Funerals are like muddy rivers.
Reflections of tears float across lily ponds like soldiers passing by your door, dressed in black or something else. Stone grey buildings held up by wooden beams flank the pool and their shadows reach in. Some people cry and some do not. Some show up for themselves.
“It’s a tragedy. You were this big when I last saw you.” People get bigger when they grow up before they die, and there’s not much else to say.
Here, as the sun turns the beams orange in arching columns, nothing is new because funerals are when we stand in the past, like former champions of the world. It’s hard to think of the present when the biggest gift of all is taken from you.
But life doesn’t wait for anybody and it rolls forward like waves in the middle of the sea, and, if you don’t swim, the current will see you falling on rocks and the pain gets worse.
If you learn to ride them, though, waves will take you onto beaches where the sun sits low, bright and orange. Where you need to cover your eyes from the light and the sand curls in your toes.
The current is so hard to fight but it’s worth the present of that shining sun, clearer from the changing sands of today’s time than the steady rocks of yesterday’s.