Funeral For The Mother Of A Friend

This morning I attended a funeral for the mother of a close friend. The service was held at St.Josephs Roman Catholic Church, which is the church I grew up in, but stopped attending when I was in my early twenties. I once believed that after we die, that their was another world we entered. A world of spirits. But now I can barely even imagine those things. I do not say with absolute certainty that they do not exist, I only say that death looks like the end. That consciousness ends.

I looked around at the church’s paintings and its icons and statues, the stained glass, the murals, the candles, and all the other religious things, and admired how attractive they looked. Then just as I was thinking about coming back on a Sunday morning, my cousin leaned towards me and whispered that I should come back to the church.

Afterwards, we drove to the cemetery where we all gathered around the grave. A young woman from the Funeral Home handed out carnations which we took turns placing on the casket. The day was cold, and my sister held on to my arm.

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