Before He was Rosy Cheeks

when a funeral goes wrong

To the boy, getting dressed up in a suit and tie meant good things. Christmas. Weddings. School dances. All relating to celebration and happiness and memories that brought back sweet nostalgia. 

It didn't mean preparing for the funeral of three of the people he loved most in the world.

Last night, the wake had been bad enough. Three closed caskets, too many people with fake tears and his mother unable to stand up, sobbing on the floor. It was hours of the boy standing with his face stoic, body stiff, and shaking people's hands as they offered their condolences; all while trying to keep himself together. He had to be strong for his mother and the rest of the people watching.

Now, he was staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying (unsucessfully) to straighten his tie. Each time he undid and attempted to form the perfect knot, it didn't look right. It didn't look like the way his father used to tie them.

After one last failed try, he let out a frustrated groan, then felt his façade crumble. He leaned against the bathroom counter, his palms pressed against the cool surface, while his dark eyes filled with salty tears. 'Why does everything seem to be going wrong?' The boy thought, squeezing his eyes shut, causing tears to roll down his cheeks.

Then a knock sounded on the locked door. Quickly, he pressed a hand over his mouth to quiet his shaky breaths, the ones he always had when he was crying. "Y-yes?" He managed to call out.

"It's time to go.." He heard his mother say softly, her voice muffled from the door.

With a sigh, the boy turned the doornob and pulled it open to reveal his black clothed mother. Her blonde and graying hair was pulled into a loose braid, her feet perched in low and shiny black heels. She was wearing the dress his father really loved.

It made him angry on how badly it made him want to cry.

"Sweetie, your tie.." She said gently. Hesitantly, she reached forwards and readjusted the knot till it was to her expectations. "There, just like... just like he used to do it."

The boy swallowed the lump in his throat. Then he gave his mother his elbow to hold, and when she twined her arm with his, they silently made their way outside (after passing their casserole and pie filled kitchen) to the car that was waiting for them.

Not a word was spoken between the two as they sat there, awaiting an even more wound deepening afternoon. That was, until they neared the graveyard where his family would be buried (as they decided to hold the ceremony there).

"Do you.. Do you have your speech? I.. forgot to ask earlier." The boy's mother asked.

Without speaking, the boy shoved his hand in his dress pant's pocket and retrieved the folded notebook paper, that had the eulogy he'd written on it. Then he held it up for her to see, to which she nodded at, then turned her attention back to the window.

It was usual for him already, the silence among the mother and son.  Neither knew how to address the subject, really. Everything seemed so surreal. So dreamlike. And both of them wanted nothing more but than to wake up from the nightmare.

After they arrived, they were lead by one of the funeral attendees towards the plots the mother had chosen (which were near trees with flowering branches). Chairs were set up, in rows, and three empty stands were at the end of an aisle which cut through the middle of the seats. Behind each stand, was a delicately designed board with both of his sister's pictures and names, as well as his dad's.

The whole scene made the boy's chest tighten. He did this. He made this happen. He looked up at his mother, with guilt filled eyes, and watched as her expression turned dark. He made his mom feel this way.

Slowly, their family and friends filed in, filling the rows of folding chairs that squeaked when they sat. Everyone was dressed from head to toe in black, with their body language to match. Some looked up at the mother and son with downcast eyes. Others decided it would be best to ignore them altogether.

Soon enough all the people had arrived, and so had the three hearses, signaling that it was now time for the funeral itself to begin. The boy left his mother's side, and joined the other's who were approaching the hearses. His mother had spent time carefully decided who she'd wanted as pallbearers. And despite the fact on how difficult it would be for the boy to carry one of the coffins, he knew he had to do it.

People rose respectfully from their chairs, men and women taking off any hats they had on. Children were being hushed. The musicians began to play and the priest approached the front of the aisle. All of it seemed so morbid to the boy.

Then, the funeral director began to help the pallbearers with carrying the coffins.

The boy watched as six of his family members grabbed handles on either side of his father's coffin. They walked slowly, to the beat of the music, while all the guests stared with water eyes.

Next was one of his sister's coffins, the one he was to carry. It was adorned with her favorite flowers, daisies. He wrapped his frailing fingers around a handle, and helped them hoist it from the back of the vehicle. He fought back tears as he and the other five walked at the same pace as the previous pallbearers.

Carefully, so carefully, they lifted it onto the stand, then returned to their earlier places. When the boy slipped back next to his mother, watching his other sister's coffin (decorated with peonies) being walked down the aisle, she gently twined her fingers with his. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and he looked up at her clouded and unmoving eyes. He couldn't bring himself to turn his attention to his family.

Around him, everyone was crying. He felt like he was the only one who couldn't do so. All he felt was numb. Especially as the pastor delivered his message, that seemed to drag on forever. He spoke shortly about the accident and how much love everyone had for the three who passed. And he gave a few passage readings and uplifiting statements. Then, he called up the boy who was to give his eulogy.

With one last squeeze of her hand, the mother sent the boy up to the front, where he (with shaking hands) reached into his pocket once more to grab the crumpled paper. He unfolded it slowly, aware of everyone's unnerving gaze on him.

The boy made the mistake of looking up, to see his surroundings. At his mother. And his grandparents. His aunts, uncles and cousins. He saw the sadness the all felt. How much they'd rather have him dead, then his sisters and father.

He knew that he caused all of the anguish that was before him.

With a glance down at his paper, that held his awful handwriting and nearly meaningless words, he realized how much of failure he was.

His fingers shook and he released the paper, watching it tumble to the ground. Then he turned and fled, away from the people who knew how terrible of a person was.

Who knew that he was the one who killed them all.

And he never looked back.
____

Bella's note: err, really boring and choppy. I've never been to a funeral before, as everyone that I've known who have passed live far away from me, so this probably wasn't a good representation of one.

And this took me all day to write? I didn't like doing this to my baby ;-;

Much love,
-xx