We're Not Strangers Anymore

Chapter Twenty - Uncle David's Funeral

Harsh rainfall began to patter against the windows of Belgrave's only funeral parlour. Charlie Broomer scanned the room inquisitively. Everywhere he looked, there was sadness. Not one single smile. He caught the attention of his uncle's grandmother, a strong willed woman named Brenda Smith. She looked Charlie up and down before rolling her eyes and turning to face her front. This made Charlie think.
What's her problem? And what is it with funerals? I'm pretty sure that I'm just as upset as everyone else, yet I'm the only one not crying?
The next person he noticed was the man conducting the service, a man who had announced his presence several minutes ago by clearing his throat and starting off on a long speech about life's many wonders. And then, as if right on cue, the celebrant began to speak again.
'As we remember the ups and downs of David's life, we must also honour the good times as well as the not so good-'
Charlie had heard enough and decided to have one last scan around the room. Relatives and friends alike were in floods of tears, as they were perfectly entitled to be, and Charlie took the time to ponder the very meaning of the human existence.
I guess grief is just anxiety's scarier, older cousin. We all go through it at some point or other, yet it seems like no-one is ever truly prepared for it. I just wish that I could have one more chat with Uncle David, just to tell him how upset I am. But I can't, because he's not here anymore.
Charlie stared down into the blankness of his lap.
Man, you've got to be a morbid old fucker to want to do this job.
'David was a well loved man in the community,' the celebrant continued, 'and in forty years he managed to cram as much joy into his life as was humanly possible. When myself and his devoted sister Irene got together earlier this week, we managed to actually hear a few stories about David, and whilst there were plenty of tears shed, there was also a lot of laughter too, and I think it's important that we remember the good times as we attempt to honour a loved ones great legacy, especially one as great and as vast as David's. One of the anecdotes that popped up in particular was one from David's adolescence, where I'm reliably informed that David himself was once dared to streak through the local park as a youth, completely stark naked.'
This got a few laughs from the funeral goers, but Charlie noticed that they were slightly more reserved laughs than they'd usually be, almost as if there was a certain forced element to it.
The celebrant silently put his hands together and glanced politely at Irene.
'I'm now going to hand you over to David's sister Irene, who will be talking about some of the memories that she shared with her beloved brother. So, Irene, if you'd like to come up please.'
Irene stood up, brushing imaginary specks of dust off of her skirt.
The celebrant met her with a smile. He handed over the wooden stand, as well as the jet black microphone, and Irene Broomer took it with great confidence. Charlie sat back and watched, in a state of total awe.
I didn't know Mum was reading something.. what the hell? Why didn't she say anything?
She rummaged around in her tweed jacket pocket for a few seconds, taking out a crumpled note and a battered pair of sunglasses.
'What can I say,' she began, 'my dearest, darling brother David. My good, honest brother David. A life taken too soon, most would say.'
Charlie examined her carefully, listening to her muttered and slightly slurred speech.
After further investigation, he came to his final conclusion: yep. Mum's drunk.
He wondered how she had managed to drink before the service (without him realising in the slightest), and then it finally hit him. She had gone to the toilet just before they had all headed inside, and Charlie had wiped this from his memory completely. A lone tear ran down his cheek.
Irene Broomer let out a chain sniffle and slowly began to pick up where she'd left off. Her words were still slurred, her tone of voice low and rumbly.
'And quite obviously, no-one likes to dish out the blame at a time like this, but if I could just mention my brother's partner, his wonderful "soulmate" Pierce.. yes, I'm talking to you, Pierce. Thank you for pushing my brother so far to the edge. Thank you for making him believe that the only way out was to.. was.. to..'
Pierce's eyes shot towards Irene, and Charlie thought to himself, 'man, if looks could kill.'
'No, I'm not going to ruin this,' slurred Irene again. 'I shall not put a dampener on this day any more than I have to. I simply won't. So let's all raise.. a glass. A glass to my brother, later, after the service. First ones on me.'
The whole room fell silent, and for the first time in years, the celebrant was left speechless.
She tapped the microphone lovingly and sat down, and several looks of embarrassment, shock and upset were headed towards Irene.
She stood up again just moments later, throwing her hands into the air and shouting, 'I'm sorry, okay? I'm h-hurting too. My brother was the kindest man I knew, and he's g-gone! GONE!'
She began to break down mid-sentence, and for a split second Charlie thought he could feel his heart physically break into two individual pieces. He used this brief period of time to think about his uncle, to reflect upon all of the amazing things that he'd accomplished throughout his forty year life on Earth. Despite the positive reminiscence, he still felt sad. He was surrounded by family, yet he felt all alone. Charlie sat totally motionless, fixing his gaze onto the coffin that stood front-centre of the room. He thought about what was actually in there, and how smart his uncle would look in the suit they'd dressed him up in.
On the back of this thought, Charlie began to cry some more, and this time it was obviously audible. He could feel all of the eyes in the room, every last pair, burning their gaze into the back of his soft, pale neck. A warm and comforting arm was wrapped around him, he noticed; it was his grandma.
He lifted his head and smiled, and sure enough she smiled back, through floods upon floods of her own bitter tears.
'He'd be dead proud of you for being so brave, son. And don't worry about your mother, she's just upset,' she whispered, pulling his head gently into her chest. He continued to sob, coating her shoulder with tears for another minute or two, right up until his mother had finished her emotional, blubbery mini-speech. As she finally sat down, Charlie reached over and rubbed the thigh of her black linen dress supportively, pulling his lips into his face.
Irene met her son's eyes and mimed the words: I love you son, never forget.
His mother's intoxicated words filled him with warmth, a feeling he was almost certain he hadn't felt since his dad was still alive.
For a minute he thought of Emily, whom he was sure had recently said something of a similar nature to him. His Adam's Apple grew larger by the second.
Irene took his hand and gripped it firmly, dabbing the corner of her eyes with a tissue, his sobbing grandma clutching the available hand.
Man, I really do hate funerals.