Step Three

Hilary Mankin 1992-2012

I stare at the words on the casket, knowing full well what they mean, yet still unable to feel it.

I’ve heard that you only use 10% of your brain. Part of me wonders if just 5% more were used that I’d be able to wrap my mind around this more quickly.

“Do you think that tree is beautiful too?” Coco asks me. I turn my head in a haze and stare at the tree across the cemetery, its branches enveloping the surrounding stones. Yes. Of course that tree is beautiful. Just as every person is beautiful.

Hilary.

I feel bad for smiling so much at the funeral.

The place was packed. Full of people. Love emitting from every person. We are a community—bonded. There is beauty in death. How have I never seen it before?

People come up to me and others: “Hi, how are you?”

Translation: “I love you.”

Love.

Everyone is so vulnerable as they see the body. True emotions and held back sadness are unleashed as the brutal reality of what has happened is revealed. Vulnerability is accepted by all and embraced—no judgments made.

“It’s not an open casket is it? Richard, I’ll lose it if it’s an open casket. I don’t know if I can take it.”

Pause.

Richard nods.

I shock myself. I’m capable of tears and hysterics on demand.

Marisa has a strong grip around my shoulders as I near collapse.

Jarring.

She looks…

Dead.

Is that too blunt?

It’s just a body in that casket. Hilary is far-gone, being cared for by her beautiful Creator. That brings peace, so much peace. But this body.

It’s so young. No wrinkles.

It smells of grass and vibrancy, not wax paper and potpourri.

New.

What a beautiful blessing this life is.

What a beautiful blessing a body is.

A body with a life is finite, but a life without a body is eternal.

I feel bad for mourning with philosophy, though I’ve been told I shouldn’t feel bad.

Hilary.

Why don’t we hug more often? This thought crosses my mind as I leap from person to person, smiling and giving, loving the love and basking in its beautiful presence.

Hilary loved hugs. She would love this part.

Funeral processions are strange. A line of cars, mourning, their lights on like tears. How many of these have I seen, being impatient as the line monotonously drives by? Now a part of one, I see it through different eyes. Community. Love. Togetherness.

“We will get through this. We loved her, and together we will get through this.”

A casket. It’s a basket for a corpse.

I feel insensitive.

But it’s what I think of anyway.

Five long hugs for her mom, as she thanks me over and over but for what? Unknown. Beauty.

Going up to Hilary’s friend from high school. “She talked about you all the time.” Holding him in a hug as he loses composure and breaks down. Beauty.

“Do-Re-Mi” playing over the slideshow during calling hours. Beauty.

The Harry Potter references that made us all smile: ‘Riddle’ funeral home, the hearse had ‘Kingsley’ written on the side, ‘Always’ on the flowers. Beauty.

Unintentional purple ink. Beauty.

Hilary.

“Back to reality.” What does that even mean? As if this period isn’t reality.

People die. Reality.

Hilary is dead. Harsh reality.

The numbness I feel. Reality.

Grief. What a strange experience. How very human. 


Always unfinished.