To Let These Tears Fall

From the moment I had arrived I had been on the move. There was no time to relax, no time to slow down, because to relax would be to give myself a chance to think about what had happened and whether I knew it or not I did not want to be given that chance. Looking back, I guess a part of me knew that to keep moving, to stay kinetic would keep me from falling apart. and I couldn’t afford to do that. I mean, after all, what would people think? and so in my quest to keep it together I took countless pictures, toting my camera like it was some sort of life support. I became an observer. That way I could remain objective. Look at things with a photographers detachment, with artistic interest, shelving my emotions.
And when I wasn’t doing that I was doing what I could to help with the funeral plans. We had two days to pull it off and there was so much to do. And although my role was a minor one I tricked myself into believing it was integral and threw everything I had into it.
To keep moving was to keep it together.
Anything that needed typing was mine to handle. I was in charge of the program. It was my baby, it took up most if not all of my attention. It kept me from hanging, it kept me from idling; it kept me from falling apart.
To keep moving was to keep it together.


Monday Morning

The call came at around 7:30. It was my uncle Roger. He wanted to know how far I had come along with the program.
"Only a few more details need to be filled in," I assured him
"I'll be home by eight."
"Be prompt." He warned me and told me to call him as soon as I arrived at the house. We had to go over the program together before meeting with the presiding bishop who would give it his final okay.
Setting down the phone I took a sip of my coffee. It was exceptionally strong but still wasn’t having quite the affect I hoped for. I needed an extra kick to get me through the day. I hadn’t slept properly since the night my mom had called me with the news and it was starting to catch up with me.
Just get the old man in the ground, I told myself, and everything will be just fine.
Finishing the last of my bread and throwing back what was left of my coffee like it was a shot of whiskey, scalding my tongue in the process, I stood up.
I had told Uncle Roger 8 O'clock and here it was already quarter to. Grabbing my backpack, I swung it over my shoulder.
I marched out of the hotel, leaving the key to my room at the front desk.
To keep moving was to keep it together.




It was hot, I was tired and I felt more detached from the entire thing than I ever thought possible. I felt like a stranger on the outside looking in. And in a way, I was. Clutching my bottle of water, sitting at a safe distance, I watched the service with a clinical coldness that surprised me.
The programs had not been enough and I had had to dash back to town on two separate occasions to photocopy more. A third time had been required of me but I had refused saying that by the time I got back the service would be over and there would be no need for them.
I sat there in the same clothes I had worn the day before, three coats of dust covering my skin. The initial plan had been to finish the programs in time to get back and shower and change before the service but I hadn’t been quite that lucky. Now all the rooms were locked and the keys were with my mom who just happened to be sitted in the same tent as the president whose security made it damn near impossible to get the keys to me.
It was managed somehow and I found myself climbing out of the shower just as the president was standing up to speak.
Purple shirt, black trousers and black chucks turned brown from dust and I was finally forced to slow down. To not only observe but to participate, to finally come to terms with what we were all doing there.
He's gone Lloyd. See it, accept it and move on.
Picking up a discarded program I flipped through it.
It was time to put the old man in the ground. Standing up I hurried to join the procession making its way to the grave site
No time to take pictures now, I mused silently.
I was right in the thick of things. No longer playing the observer but now among the observed.
That's not to say however, that I didn’t notice things. I noticed almost everything. The pile of soil sitting demurely to one side of the open grave. Some parts of it the color of ground coffee, others the color of milk chocolate and others an earthy shade of red. Its pungent smell tickling my nose even from several meters away.
I noticed the crowd of people milling about me. The collective sense of loss that bound us together almost tangible. I could taste it on my tongue, feel it in the pit of my stomach. It stroked at my beard, whispered in my ear, ran an intimate finger from my chest to my navel making me shiver.
Tapping me on the shoulder my aunt handed me a reef of flowers, telling me to set them down near the pile of soil. I didn’t think twice. Pushing my way through the crowd, I did as I was instructed.
Standing up straight, the sun hitting me square in the face, I looked about me. Found myself staring into the faces of people I'd known my entire life and loved more than words can say; and others who I had never seen before that day. But all of them had one thing in common, we all did- the man who we were about to put in the ground. and that made us, all of us, of one spirit. Of one accord.
The bishop was saying something. He had his bible open but from what I could tell, he was not reading from it. His words, however, went in one ear and out the other. I was in a different place. I was being drawn into myself.
A sob broke from somewhere to my right. I felt my stomach tighten. Clenching my jaws I closed my eyes. But only for a moment. When I opened them again I felt tears in them.
Another sob and then another erupted around me. The coffin was now being lowered into the hole in the ground. I suddenly felt cold. Lots of tiny goose bumps erupting beneath the arms of my shirt.
To keep moving is to keep it together, I reminded myself.
Sure it is Lloyd. But look around,
I did.
Where are you going to go? All roads lead to the very spot you’re standing in right now. Get a clue.
As if to drive the point home, a tormented wail tore through the crowd like a rip tide, breaking the dam and people began to weep openly. without any inhibitation.
The tears stung at my eyes but I still tried to hold them back, dabbing lightly at my eyes with my hankie. After a moment I blew my nose, it was starting to run.
What the hell is this? I asked myself.
The sensation was new to me. It was one thing to get teary eyed at a sad scene in a movie but this? This was something else.
And still I tried to hold it back.
Sucking it in, I blinked away the tears and looked around. My cousin Eva was doubled over weeping freely, an aunt and an uncle supporting her, keeping her from falling. Bongo stood as rigid as a statue, a pair of shades covering his eyes, his expression unreadable.
The younger ones looked lost. As if they didn’t know how to feel or how to react. Their eyes wide with stunned incomprehension.
Bowing my head I stared at my shoes, analyzing the streaks of dirt that covered them and the layer of dust that had powdered them from heel to toe. Tried to distract myself.
Just let it go Lloyd. Why are you trying to fight this?
The voice was almost audible. I heard it in my ears. I was one step closer.
Because to let these tears fall is a sign of weakness, I insisted.
Is that what you really think?
It wasn’t but I had to come up with something.
But that something wasn’t going to be enough and I knew it. The more I tried to push, to keep my grief at bay, the more determined it seemed to manifest itself, to see the light of day.
I knew it was a losing battle. I knew it was time to let it go.
Thud.
The coffin was finally in the ground. I felt my stomach tighten. A sob crawling up the walls of my trachea and sitting at the back of my throat, making it hard to breathe.
Hugging myself, I leaned slightly forwards; my face involuntarily contorting itself into a grimace. Dislodging itself from the back of my throat, a single sob rolled down my tongue and broke as it passed my lips.
My body shook as the tears streamed down my face. My chest heaved, my nose ran, my stomach ached but I didn’t care. My Auntie Vilma, who had been standing next to me, wrapped one arm around my shoulder and another around my waist and that was all it took. In that second I stopped fighting. In that second I finally allowed myself to cry.