Meaningless Tears – My Father’s Funeral
I cried…
Tears visible on my cheeks
Or so I imagined, afterwards
My attention was focused
Stiff upper lip, back straight, eyes front and center
Suit jacket crisp, shirt ironed, tie straight
The role player, playing the role
Vaguely aware of the eyes boring through my back
Nearly-silent whispers from the whisperers
Hidden behind open hymnals and widened hands
Necks craning, checking just to see
Just to see that it’s really me
This scenario repeated again and again
Here awhile then gone again
Assuming, judging; thoughtful questioning
So, I listened…
To the soliloquy of a robed clergyman
Arms raised, voice raised; earning his wage
Words of life, words of death
A tapestry of human life
Woven carefully into a floral scented coffin blanket
Fresh carnations, roses, and daisies
More life sacrificed for the dead
Beauty, as if beauty could matter here
A facade of funerary theatrics
Diverting thoughts from the cold reality
Beneath the steel lid therein lies
Hands carefully folded
Worn leather-bound book
Permanently anchored in a stiffened cold clasp
Lips pursed, eyes forever closed
Stillness and the final journey
A spark extinguished
…forever
And a time for grieving
The infinite moments passing
Wishing
Holding space while others flee
Eyes still fixed, aura unsettled
Swirling colors angrily jousting in darkened clouds
Daggers of red slicing through the somber air
Hurricanes of blues and greens crashing upon unseen reefs
An eclipse of midnight; a foundation of flames
Until at last, the moment of nearly-alone
The whisperers passed; negativity spirited away
Echoes of leather shoes on tile
Reminiscent of a sinking ship
Leaving the last to man the wheel
As the water crests the disappearing bridge
And so the wait languished uneasily
Thoughts consuming, looks downturned
Oak pews and worn carpeting
Gentle reminder that here isn’t my destination
Only another step on the journey
Breaking free; away from this place, this space
Separation, indeed, the final step
Hand sliding uneasily on the iron railing
The church sidewalk stretching out in front of me
Several feet or several miles
Junction left, junction right
Sunlight sparkling against the finely ground stone
Glowing like a walkway to heaven
Or an invitation to hell
Each, but a turn away
Yet the sight gives no pleasure
Nor gives pain
The numbing; an all-encompassing emotional consumption
A momentary distraction of sorts
If only to push down that which is rising
Or has overflown
Every step, a moment closer to relief
Black sedan, tinted glass
Closing the door tightly
Hidden momentarily inside
Brushing the tears away
As if they never even existed
Author’s Note
This was inspired in part by one of the most powerful pieces of poetry I’ve read in some time. It’s called “Old Man Bill,” by Vincent Moore, an amazing poet who also writes on this site. His tale made me wonder about the after-effects of the death of an abusive father; moreover, how those left behind grieved or not.
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Very emotive and vivid imagery, Ralph. The loss of an abusive father leaves one with such a mixture of feelings and how people expect one to react, when the son is not sure himself what he is feeling – love? loss? sadness ? relief? This, too, is a powerful piece.
Ralph there are so many memories within every word, memories I shiver with, my hair on my neck stiffening in remembrance of every tear felt rolling down my cheek, a lad in turmoil, a father mean beyond mean, a hater of his family. One which he is responsible for bringing into this world. Hurt runs deep, all the feelings you expressed here I felt as I stood over his stiffened dead body laying in a hospital bed. His mouth still open in fear from what I could only imagine the grim reaper hurrying his soul to hell. I would have had great difficulty standing in a chapel as you did. It must have been one of the toughest visits you ever had to make. Why are children put through this? why, why, why. all we ever wanted to be was loved by our fathers. Beautifully but sadly penned my friend.
I skipped past your Author’s note at first glance, coming back to see you’ve made reference to “Old Man Bill” thank you Ralph for the mention. Old Man Bill has lived in my shadows for most of my life, then out of the blue a Muse appeared and forced me to pen all my hurt and pain from a life ill gained through the abuse of this old man Bill. I’ve never stopped writing.
My pleasure – at least you found goodness and direction after your trials of youth
Great work Ralph, and powerfully penned in consideration of abuse in families and its horrendous impact on so many lives. Sad and evocative and profoundly felt. Cheers!