The crowd is very large,
Larger than I ever thought;
I watch the flowers and cards pile up,
And my stomach is wrenched in knots.
My aunts are the first to hug me, and their tears wet my shoulders,
My uncles and my cousins shake my hand and whisper, "It is okay to cry";
My wife stands by me, squeezing my hand occasionally,
But a small, humorless smile is all I can reply.
Reverend McDaniel has been there for my family for generations,
He speaks of a person that he knew personally;
He says my father is in a better place,
Where the good people will have it more easily.
My mother sits in the front pew,
I can hear her sorrow in the rasps and moans;
She seems so distraught,
Weeping a cry that would chill you to your bones.
At the grave site, my twin brother sits on the opposite side of mother,
We each take a hand, patting it with care;
We want her to know that we are here for her,
That in this time of tragedy, we will all be there to share.
As the service concludes, my brother and I remain behind, watching my sister help mother to the car,
He says quietly, "We did what we had to do";
I nod slightly,
"We had a plan that we had no choice but to carry through."
We watched as the grave was filled, and the earth swallowed up our father,
The final entombment of a "great man";
Blood-soaked hand shook blood-soaked hand over the grave,
And the dust had just settled with this conclusion of a long premeditated plan.
