Late

When you enter the church, everyone is already seated. You pause to steady yourself, checking to make sure your suit fits fine. You don’t want to look rushed and disheveled as you make your grand entrance. They will all see you coming in late, so you have to look your best. You adjust your tie, roll your shoulders, stretch your neck, and straighten your back. Confident, you make your way down the center aisle, walking between the pews.

No one looks. You’ve been late for everything your whole life, and maybe they’ve finally grown so accustomed to it that they don’t notice you strolling in after it’s already started. No one snickers. No one makes a joke about being late to your own funeral. No one looks at you and shares a knowing smile. You knew this would be hard, so you made sure you’d be late just for the comic relief.

You walk in cautious silence as the somber weight of the room draws you in. A few sniffles here, a few clearing throats there. A man stands up in front at a lectern, facing those seated around you. You recognize him. That’s your best friend, the guy who’s been through everything with you. Man, you two used to get in some trouble, didn’t you? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

After this, you guys need to hang out, get into something like back in the good ol’ days. It’s just lately, work’s gotten the best of you. You’ve both been wrapped up in your individual lives. You realize it’s even been a while since you’ve spoken on the phone. Sure, you trade jokes online, but when was the last time you two had an actual conversation? When was the last time you knocked back a few?

You shoot him a look and a nod, acknowledging him, trying to catch his attention so he sees you’re here. It’s a hard day for him, too. Honestly, it’s been a tough few days for everyone here. You hate to see all your friends and family, people you’ve known well and people you hardly know at all, so heartbroken like this.

You reach the front, where your mother and father are seated. Your mother sobs quietly into a wad of tissue in both hands, your father’s arm around her as he holds her to his chest. His lips quiver and you see the tears brimming in his eyes. This man is rock solid, and he’s holding it together, as he always has, for the sake of your mother, and in his mind, for the sake of everyone here – that’s just the man he is.

“Hey, man, it’s okay,” you tell him as you sit down next to him, putting a hand on the old man’s shoulder, but he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t look away from your buddy up there talking, telling stories about a good friend of his and some of the stupid things they did together back in college.

You notice a few of your old high school friends sitting down in the next pew. Their eyes and noses are all red from crying. You reach back and grab the hand of your senior prom date, the one who got away after you left for school. Did they stay or eventually go off to another college out of state? You can’t seem to remember. You lost touch, but you want to say it’s so good to see you anyway.

The problem is you can’t. Not right now, not during the service. Maybe later you can try to catch up with some of these people. It’s like a reunion in here. And to think, you actually considered not showing up today. You’re glad you did, though.

You turn back around and pat your dad’s back. A lone tear breaks free and rolls down his cheek. He wipes it away.

Your buddy up front says something funny, and everyone laughs. You look up to see him staring past your parents at the row of old friends behind you. You missed what he said, what story he’d told.

“That’s more like it,” he tells everyone. “You know, if he were here with us today, he’d rather hear us laugh than watch us cry.” He wipes his own eyes with a smile and then looks at your dad. “You know, Pops, after all these years, I can definitely see where he got his sense of humor. Man, he always wanted to make someone laugh.”

Everyone laughs again, remembering something you did that made them laugh. That’s right, this is about you. Every story they tell today will be one about you, about how you touched their lives and how sad they will be now that you’re gone. Those chuckles while your boy is up there talking – those are for you. So are the tears being shed.

That box sitting front and center with all the flowers on it? You. Your body lies in that box, resting finally after all the miles you put on it. Oh, it doesn’t matter what happened, does it? Not now, not when you’re surrounded by those who loved you so dearly in your life and who will continue to love you after you all leave this place today.

You realize today that what really matters is what didn’t happen. The phone calls you didn’t make. The times you didn’t visit. The voicemails that went unheard. The times that you were just too busy or too tired or figured there would be plenty of time later. That’s what matters right now, isn’t it?

You didn’t have time, did you? It ran out on you, huh? It’s okay; they understand. They’re sitting there right now dealing with the exact same thing you’re feeling. They feel the same regret, the same sense of loss that’s nagging at you. But you can’t go back. That’s not how this works.

Don’t worry; they’ll be okay. They’ll leave here today after your body is lowered into the ground, and they’ll each take a piece of you back with them in their hearts and memories. A few of them will stop by to see your parents afterward. They’ll cry and tell stories and laugh, and your dad will probably crack one open with the guys in your honor.

Then, slowly but surely, life will go on. Everyone will settle into a new normal, a normal without you, a world in which you’re just a memory. There will be times down the road when they stop and laugh – “If only he were here” – and for a brief moment, you will be, just like you are right now.