-1CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - The Eulogy

Three days have passed since Dr. Gregory House went into cardiac arrest. Try as she might and with all the medical resources she had, she could not bring him back. She tried for 45 minutes, as well as three other doctors in the hospital but to no avail. Cuddy never cried when she walked out of the room that afternoon, nor did she when she went in to tell Wilson that he'd passed away. Even when she called Chase, Cameron and Foreman in Sunday morning to tell them she never shed a tear.

But Cameron did, no surprise there. Chase sat down next to her and grabbed her in his arms and held her as she cried, but it wasn't a deep-felt cry - you know, the ones that come from the pit of your stomach. Foreman just stood against the window and stared at the three in front of him, no tears, no surprise. Just stared.

Wilson took it harder than Cuddy thought he would - okay, she knew he'd take it hard but she never expected him to throw the tray of left over food halfway across the room and make her leave. She stood outside his hospital room a few minutes listening to him, and it tore at her heart. She raced to her office, closed and locked the door, threw herself on the couch and cried. For the first time, over the death of House.

The morning started off with a brisk fall chill in the air which made the mourners gather the collars of their coats around their necks and wrap their arms for support as they entered the church. Cameron's eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and Chase stayed by her side the whole time. Wilson, still being in the wheelchair, was being pushed by Foreman. Cuddy lead the group.

House's coffin was below the alter with an abundance of white lillies and yellow carnations. He was wearing a suit that Blythe picked out for him, although she knew if he knew what she had chosed he would have fought like he did when he was three years old. But in his memory, she did leave his favorite Rolling Stones t-shirt underneath, and only she and House knew it was there.

There was a picture of him and Wilson at a Monster truck rally and he actually had a genuine smile on his face. When Wilson remembered the picture he asked Cuddy to get it from his apartment for the funeral. She reluctantly agreed.

John and Blythe sat in the front row and Wilson avoided their eyes. He felt partly responsible, although he is not. But he just knew he had to do something to prevent House from getting as far down as did but he was helpless to stop him.

Stacy and Mark sat in the third row but the two were very distant to each other. Mark was out of his wheelchair and was using a cane (ironic, isn't it?). Her eyes were so swollen they looked like they were glued shut. She loved House once, still loved a part of him. But she couldn't live with him. She couldn't let him drag her down like he had before. But Mark - he was...relieved, and Stacy felt it.

House's boss and coworkers sat in the second row after they viewed his body. As Cameron approached it her legs grew weak and Chase caught her just in time before she fell to her knees. She never did see his body - she couldn't bring herself to look at him. She wanted to remember him as he was: a cranky, narcissistic, unemotional...but now wasn't the time for her to reflect on that.

Wilson was the only one that approached and looked at his friend. He had forgotten what he looked like without his shadow that he'd worn more than five years. And now there laid someone he didn't know, yet he knew, but didn't understand. His eyes filled with tears, tears that he refused to let fall. Not here. Not now. Later. Later, when he was alone.

Reverend Richard Maxwell approached the alter behind the pulpit and placed an opened bible on the stand and removed the bookmark.

"Fellow parishoners, friends, colleagues, loved ones, today is a sad day that we have all been called to gather here in the hall of the Lord. For we are here to mourn the death of Gregory Marshall House."

Tearful sobs echoed from the back of the church that no one seemed to hear.

After a few more words from the Reverend he asked for friends or family to come up and say a few words about him. Needless to say there was no rush to the front. But Wilson whispered to Foreman to push him up to the front and he handed him the microphone.

There was a moment of silence before Wilson gathered his thoughts together and was able to speak without his voice cracking, or so he thought.

"How...Greg and I were friends about five years. I met him..." he stopped and looked at Stacy, then continued, "he was going through a rough patch. But I knew Greg, understood Greg...couldn't put up with him sometimes, but, I tried." There were a few stiffled giggles from the pews.

"But although he didn't like to show it, Greg had a heart. Kinda like the Grinch, but still, it was there. He cared about patients, just didn't like to talk to them. He wanted to cure them, make them better. Even those that worked for him he had faith in, that's why he hired them in the first place."

He said that kindly as he looked at Chase, Cameron and Foreman. His voice started to crack a little as he paused a moment to think of what else he wanted to say.

"He lived his life the way he wanted to, and always had a sense of adventure.

He even wanted to bungee jump but he'd only do it with me and I refused. Looking back now..."

Wilson had to clear his throat before he continued.

"Greg never let anyone in, we all know that. But it didn't mean he didn't care. Because he did. He told me. More than once. But I believe he let me in, like a brother he never had. And while he could say the stupidest things and do the most moronic stuff, I know why he did what he did.

"He was a good man, and the only comfort I can offer to those of you that are here is that he is no longer in pain. And I don't really know what he'd think of all these flowers," he finished, forcing a comforting, unnatural smile. Wilson handed Foreman the microphone, who placed in on a step and pushed Wilson back to the spot he was before.

Again there was a sob from the back of the room.

"HE WOULDN'T LIKE THE FLOWERS!" someone shouted from the back. No one turned around to look at the idiot who said that.

A few family members came up and said a few words, but everyone could tell how difficult it was for them. The church remained quiet for a few minutes.

A man walked up the isle of the church screaming, "Please tell me no suit!" No one paid any attention to him except a little three year old curly blonde haired girl who smiled at him as he walked past her.

Suddenly the man stopped and grabbed at his chest. He had difficulty catching his breath as he walked closer to the casket. Again he grabbed his chest and moaned loudly. He took two, three steps up to the coffin and looked in...

"NO! Not a suit!"

A sharp pain ripped at his chest again and this time he collapsed on his knees, his right hand in a fist at his left breast.

"No...owww...make it stop..."

Another sharp pain shot through his body.

From his right side he hears a steady beep, like a heart beat. The coffin in front of him grew dark and the voices disappeared, but were replaced by others screaming orders.

"He's back!" Cuddy said, sighing in a deep breath as she stepped back and looked at Dr. Gregory House, who had been fighting for his life the past several minutes.

"Vitals are strong, Dr. Cuddy," Alice said as she grabbed the paddles from Cuddy and placed them back on the cart.