We've All Thought It

Young Scottie's eyes opened, earlier than they would normally, but this was not a normal day.

He could hear commotion throughout the house, as he dreaded the day ahead of him. The longer he laid there, the greater the weight upon his shoulders, realizing what the next several hours would entail. Thinking he had made peace with it, thought he had moved on, those notions were simply coping mechanisms. Something we do as humans to deal with that with which we have never dealt with before, perhaps more accurately put, have not been equipped to deal with at all.

Pulling a pillow over his head, the ten year old began to sob uncontrollably. "No," he screamed with a muted anger into that which hid his weakness, "David cannot be..." He could not finish his own sentence. The word could not be spoken aloud, for fear that speaking it would make it real. In an act of denial, Scottie rolled over onto his side, facing the wall, with his back to the door. Isolating himself from anyone that may enter.

David, the cause of Scottie's remorse, was his younger sibling. The pair were born on the same day, two years apart and lived a wonderful, albeit short life together in what they both had considered the perfect home. They loved each other dearly and the age difference was rarely the cause of animosity. David worshiped Scott, as a younger brother is oft to do, and the elder loved having his little-bro around.

As the pair loved to do, they were outside flying kites on a beautiful winter day. The acreage of land that mom and dad owned gave them plenty of room to spread their wings and act like little boys. If it wasn't for that confounded highway. Playing a game that had been played many times prior, where Scott would control the kite as it flew high within the blue sky, he'd get his brother's attention, then count loudly "three, two, one!" At the countdown, Scott would let go of the kit string, causing it to make a mad dash whichever way the wind was blowing. It was David's duty to run as fast as possible and catch the string, thus saving the kite. Scott always followed, always made sure that the string was caught and the kite not lost forever. However, that day the wind was blowing towards the highway, The elder brother was doing his duty of taking care of things, making sure it was not lost and in doing so was unable to grab his brother before racing out onto the road.

Throwing the pillow that hid his crying eyes to the floor, Scottie felt it was time to face the day and all the nightmares that it might contain. Sitting up on his bed, he heard voices that he did not recognize, heard knocks upon the front door, deliveries. Dragging the sleeve across his eyes, he did his best to dry them, stood and put on some clothes. Not wanting to be seen in his Star Wards pajamas by strangers.

Exiting his room and walking the long hall way, he saw a man setting up a table, where he would eventually be putting food containers. Mom had said something about a wake, but he didn't understand what she meant and couldn't interrupt the conversation with her grandmother. A strange thought appeared to him, as he watched plates get stacked, along with cups and silverware. We're going to a funeral, to bury my little brother, my best friend in the entire world and then afterwards we're going to have a party with food? The boy shuddered.

"Hello, Scooter." His mom chimed, dashing from here to there, hardly seeing him in her busyness. "Hey," a thought interrupted her activity, "I just went into your room and put the outfit I want you to wear today on your bed. Please get dressed quickly, we need to leave in a few minutes." With those words excised from her brain, she went back to the fifty other responsibilities in her line of vision.

Uncertain of why what he had on didn't suffice, but knowing he should do as requested. The young man chose to travel the length of the house, marveling at the activity and how throughout all of it, no one acknowledged him, said hello or were aware of his existence. With so many things upon his mind, he traveled back to his bedroom and promptly put on his death-suit. The morbid name coming from an uncle, who upon hearing of his mother's need to buy Scott a suit for the services, Bill rudely replied, "oh, you're going to buy him a death-suit." To which his mother was hurt and offended. "What?" Bill said in defense. "He's ten years old, he'll never wear it any other place." His uncle did not mean ill, but this outfit would forever be marred as such in Scott's mind. The youngster did not know how to process all of these details.

Entering the large brick church that was filled with people, Scottie stopped the stride he kept with his parents and marveled. All of these people are here for David? Remembering something that his father said a couple days prior, people will be there to support us; you, your mother, me and everyone else that loved your brother. Something finally made sense. Hearing his mother beckoning for him, he caught up and walked down the center aisle of the church between the ancient wood pews. In his mind, he recognized that they were decorated, but these details never formulated, because there it was; twenty feet away, slightly elevated, he saw it for the first time and stopped breathing. Apparently he stopped walking too, as his mother tugged his hand for him to continue to their seats.

Sitting on the aisle, his mother next to him drying her eyes and his father next to her, ever stoic. Scottie's eyes could not stop looking at the coffin. He was forever grateful that it was located on the elevated alter, keeping him from seeing within the open casket. Why would they leave it open? Scottie's mind railed! He could not fathom why anyone would think that this was a good idea. His aunt was very patient with him and explained that everyone grieves in their own way and an open casket is a way for some of us to say goodbye." She added, after taking the young boy in her arms, "I know it's not for everyone, but for some this is a way of healing." He didn't think that seeing what was inside would heal anything.

Scottie did not cry during the so-called Celebration of Life, in fact he had a hard time understanding any of it, felt too much like a church service. So, he did what he did during most church services, zoned-out. He was brought back to reality with a tug from his mother's hand. "Stand up, Scottie."

With his brain now in focus, he screamed internally. What's going on? Feeling a shove from behind. Where does she want me to go? When the young man stepped out into the aisle, his mom and dad followed. Suddenly he felt the tug of her hand. Having no choice but to follow suit, they climbed the seven stairs of the alter, the casket a few short steps in front of them.

His mother knelt next to him, cupping her hand to his ear, she whispered. "Sweetheart, this is the last time you are going to be able to see your brother. If you're comfortable with it, talk to him, tell him you love him. Whatever you want to say to your brother, this is your time to say it." She removed the hand from his ear, then quickly put it back, adding. "This is your time. Take however long you want, everyone here will wait for you to be done."

He heard the words spoken to him, but he could not make sense of them. They rattled around in his head as if they were another language, then his mother tugged his hand for him to follow her. His eyes watched, his brain could not engage, as dad placed something within the coffin, tears pouring down his face as he said something. Upon finishing, he stepped aside, placing his arm around his wife as she did something similar. There was nothing put in the coffin, but there were a lot more words. Lastly, his mother reached in, lovingly touched the lapel on the suit David wore and then stepped forward.

It was Scott's turn, he took a step, still facing his mother, took a deep breath, as he felt his eyes dampening. Looking into the casket, he was dumbfound. Yes, this was his brother's likeness, but it was not him. My brother never wore makeup, why are his cheeks red? His eyes danced around, looking at everything from his death-suit, to his perfectly coiffed hair.He was eight years old, his hair never looked that good. As he ran out of places to look, he addressed the darkness within his heart. Gasping for air, knowing the floodgates would soon burst, he wondered about the misshapen look upon his lips. Why is he smiling at me?