Kurt
Kurt could still remember his mother's funeral. He had been eight years old when she died, and he had maintained for months afterward a vain, desperate hope that somehow, for some reason, it was all just a lie, that eventually, she would come back home to him. Eventually she would come through the front door and take him into her arms, laughing at his astonishment as she explained that no, she hadn't died, no, nothing bad had ever happened to her at all. She was only teaching him a lesson, making sure he would always appreciate her from this point on. Maybe she and his dad were punishing him for some wrongdoing by pretending such a terrible thing, or maybe it was all simply a mistake. Maybe it had been someone else who died and they only thought it was his mother, and she was actually just lost or missing or going on vacation. Maybe she was tired of being a mom and a wife for a while and just needed to take a little break. It didn't matter what the explanation might be, just so long as she did come back.
Kurt had barely reacted to anyone or anything throughout her funeral, numbly enduring the hugs and caresses of the dozens of sympathetic relatives, family friends, and acquaintances who had all shown such concern for the young boy who was withstanding it all so bravely. He had sat beside his father in the front row, holding his hand tightly, and not complaining when Burt squeezed his hand a little too hard for his comfort. He had stood with him to place his white flower on his mother's coffin, and he had asked no questions, not wanting to hear the answers he might receive. And when his father's face twisted with his effort to suppress tears, Kurt had turned to him and assured him calmly, almost fully believing himself, that it would be okay. Because to Kurt, there was still hope that it would be, that his mother was simply not present in the coffin at all, whether in body or in soul.
Ten years later, at another funeral, Kurt was no longer able to let himself think or believe in the simplistic, naïve manner of his childhood self. But more than anything, he wished that he could. More than anything, he wished he would have just cause, that it was in fact true…that his stepbrother, his friend, would walk in at any moment and prove this all to be a terrible, much too prolonged practical joke.
He could almost see this happening. Finn would walk in down the church aisle, his oversized form immediately attracting attention of all the bowed heads and shaking shoulders of his friends and family, and he would look around with that sheepish, slightly puzzled grin only Finn could pull off, genuinely puzzled by their reactions. He would run a hand over his head and shrug his shoulders, speaking with some incredulity as he took in their shocked reactions to his presence.
"It was just a joke, guys…I didn't think anyone would take it this seriously. You mean you really thought I was dead, really? But…wow, you really did think that?"
It would be a terrible thing to do, the cruelest form of a gotcha that Kurt could dream up, let alone actually conceive of someone going through with. It wasn't something Finn would have done, and it wasn't something Kurt would have condoned or approved of, had he proposed doing so. But if that happened now, in the middle of the funeral, it would be one of the best moments of Kurt's life, because the alternative, that all of this was simply grim reality, was so much crueler than any sick prank.
But this was the third day after Finn's death, and Kurt had already seen the body, had cried harder than he could remember ever crying in his life in the tight hold of his father's arms after he had touched Finn's hand, feeling how stiff, cool, and utterly unhuman it was in death. You could not touch a dead person, stare down at their motionless form, and continue to truly believe in any possibility of their life. There was a vital difference in their presence, in their touch, even in their physical appearance, however well preserved, that made it impossible to believe they were simply sleeping or unconscious. Perhaps it was the absence of their soul, or the essence of life itself, but whatever it was, Kurt could not look at Finn's body and not understand that it was no longer Finn at all.
He didn't know whether to pity their other friends, for not having seen him, and been able to come to this definitive conclusion themselves, if needed, or if he was relieved for them, that out of them all, only he and Rachel had seen and touched Finn's body afterward. Or maybe he envied them. They could keep any denial or fantasies, they could believe whatever they wanted or needed for as long as they could manage. And they would never have their last memory of him being lying on his back in a coffin, so still and quiet that it seemed he was not looking at Finn's body at all, but rather a plastic mannequin imitation of a picture of him. They could think and remember whatever they chose, and Kurt only wished he had that choice.
But when it came down to it, if he could be given a choice, any choice about any of this, none of it really mattered, because his real choice in the end was to have Finn alive.
Kurt wasn't sure if it was sad, that only Finn's death seemed to bring everyone together, or whether it was actually a testimony of their relationships and bonds, that each of them, no matter where they were living or what circumstances or difficulties flying to Lima might bring them, had still managed to come for his funeral. But they were all here, each of the Glee kids and most of the WMHS staff, everyone who had loved Finn and been affected by him in their lives. And for Finn, this was an extensive list; the church was packed to the point that the pews were crowded to overflowing, and many people stood in the back and along the sides of the room. Finn had had no shortage of those who loved and cared about him, and Kurt wondered, not for the first time, if he had ever really known this or understood just how much impact he really had had.
