it's all over and I'm standing pretty
in this dust that was a city
if I could find a souvenier
just to prove the world was here
and here is a red balloon
I think of you
and let it go....
-99 Red Balloons, by Nena
It was a tradition, around here, a tradition to stop when you saw a funeral procession, on their way from the funeral home to the gravesite, to pull over on the side of the road to show your respects. I always hated it; just because someone had died, I thought, that's no reason to inconvience everyone else and make them stop where they're going.
She never did. I don't know why, exactly; maybe it was because she had lost someone and knew what it felt like to be on the other side; in the funeral procession, watching the world speed by you, uncaring, while someone you loved would never get to drive again, never get to care about anything. She would stop me, when I was driving, and make me pull over until they were gone, and she would stare out at them, half at them and half out beyond them, and her eyes were always empty when she did.
Maybe it meant something to her; maybe I should have seen it, maybe I should have asked her why a little bit sooner.
But it's too late now.
I saw a funeral the other day, and there were two big black hearses in the front, and I stopped, pulling over on the side of the road as they went by, and I watched the rest of the procession crawl by slowly. I was late, but for once I didn't care. I sat there long after they had all gone, and I could see her everywhere around me. Hear her voice, telling me quietly: "They've lost something, something more than everything means to us...please stop for them."
I did stop for them, I wanted to tell her. Look, I stopped. Be proud of me. Please, turn around and smile at me, tell me thank you, anything, but it didn't help. I stayed on the side of the road, and the clouds swirled in the sky above me, the wind rattling past the little car long after the last car had driven past, and things were wrong. I stared straight ahead, and my eyes were empty. Just like her.
Just like her.
I stopped for a funeral today...
But there was no answer. And there never would be.
Notes: Rather sad, but I kind of liked it. Inspired by my mom. Stopping on the side of the road for funerals is an Eastern Kentucky tradition, by the way.