I do want to take this time to post my son's school essay. I know I KNOW... no bragging but it truly struck a chord with me; on many levels. Sometimes I get so caught up in outside demands, expectations and crisis that I lose sight of the most important things; my family, my babies. They are independent in many ways, growing up faster than I'd like into people I want to know and enjoy on the best of friend-level, but this was a reminder that although I convince myself they are "just fine"... so I can oil that squeakier wheel... they are reacting, needing and living a life that if I am not careful, I will miss out on.
I will be back with one of my own very soon and by the looks of things, will be back on track. Let's hope so. I really don't like being away from this so long. It's my therapy. ;) So I'd like you to meet my thirteen year old son, or at least a side of him. Thank you for all of your support, friendship and visits.
I dress in
my suit and wait in the car. My handkerchief sits in my pocket, already used
and stained with tears. My family piles into the car and we drive. How far, I
have no idea just far. When we pull up to Zale’s funeral homes, my mother gives
us an optimistic glance and we go inside.
It smells like lilacs and rose petals. What an upbeat smell for such a downbeat
place. I think. We sign the guest
book and take a look. There is only one other child in the room besides my
sister and me and he looks to be around my age. He doesn’t have the tear stained
cheeks that one might expect to see on a child. I know right away that he
either isn’t very close or has done this before.
We decide
to go up to the casket in pairs. My sister, dressed in a black dress and pumps,
goes with my mother, also in a black dress with matching pumps. My father and
I, both dressed in ironed oxford shirts and black slacks, go up to say our
farewells together.
“I’ll mi-,”
my voice catches in my throat and I whisper it a little louder, “I’ll miss
you.” We get up and I sit in a chair
that smells like mothballs. A few people come up to us and say that
they are sorry for our loss but I barely hear them. My mind is already flashing
back to the good times I had spent with him, my go- to- way- to- stay- happy when a
death occurs.
I think
back to the 7 year-old me. I sat in my mother’s wheelie chair. The smell of
Tylenol, Penicillin, and Ceftin waft throughout the room. The crunching and
grinding of the pills being shoveled into the Medisures fills my ears.
Suddenly, I hear the squeaking of the front door hinges and heavy footsteps in
the hall. I peer around the door and see the wrinkled form of my Uncle Louie. He
goes into his office which is diagonal from my mother’s, he come out, holding a
pair of scissors and bellowing, “ Come here I am going to cut that hair!”
I shriek
with laughter and hide behind the door. He comes in and mocks astonishment.
“Where did
he go? He was right here a second ago!”
I giggle
and he whirls around and slams the door. I huddle into the smallest ball I can
make and he grabs a chunk of my hair. He brings the scissors close to the tuft
and right when he is about to cut it he feigns the breaking of the scissors. I
stand up with a triumphant smile on my face as he stalks out of the room
muttering something about getting me next time.
I snap back
to reality only when my sister elbows me as my grandmother hugs my limp form. I
hug her back and feel her relax with the relief that her grandson wasn’t going
into shock. The goodbyes don’t take long and my father and other pallbearers
carry him to the hearse. The procession then moves towards St. Lawrence Church.
When we get there I sit in the second to last pew. I stare up at the asymmetrical ceilings and
wonder, how many times has someone looked
up and noticed this? How many times has someone stared at this imperfection in
order to get away from the reason that they are here and notice the real beauty
in this? They cover his casket in an American flag and a few people read
their eulogies while the priest blesses him on his way to Heaven.
After the
service, I really start to feel the effects of the funeral. I stay strong until
I reach the car. There, I break down with cries of: “I’ll miss him” and “Why
did he leave?” This goes on until we reach the graveyard. There, I pull myself
together and stand against my mother for support. She pulls out three bouquets
of flowers and gives two of them to her colleagues. They start to walk inside
and the hearse drivers stops us,
“No flowers
are allowed, please leave them here.” They reluctantly put them down and head
inside.
We sit in
the back once again and two fully dressed military officials take the flag off
of his casket and fold it up while a soldier in uniform plays taps in the
background. It is here, that my mother and her friends break down. I take the
handkerchief from my breast pocket and give it to her. She takes it in her
shaky hand and wipes her eyes. Although mascara smudges her eyelids, I don’t
think that she notices and I pat her leg.
“It’ll be
alright. Everything is going to be okay.”
We struggle
through the burial and shake holy water onto his casket for safe passage
through the afterlife. Finally, the saddest day of my life so far comes to an
end around 12:00 noon. I take out the eulogy card that I had taken from the
funeral home and read the back.
In loving Memory of
Louis Dominick Principato
Born October 10, 1929
Died December 3, 2013
Come to me
God saw you were getting
tired
And a cure was not to be.
So he put his arms around
you
And whispered, “Come to me”
With tearful eyes we
watched you,
And saw you pass away.
Although we loved you
dearly,
We could not make you stay.
A golden heart stopped
beating,
Hardworking hands at rest.
God broke our hearts to
prove to us,
He only takes the best.
Wow... I may be biased but this is very impressive and follows quite closely in his mother's shadow. You both make me proud!
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