The Last Funeral

We touched down in Manassas, VA on a cool autumn afternoon, finding that our luggage had been lost somewhere in transit. The plane is only so big…I volunteered to go look for it myself but apparently there were some security issues with that option. Karrie, who was there to bury her best friend, immediately went to pieces. As it was my job to be the “strong dependable one” on this trip, I asked her to sit and relax while I straightened everything out.

I wasn’t the only one at the lost luggage counter, a miniscule, muggy and hot office next to the baggage claim area that smelled as though someone had just urinated in the corner. I was assured our luggage would be sent to our hotel. Why anyone would take a job where they had to deal with irate individuals, assuring them that they would get their property back at some point in the future, is beyond me.

Manassas was beautifully decked out in all of it’s fall splendor. This was long before snipers were picking off people at local gas stations..the town seemed quiet, peaceful, and content. It started raining almost immediately, dampening both the town and the mood. A beautiful sadness seemed all around. Appropriate enough, given our reason for the trip.

Gabe was a wonderful friend to Karrie. They had known each other since childhood, could complete each other’s sentences, and always knew what the other was thinking. Gabe had come to see Karrie during our Senior Year fall break, and all three of us spent a good deal of time hanging out and laughing. She was engaged to be married and had recently celebrated her 21st birthday. She was the kind of woman who, after knowing her for 3 days, you felt like you had known her all your life.

On her drive home from our university with 3 of her friends, Gabe had fallen asleep at the wheel in the middle of the night. There were no survivors. It’s very surreal to receive a phone call in the middle of the night that a friend you had just made has just died.

I remember a lot of time was spent in the hotel, trying to comfort Karrie. Old friends from high school asked her to go bowling with them, which only made her feel more alone. I imagine it’s hard to bowl when the best friend you’ve ever had is being buried in two days. I remember buying beer and alcohol in an effort to numb Karrie and I…Karrie was experiencing pain that I could not comprehend and I was starting to crack. I was supposed to be the strong one…I couldn’t crack. We made love several times, finding comfort and solace in each other.

I remember visiting Gabe’s fiancé with Karrie. He was a military man, the kind who looked very strong and handsome in uniform. I let them talk and walked around his neighborhood, asking God questions in an attempt to make some sense out of the whole thing. I didn’t have a very strong relationship with God and didn’t really understand the universe outside of my very small, very personal world. God may have answered some of my questions…I’m not sure. If he did, I didn’t know how to understand his answers.

The funeral took place late on Sunday afternoon. I had to walk quickly out of the visitation for fear that the bile in my throat would be followed by the contents of my stomach. Outside the funeral parlor the stoic exterior cracked and I started sobbing. It was all too much. Karrie’s mother came out and comforted me.

Two months later, the child we had conceived on that trip was aborted. A year after that, Karrie and I were no longer speaking to each other.

Not a week goes by that I don’t think about the whole experience, about the daughter I never had, about the wonderful friend who was ultimately betrayed. I guess today is the day this week.

I haven’t been to a funeral since.