Mementos and Other Detritus
Andrew and I watched a movie the other night. In part of the movie, the main character attends his twin brother’s funeral. He walks up to the coffin, stares at his dearly departed brother for a bit, and then tucks a letter into the coffin before wiping away a tear and walking back to his seat. "I really hope no one puts stuff in my coffin when I’m dead."
"Yeah," I answer, "can you imagine if you came back to life? Not only are you faced with the task of breaking out of the coffin and digging up through six feet of dirt, but first, you have to get through a heavy layer of mementos and other detritus! The nerve of those people!"
And then I remembered a time many years ago when I attended the funeral of a friend of mine from high school. After the usual talks from clergy and family members, the floor was opened to any one else who might have something they wanted to say about the deceased. One after another, familiar faces from high school stood up and burst into tears at the podium. After a while, one of my friends (You probably knew this guy in high school, too. He was "the car guy".) decided to stand up and take a turn. Car Guy spoke for a bit about how much he would miss our friend and about how he now regretted never letting him drive his car (a souped-up Mustang). Then he did it. Amongst a flood of tears, Car Guy removed his car key from his key ring and placed the key in the coffin. "There you go, buddy," he said before walking away.
It was very touching. The speech. The tears. The gesture. But to this day, I picture my friend, looking down from beyond, and laughing his guts out as Car Guy begged a ride home from other attendees after the service so that he could retrieve a spare car key!
