Dressed in a dark blue, unlettered and wordless Abercrombie sweatshirt I've been too fat to fit into since given to me a decade ago and somewhat regrettably a pair of faded-style preppy blue jeans and new Columbia shoes, I stood staring back at an endless line of faces like a dog whose owner brought over too many guests and is overwhelmed with what to do or who to approach.
My relatives and the funeral planners were kind enough to leave me in the dark on that I'd be required to stand and shake the hands of hundreds of people, most of whom I have never met, as I play the part of step-son of the passed.
In my internally self-loathing, people-pleasing way, I did what I could to be whatever it is I was being asked to be for 2 hours. It may not be the worst feeling there is, but it has to be in the mix.
I don't understand why anyone would do this. If I theoretically lost a spouse or anyone who was very close, I'm not sure I'd want to stand at the front of a funeral room shaking the hands of hundreds of people for two hours.
90 percent of these people I was invisible to.
What do I say? If I say nothing, I fear I look like I don't care or that I am not as mature as my 32 year old face would suggest. So I said the only things I could think of that one should say at a time like this...which were things like, "thank you for coming" or introducing myself to them and anticipating empathy only to then realize I am nobody to you and therefore you do not care.
No, I am not the hysterical wife or the always-admired actual sons. Just the blank-faced, under-dressed, apparent douche bag who drove 12 and a half hours for a goodbye to his stepfather. A mutt devoid of rights.
I tried so hard as I exhausted myself. Maybe I should have just said nothing at all which is what I typically do and for good reason.
I knew it wasn't about me. It wasn't my event...which is why I was especially considerate in thought about how I was handling the situation. I guess sometimes a situation just sucks. It certainly didn't get any better when the all-too-young, you're-dead-to-me-if-you're-not-religious Priest took over the ceremonial portion and barely remembered my name.
I suppose this was the first experience of death that has impacted me. Partly because I am defunct and don't often feel the things that I should and partly because the others I've lost were grandparents I'd see only on occasion versus this being a step-father I lived with for 10 years and knew another additional 10 years. My other loss being a friend I had when I was 4 and was too young to understand.
Though we haven't been close for a few years as I moved away, I guess I just wanted a chance to say goodbye to my step-father and it bothered me. And it will continue to bother me for little awhile. It's weird when an adult knows you at a younger age because we are so full of emotions; you don't necessarily realize that an argument that is small to an adult can be so devastating to you as a child and what that weight can feel like 20 years later when that adult has passed away and you are now the adult.
Suffice it to say, it's complicated.
With the ups and downs, I'm just glad I had some time to think about it all over the course of the 25 hours I had driven to be there. I ate food that I thought my step-father liked and I listened to some of his music in remembrance. Even wrote a speech that I considered reading at the funeral yet ultimately didn't.
I also took a small detour along the way to the American Rose Center in Shreveport, Louisiana. I had often considered stopping by and finally did and am glad I chose to do so.
As the worsmith-ness of my write-up slowly reaches its end and my attempt at art collides with reality, I suppose one of the silver-linings is that it's time to move on.
(Self-taken photo from the American Rose Center)
Disclaimer: Yes, I know this is a selfish write-up, it's critical and rude, and also in the same breath I am being too hard on myself. This is condensed and I use my blog as a release or to turn a bad situation into a slight form of art to make myself feel better
