See You Later

As I exhale, I relish this part. This right here is what I look forward to, the finale. —This is my exit from the collision into these peoples, now my family's, life. Somehow, I never get tired of getting to this point in our shared journey. Our affair is often short and riddled with tragedy, but our brief connection is a permanent memorial.

My staff and I worked hard to capture the true essence of Mr. D. So, I take a deep breath, and I listen faintly to the echoing sound of him summoning me to speak and notice it is quickly approaching. This, like anything worthy, was rehearsed to death. No pun intended. Except for the part where I personalize it for my family. Every time I speak, I include the shared details given to me over our brief encounter. As the orator concludes, my consciousness focuses on my dismissal because soon after, the family and others will naturally tell me how we did. I begin with my usual closing.

"On behalf of the Johnson family & myself, we would like to thank you so much……. ", and as I continue on autopilot my thoroughly rehearsed homage of gratitude, I start thinking, "I am going to miss them." I genuinely enjoy my whirlwind rendezvous with the majority of my families. And true to most typical family relationships, some I will not miss, but for the Johnson's, I miss them already.

As I continue to speak, I hone in on relics only exposed to me by the family when reverence is necessary to soften their new reality. I insert my laughter at the time their loved one once said or did something comical or organic. I mention their nickname or "their" brand. Their brand is a distinction or several characteristics that are honorably worth mentioning, like selflessness or generosity in my monologue. I say, "It's a gift to be seated at my table with the family, i.e., the Johnson's, touchingly let me hear about such an inspiration." As I continue to talk, I realize I am privileged to gain complete access to the house secrets as if I were a paid fly on the wall. Bare exposure of the family's highs and lows often comes across my table or my telephone line. I frequently omit the proposed theories of who did it or why it happened; of course, it's always submitted confidentially by each family member with the preface of "quiet as it's kept and this stays between us," as a specific forewarning disclaimer to vent their observations. And with that great power comes greater responsibilities, knowing when to assert and insert myself in the unveiled information.

Because I notice everything and occasionally involve myself, I gain passage to freely speak my mind as if I were a unanimously elected confidant, counselor, minister, or an original member of "the family." I continue, "Daniel was someone I would have like to know, and even though I will never get the chance to meet him physically, I can assure you I feel like I do. His children speak highly of him, and his spouse adores him. On a side note, his wife told me about his exceptional cooking and how he rarely shared his kitchen secrets, but the family graciously bought me a plate of one of his favorite dishes to make. His daughter, Monica, made it. His spirit and apparently his cooking skills are strong with her. That infectious laughter everyone at the church spoke of during his tributes, I could hear a version of that contagious laughter from the front pew of his oldest grandchild, who looks just like Pop Pop. As a reminder, just because he isn't present in the body doesn't mean he isn't present in spirit. He is forever threaded in your DNA, and the little gems he shared and left with you are there to help you cherish him. Johnson family, thank you for entrusting me with the care of Mr. D. To the other family and friends, as a reminder, we ask you to remember to continue to love on the family during this difficult time. The care does not stop when we leave the cemetery, but it is in the calls with great memories of him, hugs, and gatherings. I don't believe in goodbyes but See you laters. So, on behalf of the funeral home, please go in love and peace."

As I embrace Mrs. Johnson, I realize what a gift it is to be here, be alive, purposefully, and to specialize in "See You Laters."