A Letter At a Funeral

I watched as people filed into the room. Their black attire absorbed any light that was trying to thrive in the space. There were flowers placed throughout the room trying to bring life to an event about death. People walked by pictures that held lively memories, they wept, they laughed, and so many either squeezed my hand or hugged me. I heard the same statements over and over. I'm sorry for your loss. My condolences. She was an amazing human. You're so strong. I felt weak. My knees felt wobbly and I felt like a broken recording, thank you. I watched them all stop at the small emerald green box at the front of the room. It was surrounded by more pictures and larger flower arrangements.

After each individual made it through the line they found their seats and waited patiently for the preacher to begin. My eyes kept scanning the room as I watched familiar and unfamiliar faces in moments of grief. I was fidgeting, playing with the ribbon on my dress, my leg bounced as I anxiously awaited my time to speak. Three others spoke before me and it took all of my might to focus on their words. First was my older sister, she said such lovely things about childhood memories. She remembered all of these good times and even brought up some of the not-so-good times. It was the first time I noticed her tired eyes. She looked like she had been crying for days with no sleep. Her children sat in the seats across from me and I could tell they were getting antsy. A funeral really wasn't the place for small children.

I wondered if they understood loss and if they truly knew why they were here. When was it that a child began to understand the concept of life and death or even grief? I started to feel agitated by their lack of understanding but also by the fact they were there. Their constant movement and whispers were distracting, and to me, rude. My sister stopped her speech a few times to tell them to stop messing around until finally, she had my brother-in-law escort them outside. For a brief moment, we made eye contact and smiled softly at each other. In a way, we were silently reaching out to comfort each other through such a tough experience. My aunt spoke next. Her speech took the longest as she struggled to speak in between sobs.

It was hard to make out half of what she said. She was one to drown out her emotions with alcohol, and I wondered if it was more than just her crying that was making it hard to understand. There were some stories of their childhood together, some more inappropriate adult stories, and a few jokes. It was when my uncle had to steady her and help her walk away from the podium that I knew she was slightly intoxicated. I was trying so hard to be empathetic and understanding but those feelings evaded me as I watched her stumble to her seat. The disgust was all over my father's face as he made his way up to the front. I watched him intently. This was the first time his hair had looked snow white and his hands looked worn out from years of hard work. I waited for him to look at me but he didn't.

He struggled to find words to say. He stuttered on his words and stumbled over his sentences. No amount of preparation would have given him the opportunity to find what he needed to say. There were no words to describe what he was feeling and going through. He kept it short and sweet, and as he walked by I reached out and grabbed his hand. For a moment he stopped and looked at me. I could see the pain in his eyes. Part of him was missing with her gone. He gently squeezed my hand and continued to make his way back to his seat. It was my turn to speak.

I looked out onto the crowd and was in shock by the number of people in the room. All of them with tears in their eyes and some with tissues in hand. They were reminiscing on memories and slowly taking in the words of the other speakers. My eyes fell on the emerald box and I wanted to cry out. I took a deep breath and unfolded a piece of paper I had been holding. My eyes went over the words multiple times before I got the courage to speak. "I really can't get over the number of people here. I knew my mother was an amazing woman but, I guess, I never truly knew just how amazing she was. Well, I knew how amazing she was but I took it for granted." I wiped away the tears that were involuntarily falling.

I gathered myself and did a scan over the faces in front of me. My sister gave me an encouraging smile, and my father nodded with tears in his eyes. I took another deep breath. "Instead of taking the time to talk about my memories with her, I took the time to write her a letter. This isn't an experience I really wanted to share with everyone here, but it isn't one I'll ever have the chance to again." I looked at the paper, my vision going in and out from the tears forming in my eyes.

"Dear Mom, I wrote you a letter when times between us were tough. I wanted to tell you that I loved you, but my actions weren't conveying the message. Sometimes I would get so caught up in my own life that I would forget about your place in it. Now, here we are. I wanted to tell you that you were right. Those supposed friends I had didn't have my back when I really needed them to, but I was too embarrassed to call you. When I think about how I should've called you I realize I never did it often enough, even when we found out you were sick. I took your life for granted. I believed you would always be here, and now I can't call you even though I really want to." My voice was starting to break and I had to once again gather myself. "When you needed me, I should've been there. All the times you called I should've picked up the phone. I should've included you in my life more, but instead, I spent a lot of it resenting you and feeling like you would never understand. I caused a lot of issues between you and dad, I almost destroyed Bianca's relationship with Cal because of my choices. For so long, I was stuck in my ways and engulfed with my life that nothing else mattered, not even you. I'm sorry. I am so sorry. It was a shock to me to learn you wanted me to speak today. I knew Bianca was going to share these amazing memories, dad was going to talk about how much he loved you, and Auntie Lynn was going to recall your younger years. Even though I wanted to do that I knew I couldn't. A lot of our memories revolve around us fighting, you getting me out of trouble, or me constantly disobeying you. I guess, I just never felt like I was going to be good enough to fit into the perfect life you shared with my father and my sister. It turns out I would've fit perfectly if I had let you give me the chance to."

"I regret a lot of things in my life, but I regret not telling you how important you were. I regret not telling you how much I loved you and not coming to you when I truly needed you. This letter is so I can hopefully let go of that regret and heal. Even though you're physically in that beautiful box, I know spiritually you're here watching over all of us, and I feel it in my bones that you hear me. I hope you forgive me. Love always, Natalie." I felt a sense of relief. Years of weight had felt like it was making its way out of the room and for a moment I could feel her there with me. The tears flowed out of me, and I felt like I could fill buckets with them.

As I made my way back to my seat. The room became brighter and the flowers seemed to perk up. I noticed a transparent white glow around the emerald box and inside I knew I was forgiven.