Brad’s funeral was the first funeral I remember ever
attending. The funeral home was dark and
smelled funny. Brad wore a dark blue
sweater with a white polo underneath. He
looked weird, to use my 7th grade vernacular. I could see the thread that held his eyes
closed and it looked like he had makeup on.
I kept touching his hand because I couldn’t believe how hard it
felt. He was so still. The exact opposite of what was going on in
the room. There were so many
people. Sandy and Larry could barely
stand. Sandy’s mother was there. She didn’t like that I lived with them, she
thought it was odd that they would have a stranger in their home. She didn’t treat me well when we were
together. In fact, she didn’t treat me
at all; she barely would acknowledge my existence. But Karen was the light of her life. She was there to console her and Trisha and
everyone else. Well, everyone but
me. I spent most of my time next to
Brad, walking back and forth from his casket to the drinking fountain or the
bathroom. I remember trying to look busy
but I’m not sure why. I had loved Brad
and the whole family. I was desperate
for their love in return. But today they
had more to think about than me and that was okay. I would be strong for them. I was strong on my birthday when Brad died. Obviously I never made it school that
day. We were all huddled in the upstairs
living room while the police and medical person was in Brad’s room taking care
of his body. Everyone was crying and not
really sure what to do or say to each other.
I kept as quite as I could and just absorbed what was happening. We were all silent as they carried Brad out
in a shiny, black bag. Everything felt
black that day. And every day
after. Particularly two days later when
we were going to have a birthday breakfast for Brad on what would have been his
16th birthday. Instead we
were planning a very different day for Brad.
So are you going to leave us guessing as to cause of death?
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