Jonathots Daily Blog
(4530)
Episode 33
A funeral is a performance for those who lack talent and have not yet found out. They do try.
They pray.
They sing.
They postulate.
At length they get around to the subject at hand:
R. B. is gone.
They try to excavate what R. B. means to them but eventually falter into a story of their own conception. Everyone insisted that R. B. was in a better place.
They asked me to speak. My opinion differed.
I said, “In a better place? If R. B. had his choice, he would be sucking up Earth‘s best and gratefully kissing the sky.”
By the time we got to the gravesite, everyone had chosen a profile of deep reflection.
Angela, the downstairs neighbor, sang “His Eye is On The Sparrow.” It was redundant—everyone in attendance already knew about the sparrow-favoring.
Again, I was asked to say something. I had just one heartfelt question:
Had I lost a friend whose life could have been so much more?
Some people thought it was improper
Once again, I differed.
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