Once that feeling bites it’s hard to wrestle its teeth from your shoulder. It hooks itself in like a leech, unwilling to let go until it’s drained the grief right from your veins, pulling away the memories, the regrets, the joy, the sadness, the everything, allowing you to let go in its own time, a bitter creature that bears a cross and knows the endsong so well it smiles as its cadences flood the air.
Curtains act as the veil, the finality of their metaphor sweet and theatrical, as is the process it represents, and in some ways, the process that brought us to such a place.
A room that has given birth to a host of revived memories, smiles and tears, and yet its simple majesty allows itself to feel so unique each times, so personal, so perfect. A modest room that nevertheless touches the divine, an uneasy subject that some must hold onto to get through. Myself and the divine don’t get along, but knowing what it does for those I love makes it right that it should be there, holding the hand of so many, yet refusing to shake mine. I mind little, I nod at it from across the room, an old friend, it nods back and acknowledges the moment, sees what hurts and knowing it can do nothing to help me faces the congregation. For some it faces them from behind the curtain, for some through the windows and for some from the inside, but for me the closest thing to it I see is the man hidden beneath layers of wood and roses, a good man, and a man that I loved.