Points Of View

6-Year-Old: You're wearing a tie?
Me: Yes.
6-Year-Old: Why?
Me: Because that's what people do when they go to funerals.
6-Year-Old: What's that?
Me: That's when you say goodbye to someone who has died.
6-Year-Old: But they're dead.
Me: But their families aren't.
6-Year-Old (now addressing his brother): Tie my shoe!

His questions brought to mind the bigger picture of funerals and, even more so, viewings, those strange cultural phenomena.
Viewings cast a wide net and capture an array of characters, from the deceased's most casual acquaintances to the most intimate friends. Some people who show up didn't know the decedent but know someone else in the family. The security guard where he worked to those with whom the person had nearly lifelong relationships.
Most people who come to pay their respects aren't wracked with grief, and to some extent the viewing turns into a social gathering, people running into people they haven't seen in years, a sort of group catharsis. We are alive.
Some in attendance feel the pain, the loss, acutely, and can't help but have the tears welling deep within boil to the surface. The pain that causes the body to seize like an engine bereft of lubrication. Others feel the loss but remain stoic, while some attempt to alleviate the discomfort with banter, except in the room containing the casket, where visitors observe library-like decorum.
Those who attend exhibit a range of sartorial preferences, from the suit-and-tie crowd to the people who look like they just cut the grass. And if you knew the deceased person well, maybe you look at these other people and wonder who they are. How far did his tentacles reach into areas unbeknownst to you?
The guest book, the cards with the late person's date of birth and date of death and ostensibly serene images and ostensibly inspirational messages. This person has moved on to a better place and has reconnected with loved ones who earlier shed this mortal coil. Would be nice to think so. But if these people believe the dead move on to a better place, then why do they seem not to be in a hurry to get there? For Catholics, I guess, suicide would mean you wouldn't get there. You have to suffer to get to the better place. I want to know how they know a better place exists for those who die. And what form do the dead take when leaving their earthly bodies behind? Do the souls of the dead cavort in Heaven? Do they play cards? What do they do all day? How much space do they take up? How much space is there? A lot of people have died, after all. And pets. Who gets to be closest to God? Where are the virgins for the Muslims? And after they deflower those virgins, where do the virgins come from for the next martyr? Fly a plane into a tower, get a bunch of virgins.
The flowers and the subdued amber lighting and the dark wood in the funeral home form a backdrop designed, I guess, to provide a sense of comfort. Some of us traverse that lunar landscape, enshrouded by the surrealism.
And the family stands, mostly staid, exhausted, in a line receiving those delivering their condolences. Numb. On automatic pilot until the procession delivers someone who triggers the emotions, and the grief takes advantage of its window of opportunity to surface before composure regains the upper hand. And eventually people leave, some glad to escape the brush with death, others lingering, for to depart means committing the deceased to the past and venturing into the rain, or the sunlight, but undoubtedly into the dark without a compass.