Short Story
At my funeral
I breathed my last yesterday morning. As I now lie in the casket waiting to be lowered into my final resting place, I can hear my wife, or should I say my widow, whispering to my brother Sam about something, probably a last minute detail or to check on some other arrangement before the four gravediggers are called in to crank the pulley to lower the coffin into the crypt. Even in her moments of grief, my wife looks very attractive, as she does now. I've seen this face for a long thirty odd years, but her facial features still look so fresh to me. Or maybe she looks so engaging now because I know this is the last time I'll probably see her. As they say, parting makes the heart grow fonder, or the thought of parting is making my heart grow even fonder. I wish I could whisper something into her ear before they lower my body into the grave and I am covered with earth. I wish I could tell her that I'll miss her, and that I'll wait for her until she is able to join me. I wish I could tell her that my heart is already longing for her even though we've been apart for only one day. I haven't talked to her since early yesterday morning when I asked her for a drink of water. She brought me a small cup of water, which I drank very fast. I thanked her and handed back the cup to her, and then fast fell asleep, or that was what I thought then. Little did I imagine that I would not be able to wake up after a short nap. The first time I realized that something was not right was when I saw Anita, my wife, crying rather hysterically as she was shaking me in a bid to awaken me from my sleep. Her sharp-pitched tone as she was calling my name, interspersed with loud shrieks, and later all the people gathered around me told me that something had happened, that I would not probably be able to wake up again. Or, at least, wake up to be able to talk to Anita in the usual way, as she stood on this side of the "divide" which was separating us now. Since then, my body has been subjected to many rounds of washing and purification. After every round, while I would be wiped with towels and other fabrics, I would feel very cold. Particularly when they put me on a raised metal table, and my back was touching the cold surface, I could almost jump off the table as I shivered in the cold. But, somehow, I managed to lie there motionless. The cold temperature and the darkness in the funeral home probably knocked me out for sometime, and the next time I became conscious of my surroundings was as I lay in the casket, a few yards from the big rectangular hollow that was excavated to serve as my final resting place. The sun was up now in the cemetery, and it is getting warmer even in the mid-October day. The people around me are chatting among themselves and some are going up to Anita to offer her their condolences. "I am so sorry for your loss", I heard one youngish gentleman tell her. I vaguely remember him, having seen him only once or twice previously. He was probably one of her colleagues from work. "How did it happen? He looked very healthy to me when I last saw him with you at our house last weekend?" said another of our friends. Anita tried her best to answer these questions to the satisfaction of the people who are looking for answers to their why, what, and when questions. My children, on the other hand, seemed very lost among these people whom they barely know, except for my brothers and their wives. Anita was an only child and her parents had passed away a long time ago. As I lay there, my mind kept on wandering to the many unfinished businesses that I had left behind. I was planning to go to see the Yellowstone National Park, which was on my list of things to do for a number of years. My wife and I talked about going next summer and she had already talked to my kids and my extended family and friends to persuade them to join us. Anita and I had joked about making up a wish list of things we should be doing before we get too old, and I had already made a mental list. This plan was hatched after we saw the movie, "The Bucket List", in which two terminally ill men escape from a cancer ward and head off on a road trip with a wish list of "to-dos" before they die. I had also planned to fix some loose shingles on my garage and the door on the back entrance to the house. I try, but to no avail, to flash back to the moment when I had told Anita of my desire and my goal to finish this job before winter sets in. Soon, the snows will be here, and the winds will chip away at the siding leaving more areas exposed to the elements. I am now worried that she will miss this maintenance job, unless she recovers fast enough to contact Kenny who has taken care of our repairs over the last few years. I feel a little relieved at the thought that Kenny will probably help her as needed. I was trying to locate him in the crowd, but my line of vision was obstructed by a mound of dirt piled high near the grave. Soon I could hear a rustle as the gravediggers approached the site. They look so good in their uniform, and appear strong and muscular. I was feeling comfortable at the thought that they would not drop me too fast as they lower me into the grave. I now wonder why people have to be put away under the earth after they pass on. Why couldn't there be a more creative way of treating our departed ones? I wonder where this practice comes from and why? I now like the idea of the Egyptians who would preserve the bodies for eternity. The ancient way, mummification