As the casket slowly descends into the depths of the six foot hole, the tension in the crowd relaxes. There is nothing more that these people can do. The body has gone to rest. The hole in the ground that will be filled will cover up all but the strongest memories. My wife cannot stop crying. Her bloodshot eyes and waves of tears are holding back her true beauty. My daughter is holding her arm tightly, squeezing it in a manner that was once the other way round. My daughter is now grown up and wise to the world. She knows she has to be strong, if not for me then for my wife. Even so, I can see the vacant look of loss in my daughter’s eyes.
I sense the jolt as the casket reaches the bottom of the hole. Something inside of me tightens at the thought of not being able to connect to the world around me. The idea that all I was is now a shadow, a faded memory of something shivers my essence. At this moment I can’t describe myself. I am not the person that I once was. He is lying in the casket. I am in body the same as I’ve always remembered but people cannot see, touch or hear me.
It is strange in a way, seeing your own burial. Is this so I can accept what I am now? Is this so I can see what pain my family is in? Who answers these questions?
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish