a
champ.
He thought about his mom and his brothers.
They didn't know about the dark places he went when he drank. They
didn't know that he'd been a suicide waiting to happen for the past
year. All they knew was that he was struggling to find work since
getting laid off from the Post Office last December. But they
didn't worry about that because they knew nurse Sarah was a
wonderful girlfriend who supported him morally and financially
while he looked around for the right career.
He thought about his utter lack of
friends.
Then he thought, 'I sure hope they covered my
shredded wrists up because mom will freak if she sees them.'
Then in the distance he heard door being
opened. He felt a rush of cool air breeze across his face. Funerary
music filled his ears. This was it.
The chatter rose and fell as people
approached his casket to pay their respects. The line was
surprisingly short but there were the usual suspects. His mom was
bawling and he could barely make out what she was whispering to
him. His brother Mike came over and said, "Come on mom. Let's take
a seat. The eulogy's about to start."
His brother David walked up, bent close to
his ear and whispered, "You're a piece of shit and I hope you're
rotting in hell Brett. You've broken your mother's heart and you've
destroyed this family."
David was always the melodramatic one. Brett
was the one who had died, not his mom or anyone else in the family
for that matter. If anything David should have been shedding tears
over the untimely death of his brother. Whatever, he thought,
David's a fucking punk.
A couple of old workmates came forward but
they had little to say. He could barely remember them anyway.
But Sarah hadn't arrived yet, or if she had,
she was so overcome with grief she couldn't approach his
casket.
The voice of the old man boomed over the
loudspeakers as he delivered the eulogy. The rest of the room went
quiet as he spoke.
"Brett was a good man and sometimes even good
men lose their way."
For the first time, Brett wondered if
suicides really did go to hell. He wondered if his family had to
grease some palms to get a proper funeral since he'd committed the
ultimate sin on his way out of this world.
"Brett Finlay was a troubled man in life but
his soul is now at peace."
Brett didn't feel at peace. His mind was
racing. Would his consciousness remain, years, centuries after they
buried him? Was this hell or some kind of purgatory? What came
next?
The old man droned on, mostly about religion,
barely touching on Brett's actual life, and then he broke into a
hymn followed by a prayer. Finally he said, "Amen," and the few
people who'd shown up to pay their final respects started to
chatter and mill around once more.
His mother approached his casket again but it
was the same as last time. She cried and pled and spoke barely
discernible words to the heavens. She kissed him on the cheek and
then his brothers led her away and out of the funeral home.
He missed her already.
He sensed several people approach to silently
pay their last respects and when they were done, the room went
deathly quiet. The funeral was over.
He wondered just what the hell had happened
to Sarah. Why was she absent?
Then he worried that she'd committed suicide
after his corpse was discovered in their bathroom. Would she be
waiting for him on the other side? How was he going to pass over to
the other side? Why was his consciousness still earthbound?
But then he felt a presence and he could
smell her scent. She had come late. She was probably too grief
stricken to be around others at this lowest point in her life.
He felt a pressure on his eyelids and watched
as his vision brightened. She opened his eyes fully and then
stepped back. He could see her face, but she wasn't overwhelmed
with grief. She looked pissed.
She said to him, "Brett, you've hurt me for
the last time. You could have left me at any time. You could have
spared me the grief of watching you spiral into depression
champ.
He thought about his mom and his brothers.
They didn't know about the dark places he went when he drank. They
didn't know that he'd been a suicide waiting to happen for the past
year. All they knew was that he was struggling to find work since
getting laid off from the Post Office last December. But they
didn't worry about that because they knew nurse Sarah was a
wonderful girlfriend who supported him morally and financially
while he looked around for the right career.
He thought about his utter lack of
friends.
Then he thought, 'I sure hope they covered my
shredded wrists up because mom will freak if she sees them.'
Then in the distance he heard door being
opened. He felt a rush of cool air breeze across his face. Funerary
music filled his ears. This was it.
The chatter rose and fell as people
approached his casket to pay their respects. The line was
surprisingly short but there were the usual suspects. His mom was
bawling and he could barely make out what she was whispering to
him. His brother Mike came over and said, "Come on mom. Let's take
a seat. The eulogy's about to start."
His brother David walked up, bent close to
his ear and whispered, "You're a piece of shit and I hope you're
rotting in hell Brett. You've broken your mother's heart and you've
destroyed this family."
David was always the melodramatic one. Brett
was the one who had died, not his mom or anyone else in the family
for that matter. If anything David should have been shedding tears
over the untimely death of his brother. Whatever, he thought,
David's a fucking punk.
A couple of old workmates came forward but
they had little to say. He could barely remember them anyway.
But Sarah hadn't arrived yet, or if she had,
she was so overcome with grief she couldn't approach his
casket.
The voice of the old man boomed over the
loudspeakers as he delivered the eulogy. The rest of the room went
quiet as he spoke.
"Brett was a good man and sometimes even good
men lose their way."
For the first time, Brett wondered if
suicides really did go to hell. He wondered if his family had to
grease some palms to get a proper funeral since he'd committed the
ultimate sin on his way out of this world.
"Brett Finlay was a troubled man in life but
his soul is now at peace."
Brett didn't feel at peace. His mind was
racing. Would his consciousness remain, years, centuries after they
buried him? Was this hell or some kind of purgatory? What came
next?
The old man droned on, mostly about religion,
barely touching on Brett's actual life, and then he broke into a
hymn followed by a prayer. Finally he said, "Amen," and the few
people who'd shown up to pay their final respects started to
chatter and mill around once more.
His mother approached his casket again but it
was the same as last time. She cried and pled and spoke barely
discernible words to the heavens. She kissed him on the cheek and
then his brothers led her away and out of the funeral home.
He missed her already.
He sensed several people approach to silently
pay their last respects and when they were done, the room went
deathly quiet. The funeral was over.
He wondered just what the hell had happened
to Sarah. Why was she absent?
Then he worried that she'd committed suicide
after his corpse was discovered in their bathroom. Would she be
waiting for him on the other side? How was he going to pass over to
the other side? Why was his consciousness still earthbound?
But then he felt a presence and he could
smell her scent. She had come late. She was probably too grief
stricken to be around others at this lowest point in her life.
He felt a pressure on his eyelids and watched
as his vision brightened. She opened his eyes fully and then
stepped back. He could see her face, but she wasn't overwhelmed
with grief. She looked pissed.
She said to him, "Brett, you've hurt me for
the last time. You could have left me at any time. You could have
spared me the grief of watching you spiral into depression
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