or otherwise, would have been a good option for me as Anita could have visited me every now and then. I certainly would have liked it even though she probably might have found the experience very unnerving. I have never visited any tomb where the body of the deceased was preserved. I wonder if some of the people who've visited Lenin's Tomb in Moscow freaked out when they saw his body. I can now see my daughter approaching the casket. She is one person who I am so sad to leave behind. This is not necessarily so because she was closer to me than my son, but she always brought me gifts from her travels. When she was in elementary school, she brought "World's Best Dad" plaques, and every Christmas she would buy me gifts from the school's Christmas shop. I wish they would bury some of those items with me. At least those mementos would help me pass the lonely days in the dark box where I will be spending all my time. I read that the Egyptians appointed the burial chamber suitably for the journey after life. In fact, a few months ago, there was an exhibition of Egyptian artifacts at the Museum of Fine Arts entitled "The Afterlife: What do you pack for a trip to the hereafter?" With the benefit of hindsight, I regret not visiting the show since I might have benefited from the exhibition. I now remember that my wife also gave me "World's Best Husband" award many years ago, but I have not seen that one the last few years. I wonder if she had thrown it away, or removed it because she no longer thought of me that way. Well, I was the best for a few years at least. That's my consolation. I can see my brother Eddy, now asking the priest to offer another round of prayers. As soon as he started to recite the holy verses aloud, I could see my wife and daughter wiping off their tears. My son looked down glumly and I know he is also emotionally moved. But he is one who does not like to display his feelings. He is very brave and I always admired the way he coped with the many adversities he faced. He always came out ahead, and that gives me a great sense relief now. I wonder if he feels betrayed that I left him suddenly and did not finish many of the conversations I was having with him. He was always curious to know how his mother and I stayed married for so many years, and I was starting to tell him about my side of the story little by little. One reason I wanted to share with him my thoughts, or "secrets of a long and lasting marriage", as they often call it, is for him to be in a stable and happy relationship. I think he understood that the strong glue that had kept me and Anita together, even though we had very different personalities, was that we complemented each other. Soon the prayer, eulogy, and other rituals were over, and I could sense a little restlessness among my children and brothers as the grounds keepers approached the coffin. Each positioned himself at one of the four corners and picked up the pole that held up the platform on which I was resting. As soon as they touched the crank, my wife, ran up to the casket and touched it with her hands. I was surprised that that she did that since I was not anticipating her to approach my casket any more as all the goodbyes were already said. She just kneeled down next to the coffin and rested her head on the lid. I could barely hear her as she was whispering something. I was not sure if she was wishing me farewell, offering prayers in Greek, or just reciting one of my favorite poems. I wish I could hear her since that would tell me what she was thinking. Was she wishing me luck on this journey or was she offering me some advice as was her practice? Every morning before I started out for work, she would offer me the usual warnings, "Please be careful, please do not speed, and please remember your health is more important than punctuality." I know she couldn't possibly say any of that. What else could she say? "Please do not worry about us?" Or, "please take care of yourself?" That would be funny indeed since nobody is sure what happens where you are buried and spend time all by yourself. Maybe she muttered, "Hope to see you soon"? That would be very odd indeed, since I know she and I talked about dying quickly in succession. While neither of us ever said, "I can't live without you", formally at least we knew that living alone would be tough on whoever was the survivor. However, we did talk about dying on the same day, or within a few minutes of each other. Once she read in a newspaper about a couple who had passed away within a few days of each other, and said to me, "Oh, what a nice ending". I was always curious to know if a survey were conducted, how many married men and women would want to die as soon as the partner passes away? I was planning to find out by going on the Internet. Well, now I have to wait to find outsince I do not know what lies ahead once I cross the Rubicon. After a few minutes, Anita got up and the coffin was slowly being lowered. As I was reaching the bottom of the grave, a remarkable thing happened. I thought I saw Anita lean on my brother Jay, and I thought she had passed out. There was a little commotion as the gravediggers got distracted for a split second, but they continued and I could sense from the bottom that some of the mourners were attending to Anita. I could not see whether she had just collapsed from exhaustion or really passed away. I was soon covered with dirt and could not see or hear anything further.
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