Funeral

I don't know how to describe it:
Seeing a woman so truly in love with her husband. Weeping bitterly that he was taken too soon. While the other mourners are held speechless. All wish to comfort her but can't quite find the words or the actions to console her. A hug isn't enough. All the words they muster just isn't enough. And so you just have to look on, quietly, hoping, praying that she will get through this. And knowing that, at least for now, she can't.


I walk away from him probably for the last time. I know I will see her again, though. And, her memories will bring him back, if only for those few extra moments. There is still so much left unsaid. Still so much to be desired.

I can't help but see love in it's purest form. So young and innocent. Maybe like a star, bursting forth with it's whole being and then quickly being snuffed out. I see his funeral and wonder at my own. We were actually so similar, I do not doubt my own service will mimic his. The few consolable friends. The weeping widowed. The family who lost a piece of their heart, only to be filled by memories of the future generation.

That day, I walked away and saw how sad the world was:
The skies mimicked our thoughts – quiet, cloudy, and cold. The wind licked at our skin, craving to take away our lifesource. Our breath, a hint of our very souls contained in our bodies. Mud soaking into our feet. I could feel my very bones shake. Leaves mingling with the earth, a reminder of our corporeal forms. Only the trees seem to fight the ill force of death. Swaying, reaching ever upwards. A few draped with reds, oranges, and golds.

Maybe it is the trees that will help bring us back.


And still the world keeps turning...