A FAVOR FOR A FRIEND
I’ve never done a eulogy before. When I was asked to a few days ago, the only thought that came to mind was;
“What am I gonna write about?”
When it comes to writing about the deceased, there seems to be a lot of expectation on you're content. You gotta make sure you do it right - which means they have to appear like a good person. You might have to force yourself to forget the awful things they’ve said to you. Maybe even looking past the betrayals they’ve sank in your life too. But hey! enough of that, this person just died! Have some respect!
I stood up there, facing a large group of sad faces, flowers making up the backdrop behind me. The black suit I had on was a few years old. You could tell through the lint collection on the shoulders, and the small pieces of fabric coming off the arms. But it was the only one that fit.
To make it worse, I had drank some coffee earlier and some of it spilt on my shirt collar. So I'm hoping no one notices it. It felt like I was talking to a room filled with barcodes. It was emotionless and pale. The cold staring at me were distracting while I was trying to confidently speak about this one person we’ve all come together for.
I started off by thanking the family for giving me the privilege of doing the eulogy. Even though it was his sister who asked me, who I‘ve been seeing on and off since she came back from Utah.
I continued talking about my time with her brother. Fragments of the past. I tried fitting in a funny story within the speech, but I skipped over the punchline to avoid embarrassment.
But I really hit it a home run when I ended it off with:
“Though his spectacular life was cut short, he’ll always be the eternal flame in our hearts.”
Got a few claps from that one. After I stepped down from the podium, everyone scattered. some running for food, others giving their condolences to the family. As I was walking through the wave of people, I felt a hand grab my shoulder. An old, prickly, half bald headed man appeared to my side. It was his dad. Before he could say anything to me, I faced his direction and immediately said
“Thank you again for allowing me to do this. My condolences to you and your family.”
He stood there in silence. Judging me, looking me up and down. Finally, his attention found its place in another part of the room. As he walked off, he muttered,
“You got a stain on your shirt.”
