I forgot the anniversary of Morgen's death. I keep thinking about her, though, and how terrible the wake was. They had to close the casket because of the bruises on her neck, and how visible they were, even through layers of morgue makeup.
Most of the time, I try not to think about her too much, and do my best to keep from remembering how we used to sit in the backs of soccer goals after school, telling the last good jokes I ever heard. I swear, she told the best of 'em. She really did.
The Wednesday after her viewing, we had a sort of memorial service. It was too soon, though. Adam and Rob practically carried Anthony out of the chapel because he'd blinded himself in his anguish, and Kristi showed the first evidence of having a heart at all, let alone a soft one. Everybody was holding on to everybody, like some great séance, but Morgen wouldn't show. She almost inadvertently killed us all.
Her funeral was some kind of surreal, like something Hollywood thought of -- tons of people showed up for it. Maybe hundreds of them. Some had to sit downstairs in the fellowship hall and view it on a TV, and even then, there were mourners who didn't get to watch.
Lucky them, I guess. It's not really something you waste away wishing you had seen, a funeral. I mean, it was awful, watching them wheel her away in a long white case, as though that could ever contain her. They put her in a hearse and that was closure. A sad song and a long drive -- that was closure. Still, the worst part was seeing all the fools and frauds who pretended to know her, made believe that they loved her. I wanted to puke on their patent shoes.
At the burial, I gave Craig a yellow rose for friendship, and every now and then, a sad smile or a warm hug. People ask him all the time now, "You all right, man?" Like he's supposed to just get up out of bed one morning and be all right, just wake up and walk around like his daughter never died. Make breakfast for one and act like he never had another mouth to feed, body to clothe, person to care about.
And stuff like that -- man, it makes me wish I lived like a hermit in the middle of a forest or something. With nobody around for a million million miles, and anybody who wanted to come visit me would have to promise they wouldn't die until I was old and sunken into myself.
Most of the time, I try not to think about her too much, and do my best to keep from remembering how we used to sit in the backs of soccer goals after school, telling the last good jokes I ever heard. I swear, she told the best of 'em. She really did.
The Wednesday after her viewing, we had a sort of memorial service. It was too soon, though. Adam and Rob practically carried Anthony out of the chapel because he'd blinded himself in his anguish, and Kristi showed the first evidence of having a heart at all, let alone a soft one. Everybody was holding on to everybody, like some great séance, but Morgen wouldn't show. She almost inadvertently killed us all.
Her funeral was some kind of surreal, like something Hollywood thought of -- tons of people showed up for it. Maybe hundreds of them. Some had to sit downstairs in the fellowship hall and view it on a TV, and even then, there were mourners who didn't get to watch.
Lucky them, I guess. It's not really something you waste away wishing you had seen, a funeral. I mean, it was awful, watching them wheel her away in a long white case, as though that could ever contain her. They put her in a hearse and that was closure. A sad song and a long drive -- that was closure. Still, the worst part was seeing all the fools and frauds who pretended to know her, made believe that they loved her. I wanted to puke on their patent shoes.
At the burial, I gave Craig a yellow rose for friendship, and every now and then, a sad smile or a warm hug. People ask him all the time now, "You all right, man?" Like he's supposed to just get up out of bed one morning and be all right, just wake up and walk around like his daughter never died. Make breakfast for one and act like he never had another mouth to feed, body to clothe, person to care about.
And stuff like that -- man, it makes me wish I lived like a hermit in the middle of a forest or something. With nobody around for a million million miles, and anybody who wanted to come visit me would have to promise they wouldn't die until I was old and sunken into myself.
