This is the last post I will make about Brandon.
The funeral wasn’t as hard as the viewing yesterday, but mostly because I sort of shut off. Nicole and I sat next to Mr. G, the principal of the high school we went to, who was sitting alone. I saw a few old friends from school there, but I didn’t speak to any of them. Probably the worst part for me was Whitney’s speech. I was angry when the pastor tried to convert the room to Christianity because he thought it’s what “Brandon would’ve wanted”. It was hard watching them fold up the flag and do their salute. I found myself wondering what other countries did when a soldier died. I had a difficult time looking at the grave [all bright and new] and also the stones and dirt that were to go on top of his casket that were delicately covered up with a blue cloth.
Really, what made it sort of okay today was something that happened just before the funeral. Cole and I accidentally parked at a nearby high school and we needed directions to the church. Well, this little blind boy who was walking outside “practicing for kindergarten” was kind enough to guide us to there. We stopped at the edge of the road, and he’d tap his stick a few times on the pavement and say, “I can hear them, but I can’t see them.” And we’d wait and watch and see if the road was clear but we didn’t walk until he said, “Okay, ladies, we can cross now.” It was very humbling.
I spent some time after the funeral going through my photo album and taking several moments to remember Brandon, but after a while I just tucked it back on my bookshelf. I feel okay. And that’s a start.