From the moment he, his father, and his stepmother, Finn's mother, had arrived, almost two hours early, to the church, the other mourners had filed in steadily. Each had wanted to stop and talk to them, expressing condolences and giving hugs, and Kurt had felt so many tears soaking his shoulders and shed so many of his own that he felt drained of all energy and most emotion even before the funeral began. He was exhausted, finding it difficult even to stand or walk or think, and only his desire to stay strong for his father, for Carol, to be the supportive, loving son for them that Finn had always been, kept him from simply fleeing the room and curling into a ball on his bed, avoiding it all.
He didn't know what he would have done, the first two days, without Blaine there for him. The moment Blaine heard, he had driven all the way up to New York City, not leaving his side until Kurt could manage to get a plane booked for home. He had held him for hours, sometimes talking with him, sometimes just remaining quiet while Kurt cried, but always he had been there, a constant presence and comfort. Maybe Kurt wasn't entirely sure where the two of them stood as a couple, but he knew that regardless of any of that, what mattered, what was really important, was that when he truly needed him, Blaine was there. The love they had for each other was strong and real, and maybe that was all he needed to know.
He could not imagine what it was like for Rachel to not have the same understanding and knowledge, to in fact be all too aware of the fact that now, she had had this ripped away from her with no resolution ever possible. He knew that Santana had done the best she could to be there for her until they could both fly home, and she had shown much more patience, concern, and empathy than the might have predicted her capable of, under other circumstances, but it was nowhere near the same, and not what Rachel undoubtedly felt herself to need. However close she and Santana may have become, and however strong their friendship might be, what Rachel must want and need now so badly was what she could no longer have, and he only hoped that the strength and courage he knew she had would be enough to carry her through.
Long before the funeral ceremony began, the other members of the Glee club had been there, but unlike any other occasion that might have brought them together, this one was not one for reminiscing and catching up, complimenting new looks or clothing styles or expressing pleasure at seeing each other after long periods apart. This was a time to take each other's hands and hold on tightly, squeezing with all their strength just to reassure themselves that the other person was there, that they would stand by their side and help get them through the rest of the day. This was a time to hug each other hard and feel what small amount of comfort they could from someone they love being close, from knowing these people, at least for now, were still there. That these people, if not okay, were at the very least able to be reached and held and let know, while they still could, that they were needed and loved.
Kurt had noticed both Mercedes and Tina crying, that Mike Chang had his arm around Tina, his mouth drawn into a thin line as he frequently bent to whisper into her ear, and he wondered distantly if they were back together again, or only continuing to support each other as people who still harbored love for each other often did. He had seen Sam come in with Brittany, gripping her hand, the blank, shut down look in Brittany's eyes that Kurt had come to realize over time came not just from confusion or ditziness, as everyone had for years assumed, but was sometimes a deliberate effort to distance or deny to herself that she truly understood what was happening. Sam's eyes were wide and as expressive as Brittany's were blank, the bewilderment that Kurt saw reflected in them genuine and raw. Towards the back of the church sat Artie, at the end of the pew due to his wheelchair, with Kitty sitting beside him, her eyes wet with unshed tears as she toyed with her hands in her lap, biting her lower lip. At one point Artie reached to touch her twisting hands, and she allowed him to entwine his fingers with hers with a shuddering sigh. Beside her sat a tearful Marley, Jake's protective arm wound around her shoulders, and a row in front of them sat Joe, Ryder, Sugar, and Unique, all tearful to various degrees. Closer to the middle sat Will and Emma Shuester, Will's head bowed so Kurt could not see his face, but from the slump of his shaking shoulders, he was sure that the man was crying. Emma's arms were both wound around him, tears standing in her eyes as she leaned her cheek against his shoulder, and beside her, Coach Beiste wept openly, frequently wiping her eyes with a large, rather crumpled tissue. Kurt was pretty sure he had caught a glimpse of Sue Sylvester somewhere in the crowd earlier as well, but if she was indeed present, she was remaining quiet, keeping herself apart from everyone- maybe due to a desire not to let anyone see any emotion she might be feeling or expressing.
It was almost impossible for Kurt to look at any of them for more than a moment or two without fresh tears coming to his eyes, so he tried not to, instead choosing to keep himself between his father and Blaine at all times, anchoring himself firmly to their hands.
