The well-known road along which I was driving on this sunny and warm day was this time leading me not home. However, it was wonderful that I was heading not to my native home, for the occasion was the most terrible imaginable. It was the funeral of one of my relatives — quite close for the family, but not particularly close for me.
Throughout the entire journey, a picture connected with the deceased kept scrolling through my head; however, this event did not evoke any additional emotions. Since I was driving alone, I began to pay more attention to certain little things. On the right side there were two more gas stations, which I passed and at which I had never refueled before, although in theory I could have. I encountered three interesting road signs that would be worth looking at in more detail on the map after the trip. Along the way one encounters road repairs; they even cut out large parts of asphalt; on one of the lanes workers are working, but almost no one in the cars slows down, racing along the second lane. The road signs installed before the road repair do not slow traffic down in any way. “Why not come up with portable speed bumps and temporarily lay them before the repair section?” — a thought came into my head.
This was already not the first funeral in the last two years that I had attended. Not long ago I had to say goodbye to my own uncle. Having arrived quite quickly and without delays, I was already at the place by noon.
The person who lay motionless a few meters from me visually was not at all the one whom I had known well and had seen repeatedly in my childhood and youth. The ugly jaw, which they still had not managed to place neatly in the morgue, stood out on his face. But even stranger was the clumsy suit. This person in principle had never worn suits. “Why dress him in a suit now too, especially one that fits so absurdly on him, or rather lies?” — I thought.
These were the second funeral in such a short period. They were different compared to the funeral of my own uncle, but at the same time so identical. On the whole, all the rituals were the same, even if they were conducted in different places and in the presence of different people. At that moment I understood one interesting thing: by the number of people gathered at a funeral, one can understand how good a friend and comrade you were and how many friends and acquaintances you had. Unfortunately, this does not quite apply to successful people, because far from all successful people have a large circle of communication and friends. However, for myself I still decided that it is better to be successful than friendly. This person was not friendly, and significantly fewer people came to him than to the first funeral. He was not successful either.
After a medium-length silence and quiet tears from some of the gathered people, the funeral service began. Long and strange. After the funeral service, the priest gave some speech about the body and the soul. He did all this so confidently that for a fraction of a second you begin to doubt your convictions and implicitly begin to actually believe him. However, quickly sobering myself with scientific thoughts, I again watched this whole process. It would be interesting to ask the priest a couple of awkward questions. But why? He will not give any information from a scientific point of view and will be like astrologers when physicists ask them to substantiate something. Besides, this person sincerely tries to help and calm everyone, so my questions will remain with me.
The church servant left, again leaving the body and the gathered people one on one. Some stood or sat, not moving away from the body. Others regularly went outside or, conversely, spent most of the time after the funeral service outside. It was precisely to the second category that I belonged. During the time spent outside, people divided into small groups, based on who knew whom. Nearby stood a trash can, into which all the smokers willingly threw the remains of smoked cigarettes. On the trash bin there was an inscription in the form of an “Android” sticker.
Next to me a woman was talking on the phone with her little daughter. She did not explain the real state of affairs to her. Instead, she deceived her and said that she was standing in a store, buying ice cream, that there were many people and the machine had broken down, and that was why she was taking so long, but she would soon be home.
“Somehow we have begun to gather too often lately,” — came the voice of one of my acquaintances already in another mini-circle during a greeting. Unfortunately for this person and the people standing in the circle, over the last couple of years this was already the third funeral, so his phrase unambiguously made it clear that the occasions for meeting were not pleasant.
Finally, the relative was loaded and taken away. Not yet to the cemetery, but to his native home, so that his neighbors, who had not been present at the funeral service and would not be able to be at the cemetery, could say goodbye to him. Predominantly these were retired female neighbors.
The house to which he was brought resembled rather a shed by now. No one had lived there for a long time, and the building was used rather as a garage and storage room. I had been in this house as a very small child, at the age of three or four, so my memories are very fragmentary. However, one memory was very distinct.
With time a small crowd gathered there, about 20–30 people, and a rather strange silence hung in the air. No one was choking with hysterical weeping. Everyone was sad and sorrowful, but at the same time only a few had tears on their cheeks. The majority simply looked, were silent, and thought about something. Probably scrolling through their heads the best memories they had with this person.
In the crowd they began to pass money to the closest relatives of the deceased. I also took out a sum prepared in advance and handed over the money. That very distinct memory from childhood about this house, in which I had been when coming to visit only a couple of times, is precisely connected with money. Being very little, at the moment of departure from this house, when the adults were preparing some money (most likely for a minibus ride), I threw a tantrum, because I also wanted to receive money and put it in my pocket, honestly appropriating it for myself. My parents did not give it to me. But this very person, to whose funeral I had come, handed me a couple of banknotes (and not of the smallest denomination), and I happily took them. Could anyone have thought that about 27 years later, in exactly the same place, I would be returning money. Only not to him himself, but to his family for material assistance in connection with his death.
After some time the whole farewell ceremony in cars amicably set off for the cemetery. There was silence, but the tension in the air was very felt. For a long time we were waiting for something and did not see the deceased off on his final journey. As it turned out, we were waiting for his daughter, also my distant relative, who had not been able to say goodbye to her dad before. And so after some time, along the central avenue, a young girl of my age was walking very slowly. She could barely move on her own and leaned on the help of an accompanying person. The loss of the closest person, undoubtedly, had struck her health, which had already not been the best. “The same age as me, but such different lifestyles,” — I thought at that moment.
Everyone parted, she finally was able to come closer and say goodbye. After some short time, the employees of the ritual service took shovels in their hands and got down to business. After 10–15 minutes the workers finished their procedures. The earth ate this person, and society did not notice the loss.
