Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction
Crying at a FuneralIt was my very first funeral. Don't ask me who died, because I really don't remember. He was a cousin, or an uncle, or something, on my mother's side of the family. And since most of my mother's family didn't live around here, I don't know a lot of them. I certainly didn't have any feelings, one way or the other, toward this stranger (I think his name was Peter) lying in a closed casket at the front of the room.
I think that's why this was my very first funeral - maybe the folks wanted me to understand what a funeral was like before I had to deal with the death of someone I knew and loved. That was probably a pretty smart idea.
As we sat there, about two thirds of the way back, my brother kept giving me a funny look. I didn't know why. Finally he jabbed me with his elbow.
"Stop crying," he hissed at me.
I stared at him. What?
"Stop crying," he said again.
"I'm not crying," I whispered in reply. I really wasn't crying, and I couldn't imagine why he thought I was.
"The whole room can hear you sniffling," he said.
I wiped my nose on the sleeve of my shirt. "I have a cold," I replied. "My nose is running."
"Nuh uh. You're crying."
"Am not," I said defensively.
"Well cut it out. Everyone will think you're crying."
Then it occurred to me what an odd conversation this was. "So?" I said, "What if they do? It's a funeral, isn't it? People are supposed to cry, aren't they?"
He didn't have anything to say about that.
Even so, for the rest of the service, I didn't dare let out even so much as a sniff, let alone a full blown sniffle. Which was a bit awkward, considering I didn't have any kleenex with me.
It was on days like those I wished I didn't have brothers.
Understanding Coronavirus Spread
A Question and Answer session with Professor Puzzler about the math behind infection spread.
Blogs on This Site
Reviews and book lists - books we love!
The site administrator fields questions from visitors.
Like us on Facebook to get updates about new resources