Joy and unJaded

The air was funereal, yet the sun was bright, and hung rigidly in the noon sky, casting a warm glow over the kingdom it stood watch over. The grass glowed and glimmered under the light of the sky. The chairs were white, the tables wooden and brown. The air smelled of dew and of green. The taste of life was in the air. You could almost touch it.

“He was a complete asshole,” his once best friend said, with a grin on his face, and tears in his heart. People tittered. Part of the speech had been written by the deceased, as had all the instructions for this unusual ceremony. “A complete asshole, in life, and he once said that he wished he could be one in death.” People laughed, louder this time. This was important, to make sure people were enjoying it. Setting the scene.

The best friend continued. The speech was short, succinct, and witty. And honest. It did what it was supposed to do, by the end, people had become comfortable. The sun bore down joyfully on the small gathering, and across the massive spread of park that had become a national icon.

The speech finished, people had smiles on their faces, grins in their eyes. The air blew around, a small, nice breeze. The grass danced in the wind.

People began to share stories about how terrible the man had been. But also, how good. They did not hold back. Slowly, a picture began to form. They were celebrating him. All of him. The good, the bad, the ugly. There was a lot of each. The first was mostly underneath layers of bad and ugly. You had to pierce back to find the treasure, what had brought most of these people here. What had kept them around. There were not many. Less than a dozen. Yet, all of them loved him dearly. Had loved him dearly. And in his death, they were celebrating his life. All of it.

The wind picked up, some blades of grass began to uproot and blow around in the wind. Small touches of green in a clear sky. People were dressed in jeans, some had sports jackets. Very few were formal. It was enough. They had been told to dress in what they were comfortable in. Most did. Still a little uncomfortable with this unconventional idea. By the minute, they were starting to understand more. By the third speech, they had fallen into a comfortable pattern. Now all of them were laughing, smiling, being raucous. The alcohol being served freely did not hurt. 

They had mourned him privately, as all do when they lose someone dear to them. Now they were celebrating him in the company of his closest and dearest. And in this communion, they were finding joy. This was not a ritual practiced since god knows how long. This was not a ceremony where you spoke ancient words you did not understand. This was a human act, a two part act, joy and sorrow. And they fell into it comfortably, naturally.