all nodded.
So I walked over to where
my sister and my nephew stood.
Their voices dropped away
as I approached.
"We're going out for supper
at the Overstuffed Couch," I said.
It was a favorite place specializing in comfort food.
"We can always make room for more
if anyone else wants to come."
Silently my nephew stepped to my side.
Sometimes family is about blood,
sometimes it's about choice,
and other times a little bit of both.
"Fine," my sister said hoarsely.
"Just make sure he's home by Sunday night.
He has school on Monday."
"Agreed," I said.
It wasn't what I had expected
but he'd get better support here
than he would at home.
"I hated him," my nephew said suddenly
on the way to the parking lot.
"He hit me once, when I tried to tell him -- well.
Doesn't matter now. But it was only the once,
I said I'd call the cops if he did it again."
"I wish I'd known anyway," I said.
Once would have been reason enough
for me to call the police.
He shook his head. "I loved him too.
Stupid, isn't it? He was so disappointed in me.
But he was my father, so I loved him."
"That's life," I said.
"Sometimes it's a mix of love and hate,
sorrow and relief."
His face crumpled,
but he didn't say anything more.
After we climbed into the car,
I asked, "Is there anyone else
you'd like to have for support?"
"My boyfriend," he said.
"Call him," I suggested.
"We can cover another person."
"I can't. Mom took my phone,"
he said bitterly. "She doesn't approve."
I reached back over the seat with mine.
"Call him," I said again. "If he really loves you,
he'll be sitting right by his phone
hoping you can get your hands on one."
And God bless the boyfriend,
he was waiting at the restaurant
by the time we pulled into the parking lot,
a tense knot of blond hair and bluejean jacket
with jeweled studs flashing in both earlobes,
who probably looked like a delinquent to anyone else.
Me, I was just grateful
that my nephew finally had
a shoulder he felt able to cry on.
The lurking shadow crept across the pavement
and back under the shelter of my scarf.
The parking lot smelled of fried chicken
and hot apple pie.
The boyfriend watched me,
a little wary of strangers,
but I just smiled and
beckoned him into our party.
It was a little hard for him to walk
with my nephew sobbing in his arms,
but we managed to get the two of them
tucked into the corner of a booth
as we settled into place around them.
My sister might have her doubts
and her damn prejudices,
but as far as I was concerned,
any teenager who was willing to drop
whatever he was doing on a Friday night
to come comfort his boyfriend
falling apart over a death in the family
could be trusted to put him back together again.
* * *
Notes:
The funeral quote comes from a batch of sample text for services.
Interfaith funerals are more challenging because they must balance very different needs. There are instructions for planning an interfaith or secular funeral. Respecting each other's beliefs will help make the experience more positive for everyone.
Funeral etiquette helps avoid conflicts. Read some tips on what to say and do. Remember that people tend to feel overwhelmed at a funeral, so try to be gentle with yourself and others.
Family violence is a widespread problem. It includes spousal and child abuse. Sometimes it happens only once, but usually it's ongoing. Survivors of abuse often love their abuser, which can cause very conflicted feelings after the abuser's death.
Know how to comfort a friend who has lost a loved one.