I mingled and made my greetings to the rest of the crew, keeping an eye on F_ and Jaimie and seeing they were being well taken care of by Tracy and Bets.
Funerals and wakes reveal the underlying nature of people as they perform their role upon the stage. For those who truly loved the departed and that absence has yet to be processed, it is a confused and surreal ritual they navigate on autopilot while hoping they are trapped in a bad dream. They have that distant haunted look, mistrustful of what is transpiring as they go through the motions and mouth the words that are expected of them. You can see the desperate hope in their eyes that soon they will awaken and none of it will have been real.
But for the majority of people who gather in their best dark costumes and uncomfortable shoes, their sorrow is a performance - a social burden that they must carry as long as they can. As the play begins they trot out the usual phrases spoken in gentle tones, none of which would survive any deeper scrutiny; ‘I’m sorry for your loss’, ‘She’s in a better place’, ‘You’re in my thoughts and prayers’, and the most false; ‘If you need anything - anything - just call’. Then, during the second act the somber masks give way to grins then smiles, the hushed voices grow in volume and tone, the topic migrates from remembrance of the freshly dead to the comedy of daily life.
You can feel the buoyant mood overtake the crowd like a rising tide and no one gives voice to their most intimate and sincere thought; ‘Better her than me’, and there-in begins the third act.
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