It was such a nice day. It was one of those glorious spring days when nothing is too much of a hassle, when the very air I breathed in was laced with the scents of things blooming after lying dormant during the cold months. It was a hell of a day for a funeral, though. Funerals should be on rain-laden days, when clouds act as blankets to the emotions of those gathered to see a friend off. Rain makes it easier for all to cry, the droplets mixing with loved ones tears and carrying them into the lonely hole in the ground where a shell of a man will spend the rest of his days rotting.
It was such a nice location, a beautiful cemetery, with well-manicured lawns, shrubs and gardens. It was the sort of place where trees asked permission to drop their leaves and every rock and stone knew its place. It was the sort of cemetery where, as per Stephen King, the grass doesn’t fuck around; it goes right up to the side of the freshly-painted chapel and says “G’day”. Birdlife abounded, with startling lorikeets flashing green/red across the sky and noisy Wagtails squabbling over titbits. For a final resting place, it was crowded with living and breathing reminders of everything good about living and breathing.
My friend was far too young, far too good and nowhere near ready. He was cut down without a word of goodbye to loved ones, a kiss to the cheek of his son or his partner or a loving hug from his parents. He was far too young to be leaving this world. He had so much more to do, so much more to look forward to and so much more to give.
It was such a nice day, at such a nice location. I felt guilty for noticing how blue the sky was, how wonderfully alive the gardens where and how glorious the sun felt on my black clothes. I looked about at the eyes sunglass-blinkered not for the bright day but to hide tears and puffy, red eyes. I felt a little guilty for not crying myself.
Then I figured if my friend were standing beside me, he’d be enjoying how wonderful the day was too. He was the sort of bloke who would see the birds, who would stop and smell the flowers, who would take the time to say hello and how are you doing. There are not too many people like him left and now there is one less.
Value you what you have. Don’t let it become a chore to be kind, to forgive or to enjoy those around you. You never know when they might be taken away. No one does. Live in the moment; revel in the joy of spring, the excitement of birthdays or the thrill of love. Don’t take anything for granted.