Funeral Snow

Erich was buried yesterday in Salt Lake City. We awoke to quite a bit of snow on the ground and snow still falling. It seemed fitting for Erich, who loved skiing. We drove to the soccer shop where Erich used to work.

How many countless hours of time did we spend chatting while we were both "working"? It was good to see where you were and what you were complaining about.

Waiting in the "viewing" room for the funeral to start was like torture. Trying desperately to hold composure. Dock tries to comfort me, and I tell him to leave me alone. Face the wall and read the sign "Let Virtue Garnish Thy Thoughts Unceasingly; then shall thy Confidence Wax Strong in the presence of God" over and over again, focusing on the words to make the tears stop flowing. Deep, slow, deliberate breaths. Who am I to be crying? I was such a small part of your life. If Chad isn't crying, if your brother isn't crying, what right do I have to cry? And then I look at the closed casket, and everything inside me wants to open it and hug you just one more time cuz you were such a good hugger. And the tears flow again. I'm hiding behind Josh. I pretend to inspect the program thoroughly, and my eyes wander back up to the ever-present sign, "Let Virtue Garnish Thy Thoughts Unceasingly; then shall thy Confidence Wax Strong in the presence of God." It comforts me. I'm swallowing my breaths, pay a visit to the Ladies' room to allow myself a few seconds of silent sobs and then there's cold water splashing into my eyes. Paper towel dabbing my face. Composure.

I go into the church. I don't sit with the rest of LeMed, not because I want to distance myself, but because it'll just be harder. So I sit and I try to sing the hymn but the sob catches in my throat. I mouth the words but no sound comes out. I listen to Chad speak with such dignity and control it amazes me. He is, indeed, your best friend. I say a quick prayer that I never have to do that at Kyung's funeral. Your cousin reads blogs as I nod my head, remembering that we chatted on those days that you were blogging about. Remembering my recommendations and our similar issues of childhood memories. They roll your casket out and it's time to head to the cemetery.

It's freezing. We're standing around your casket outside. My socks are wet, and I cannot feel my toes. My legs involuntarily shake from the cold. Joe reads the long string of eulogies written by LeMedders. I laugh when he actually reads "I forgive you for not washing my sheets." I laugh because I know you are laughing, too -- happy that something dirty was said at your funeral. They give you your military rites. I'm watching your mother watching them fold the flag. I look over at Chip. I think this is not the son your mother was expecting to get a flag for. Chip is looking at what he thought would be him. Chad is standing at attention the entire time they fold. They hand your mother the flag.

I place my hand briefly on the casket. I had wanted to do it at the viewing but didn't want to draw any attention. I don't know why -- perhaps I thought I would feel you through the wood even though I know you're not really there. Now, there are so many hands on the casket, mine gets lost among the crowd. Your father says "I still don't believe he's in there," to which Christa replies "it [the casket] is too short." Corny hugs me. I push away the tears as I turn to face the tree. I look back towards the covered area, and I see someone hugging Chad who is crying, and it breaks my heart. I want to go over and hug him, but realize we've never met. It would not be comforting for him. My heart goes out to him. I can only painfully imagine what he's going through.

We go back to the church for a lunch. We joke and tease each other endlessly. We debate on whether or not to send the controller back to Cinco. We say goodbye to your mom. When I hug her, I tell her to take care of herself. For some reason, it brings it all back. I walk away to the bathroom again -- my respite. I can't stay in the building anymore, so Josh and I go outside to the car.

The sun is shining through finally. It's beautiful. I have to go back to the cemetery. Josh gets out of the car, and I tell them I'll be right back. I drive to the cemetery, my car slides across the ice. I walk slowly over to the place. I guess I have to see if they did it. There it is. This patch of freshly laid sod. It looks strange against the rest of the snow-covered ground. It seems absurd that they even laid it. The sod will not take in the soon to be frozen earth. I lay my hand on it, and the ground gives a bit: the dirt below falling into place around the box they've put your casket in. The ground is so cold. I think about your body in the cold ground, and it takes everything in me to not start digging you out. To hold your body against mine to be warm, to not be alone. I know it's just your body. I know it is. You've always been so fragile to me though. I can't take it. I say "I'm sorry, Erich." And I walk away, back to my car, back to the church to pick up Mike and Erik.

It still hasn't sunk in. I still think that I will see your smile, hear your laugh, hug you, tease you, laugh at you... again. Perhaps someday I will. For now, I know it will randomly hit me, and the tears will well up. Over time, this will probably stop. I will never see your purty face or that smile again. Your name will forever be light gray in my AIM list. We will have no more conversations. You will no longer play devil's advocate just to get a rise out of me. You will not tell me that I can do it, or that I should do it. You will not tell me anything directly. BUT my life, my decisions will be influenced by your example. You will live on through all of us because you shone that brightly in your life. Spreadable Erich.

"You will never walk alone." None of us will.