When everyone at last was seated, Kurt, Burt, Carol, Blaine, and other relatives were on one side of the congregation in the front row, with Rachel, seated in between her fathers, both their arms wound tightly around her, on the front on the other side. Behind Rachel and her fathers, all in a row, sat Puck, Quinn, Santana, Brittany, and Sam, each gripping the hands of those beside them. The unholy trinity, all in a row, former and current lovers bookmarking them on either side, each of them fighting tears even before the ceremony began. Kurt didn't dare to look at any of them either for very long. Already he had seen that Puck's knuckles were cut and bruised and suspected a losing battle with a wall or perhaps someone's face, that Quinn's eyes were red, her grip on Puck's and Santana's hands so tight that her knuckles were white, her nails seeming to dig into their skin, that Santana's face was scrunched up in the way it always seemed to get just before she began to really let go with tears, and that Brittany had let go of Sam's hand to stroke the girl's hair, giving her a kiss to the side of her head before taking his hand again. It was too much to take in, too many feelings towards too many people and too much of their pain, and so Kurt had faced front again, taking in a long, shuddering breath even as tears leaked from his eyes.
The ceremony itself was a blur. Kurt couldn't bring himself to really pay attention to the pastor's words, a man who had not known or understood Finn or who he was like any of the rest of them had. He thought of what Finn would have thought of all this, Finn who had once prayed to a vaguely Jesus-looking grilled cheese, of all things, and he would have laughed, if the memory didn't hurt enough to make his throat ache. This man could never understand who Finn was or what sort of person he had been. No one could, except for the very people who would find it near impossible to try to put it into words now.
This man could not understand Finn, who had been the main source of his mother's pride, the one joy in her life until Kurt and his father had been lucky enough to become part of it too. This man could not understand the Finn who had so wanted to honor his father that he had been willing to try to follow in his footsteps, to clear him for honorable discharge- a task he would never complete now. This man could not understand the Finn who had helped Puck graduate, who had been willing to step up and be a father to Quinn's baby, at least when he thought it was his own, who had been able to change his way of looking at other people to shift from becoming one of their teasers and tormenters to their defendant, even their family. This man could not understand how Finn's love, be it romantic or platonic, had changed many people's lives in this very room, even in part changed them. This man could not understand Finn as a brother or a best friend, as a teammate or a leader or a lover, as a man with dreams or fears or anxieties he had never quite been able to conquer or fully achieve. This man could not understand Finn as the person who judged and spoke without thinking, who sometimes seemed just a little too dim in his thinking but who always, always loved with all this heart, who tried to make himself a better man and fix his mistakes. This man could not understand, could never possibly comprehend just how much Finn had been loved, and how much he would be missed in his death, and because Kurt could, it seemed all the more unfair that none of this would ever be expressed aloud.
Still, he managed to keep himself and his tears under at least a modicum of control, that is, until it came time for Rachel's tribute. He had been concerned that she would be able to get through this, having witnessed firsthand the depth of her devastation, those first few days in New York. But no, she had managed to detach herself from her fathers' supportive grasps and walked, slow, but steady, without assistance to the front of the congregation. For a moment she had stood, blinking rapidly, tears shining brightly in her eyes, and Kurt had thought she would need to sit down after all. But then she had straightened her shoulders, closed her eyes, tilted her face towards the ceiling, opened her mouth, and sang.
"Like a freeze dried rose, you will never be what you were, what you were to me in memory…but if I listen to the dark, you'll embrace me like a star, envelop me, envelop me…"
Kurt caught his breath sharply as he watched her, seeing the slight trembling of her body slowly still, then stop altogether, the slow calm come over her features even as the emotion remained stark and clear in her face. And as she continued to sing, her voice pure and sincere with feeling, silent tears streamed down his face as he drank in every word.
"And if I listen to the sound of white, sometimes I hear your smile and breathe your light, yeah if I listen to the sound of white, you're my mystery, one mystery…"
He listened, his heart soaking in every word, every note of Rachel's voice, and as the memories flooded through his mind, as Finn's face, vivid and alive, began to replace his mental image of his face in death, Kurt felt the pain still pressing against his heart ease just a little in its pressure. He could not call what he was feeling happiness, certainly not acceptance or joy, so much as a gladness for what had been, making just a tiny bit less the pain that it was gone.
He could never touch Finn again, never talk to him or see him or hear his voice. But Finn was nevertheless there, present in memories and wishes, in the changes of their lives and the background of their thoughts and dreams. But most vividly of all, Finn was within their music, the music and all it could bring to them under any circumstances, and even if he was no longer with them, he would never really be gone.
The end
Note: song is "Sound of white" by Missy Higgins
