Loss

Funerals are ghastly.

Funerals in California? Even worse.

The sun was beating down upon the shining gold cross that topped the bell tower in the center of the church's square. 1876. That's the year the building was finished and the pews were finally filled with people ready to confess their sins. I couldn't help but wonder if the walls would come crumbing down if, God forbid, the 'big one' everyone talks about was to hit at this exact moment.

My thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Mrs. Evans asking someone if they had seen Kayden, Adam's twin brother. Her voice was tired, broken, and I so badly wished to wrap my arms around her. But I couldn't.

It wasn't like everyone had pointed their fingers at me, but Mr. and Mrs. Evans certainly had. How horrid would it be to see your dead son's fiancée dressed in his shirt, a pair of cutoffs and sandals, sporting unkempt hair and mascara stains? So I let my legs carry me along the closest wall, moving to sit on one of the dark wooden benches surrounded by roses.

More voices found their way into the madness that surrounded me, something akin to The Beatles' Revolution 9. The trickle was slow at first. Building. After a while I started to think I'd never get into the chapel, but then the courtyard was suddenly silent. The slap, slap, slap of my soles on stone could be heard if one listened close enough, but no eyes found mine as I entered and settled behind the statue located beneath St. Christopher.

A tall man dressed in all black took the floor before us and began prattling off all of the wonderful things Adam had done in his life. From volunteering with foster kids to getting into college full-ride because of his 4.3 GPA and dedication to the surf team in high school, every accomplishment was given equal attention. Adam sounded like a saint, especially when the priest talked about how Adam had planned to reach a PhD. for Psychology, with honors. He had helped people all his life an wanted to make a career of it.

Twenty-four is too young to die.

A white casket with intricate gold designs forming the bars for pallbearers to hold sat at the front. There were no giant flower wreaths nor large, blown-up posters of his senior class photo to stare at. Just the casket. My goodbyes had been said in that dark parking lot two weeks ago, but what about everyone else?

Somewhere in the back of my mind I imagined that a person or two was fixated on the casket and what, no, who, lay just beneath the lid. Perhaps they wondered about his curly, brown hair and whether or not it had been cut right off. Maybe his bright blue orbs floated across their closed eyelids, sparkling in the dark until they remembered how pallid his eyelids must be from sitting in the morgue downtown all these days.

But me, all I could picture was his pale skin and how all color had likely bled out of it; enhanced by death.

"Peace be with you," was answered with "And with you," more times than I could count. The mass then moved into prayer, all occupants moving to their knees while Latin words filled my ears. Adam probably would have hated it, but no one really knew him like I did. Though he had accompanied his parents and brother to mass every Sunday and Wednesday, there was always complaint about not understanding the Latin. Never to his parents, of course, but to Kayden and I.

Once everyone was seated again the Catholics in the room were asked to line up for Holy Communion. "This bread," the priest explained to the others, "represents the body of Jesus. This cup," a hand motioned, "his shed blood. Taking communion is a declaration of health and forgiveness; a blessing to be received."

Brick was cold against my back as I pushed myself farther from view. No words were spoken until everyone had finished lining up. "Thank You, Father, for the gift of Your Son. My body is healed from the crown of my head to the very soles of my feet." At this the bread was taken. "Lord Jesus, thank You for Your precious blood. Through Your blood, I am forgiven of all my sins—past, present and future—and made completely righteous. Thank You Lord Jesus, for loving me. Amen." Then the wine.

More words were spoken, though the Preacher's voice was in the background of my mind; hardly noticed. When my eyes opened again the pallbearers were lifting the casket and making their exit, the family following behind. And behind them, the pews were emptying into the line one by one. Behind them, anyone along the walls fell into step.

From the doorway I stared, watching as the box that held Adam's body was loaded into the nearby Hearse. Yellow stickers that said 'funeral' in large, black letters were passed out to every driver so no one would be lost getting to the cemetery. The chapel was warm, a temporary home for me as I waited for everyone to leave.

My little, red Neon was the last car in line. Neither of Adam's parents had ever seen it, but they were the third car in line so it probably wouldn't have mattered anyways. People in cars stopped by our long line of traffic seemed to have 'pity' written across their faces. Everything seemed to be a blur in my peripheral vision as I silently prayed for the funeral to be as smooth as the mass had been. Our cars rolled along the winding path we were taking and up the hill through the cemetery gates.

Things seemed to stop when I realized that this was it. Things seemed to turn to mist in front of me, replaced with images of flashing lights and the sounds of sirens. Everything was still fresh in my mind. Even his face as the light left him. It was all I could concentrate on no matter how hard I tried to focus my gaze on the big oak trees.